[AW+] [M] i am your chain reaction

WARNING: This thread contains material exceeding the general board rating of PG-13. It may contain very strong language, drug usage, graphic violence, or graphic sexual content. Reader discretion is advised.

Specifically, this thread is marked mature because of: graphic violence, language, substance use.

Every time would be the last time, she promised herself. The next day, she would stop it. She would get better. She would be better.

But it was a wedding. It was a day of merriment and fun and she wanted to celebrate her friend — and even if she swore up and down she wouldn’t drink, she wouldn’t use that snubbed half joint to cure her hangover, those little moments of clarity were minor speed bumps, if even. Not quite potholes. She wasn’t swerving off the road yet.

She was in control. Wither was in control.

The ceremony came and went, and she was just about lucid enough to understand the gist of it and almost burst out laughing at their vows. No doubt their precious Isiltári would be pitching a fit over their nonchalance. Wither would toast to that.

Then came the afterparty, and they really went all out for it; those little cakes were sour but delicious as hell, and the mutt had to pace herself, lest she scarfed down the entire plate.

None of these delicacies came close to her one true love, however, and she nursed a healthy chalice of whiskey as she made her rounds, congratulating not only the bride and groom on their union, but everyone around them, too.

They all had to be happy, right? This was a happy occasion. Wither was happy. They were all happy.

But the moment she saw him, she felt the first skid of water beneath the wheels.

Rand Coara wore his long white robes, the high collar prim and proper, and his silvery hair was twisted into little braids. He was sipping at a small cup of wine, his eyes glancing about the venue, probably looking for someone to accost about his lord and savior.

An uncomfortable miasma of emotions swirled within her, and Wither Rose made the questionable decision of approaching him. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew this was a bad idea, but she was either too drunk or too high or both to care.

His sharp gaze caught her, but she pressed on anyway, taking some perverse pleasure in seeing the priest bristle and preen like a bird. A falcon, maybe, with a sharp beak and talons and a grating voice to boot.

”Still avoiding me?” she asked. She already knew the answer.

He sneered at her, surveying the area again before responding. Rand always had to make sure no one was watching, that no one knew the nature of their ”arrangement.” He certainly couldn’t have anyone thinking he was unavailable, she thought bitterly.

”You know what I’ve said about us talking in public,” he greeted flatly.

She scoffed, making the mistake of shaking her head in disbelief. Any harder and it felt like it’d tear straight off her shoulders. It took her a moment before her vision stopped swimming and she could respond.

”Does it even fucking matter if we aren’t sleeping together anymore?” she blurted back, her words louder, and he flinched at the sound.

”Keep your voice down.” It was a sharp, airy whisper, as if anyone around them was paying any attention whatsoever. The party had mostly wound down by now, many having already returned to their homes. The ones that remained were pleasantly buzzed and couldn’t care less about them.

She didn’t even notice them anymore. It was only her and Rand. But there was another, a third. An unwelcome guest. Wither could see her materialize in her mind, but it was like the cold woman was there with them, her icy eyes glaring daggers at her.

”Oh,” she said, her lips tugging into something of a smile, ”I see. I know what it is.”

The priest gawked at her, but she didn’t give him a chance to speak. ”You think — no, you don’t want her to know about us, huh? You think you’re too good for me, is that it? Can’t have her knowing, can we?”

”You’ve had quite a bit to drink, haven’t you? You are so consistent.” He laughed, not out of good humor, and he drew closer to lower his voice, ”We are done, Wither Rose. Our business is done. You can’t control yourself and I will not let you drag me down with you.”

She was losing traction. Hydroplaning. He didn’t stop talking.

”Look at you,” Rand jeered. ”You can’t even go one day. It was bold of me to assume you’d ever be capable of change. Besides,”

He leaned back, his gaze mocking her.

”Did you really think that you and I would ever have a future?”

It was so simple a question, said with no trace of malice or ill-intent, for once. It was honest, brutally so.

”You used me,” she replied, for the first time saying it aloud, like it was some grand revelation, like Fennore hadn’t warned her of this exact thing months prior. ”You used me and I was too fucking stupid to see it.”

He mouthed a little ’ah’ sound, tapping at his temple. ”Your intellect never ceases to amaze me.”

There was a loud ringing in her ears. The murmur of others around her was drowned out by the white noise.

”How long were you fucking Iomair’s wife behind my back?” Her voice was small, like a child’s. Hurt. He growled at her, a thinly-veiled warning to speak quieter, but she couldn’t hear it. ”Weeks? Months? How long were you stringing me along?”

”You need to calm down,” he said. ”Nothing of the sort ever — ”

”Bullshit!” Wither didn’t know she was screaming now. Somewhere nearby, Ambrose Rose halted his music, but this, too, she did not notice.

The ringing grew louder, like rubber skidding across asphalt. Swerving, veering off-road.

”Don’t lie to me,” she was in his face now, spit flinging from her mouth, ”Don’t fucking lie to me. How many other people were you fucking behind my back? Vodeva? Fennore? Hell, everyone here? How many, you fucking prick?”

There were eyes on her, what felt like a thousand little beady eyes watching and judging. She couldn’t care any fucking less.

”You are making a scene,” he warned again, but he was drowned out by her own words.

”Answer me, then, you fucking asshole! How many?” A step forward, and he stepped back. ”How many?”

”What would it even matter?” Rand hissed. ”As if we were ever anything more than occasional lovers. I made no secret of what we were. You understood it all perfectly. And now, only now, you decide to take issue with it, you inconsolable wrench — ”

He spoke with such a careful quietness, as if he couldn’t afford anyone to take notice. For months he had hidden them both in the shadows, some shameful secret he couldn’t allow to come out. His long claws raked into her skin under the cover of darkness, taking all that he wanted. And she had let him.

But not anymore. No more. She would make him scream. She would make him cry and beg for forgiveness for humiliating her. She would make this right.

All Wither saw was red when she barreled into him, knocking him to the ground as her jaws sought the flesh behind his high collar.

They fell in a mass of flailing arms, Rand caught off-guard and unprepared as he tried, in vain, to fend her off. He was just barely taller than her but not stronger, even in her state of delusion and delirium. She was still shrieking as she scratched and tore and gnashed her teeth, his blood — and hers — spreading across his white robes in crimson blotches.

Rand tried to pry her mouth away, gasping for air and sputtering as he kicked and cried out, but Wither Rose was far beyond reason, now. The car had flipped off the road, a frightening display of broken glass and metal, crunching smaller and smaller with each deadly twirl.

Soon she would settle in a ditch, a disaster spewing out pillars of smoke and fire. Soon others would notice and stop to help. She had always been an accident just waiting to happen.

Until that moment, she had her teeth clenched around his neck, squeezing, crushing, and she clamped her eyes shut when he tried to rake them out in a desperate attempt. She couldn’t feel any of it. She couldn’t hear as he cried out for help.

She’d rip his fucking throat out if she had to, but he was going to listen.


sig by Raze
The party had been going along smoothly. Any time he got to spend with the people that meant the most to him was a win in his book, but this was truly something special. He could see the happiness for those getting married, and celebrated it with all his being. It made him wonder when he might finally find it in him to ask Kadir. He was just so unsure, but whether that was because of him or her was where he was left unsure. Well, he would have plenty of time to think about that, just not right now. There was another pair that was far more important today.

His ears turned when he could hear the sound of voices not too far away from where he was standing. It looked like it was coming from Wither and Rand. Both of them were members that the dark male could honestly say he didn't know very well. He at least knew that Rand was a member of Caledonia, the same one that the High King had to leave behind before forming this one, but Wither was much more of a mystery. He wondered if there was a time he should change that.

Now really didn't seem like a good time, certainly not when their voices were raising.

It sounded like things were getting worse. It had escalated from raised voices to yelling, mostly on the female's part. He hadn't really been paying attention to what they were arguing about, as it really wasn't any of his business. If this was a quarrel between the two of them, then they should be the ones to settle it. Maybe if anything he could suggest they step aside so they could work it out without ruining it for the others here for the party.

And then Wither barreled into the bluish man, knocking him over and locking jaws around him. He couldn't just ignore it now.

Hibiki raced into action, hearing Rand's pained calls for help. Using his strength he had built up to his advantage, he moved over to the female, finding a way to get his hands along her mouth. He couldn't just pull her off without risking more damage being done to Rand's neck. It didn't matter if she bit down on any part of the dark male. After all, he had already felt more powerful jaws do that to him once before.

Not wanting to resort to the same kind of pressure, he found his jaws clamping done on one of Wither's ears, tugging back on it. If it was not something to distract her from her current target, then maybe it could help at least pull her head away once he could pry her jaws off Rand. He snarled between his teeth, hoping someone would at least come and pull Rand away once he could get Wither off him. He'd need medical attention for sure.
(+400) | NPCs: N/A
[Image: 47UmhJ6.png]

Avatar art by Despi · Sig art by J

Very little crossed Harlan's mind by the end of the after party. In the endless stream of the unfamiliar, it was easy to get lost. He had almost made it a point to make himself small during the celebration. For a commoner in a dingy stained cloak, the last thing he'd wanted to do was draw any sort of unwarranted attention. Harlan stuck out enough already against the strange backdrop of high society.

Conversations were sparse, but friendly enough to be satisfactory -- and the food, it had been divine. He'd lingered by the cake table, hoping to fill his pockets when the others were not looking to bring back a small morsel to share with his ailing father. He'd noticed her too; a young woman of sour expression, building a tower of tiny cakes upon her plate. Harlan was remiss to say anything, however, for he was too nervous to open his mouth unless he was shoving food inside of it. As the night went on, he thought nothing more of it. 

With pockets leaden with hidden cakes and a belly full of mulled wine, Harlan felt a great satisfaction and believed it near time to retire for the night. Yet, his ears perked at the sound of conflict brewing.

Bullshit. The music and revelry stopped.

Voices raised, a confused Harlan tuned to watch as the girl from the cake table had begun to shout at Rand. For what reason, he could only assume. He hoped it was only a drunken spat, but things began to escalate. 

She lunged for him. Harlan, being too far from the action to intervene could do little to aid in stopping the assault. Others quickly swarmed the girl, but Harlan -- Harlan was more concerned with the blood covered priest strewn about the ground. Despite being no learned medic, Harlan rushed to his side. Pushing past the stunned crowd, Harlan knelt beside the priest. Cakes spilling from the pockets of his cloak, Harlan pressed his hands tightly against the most grievous of his bleeding wounds. 

"Is there a doctor?!" a panicked Harlan shouted, knowing that he was way in over his head.

(310) | NPCs: ---
OOC Text here.
ooc [+738]
This has clearly been a momentous occasion, and Ierian felt his heart and mind alike well-simulated. His heart of course was nourished by witnessing the pack rejoice so at the union of two among their souls. His mind, in turn, was urged into engaging motion by the sight of yet new traditions playing out before his eyes.

Yet the stirring of both now felt somewhat numbed, in no small part deliberately. After all, this was a time of celebration and not just such dedicated thought. He found his new cloak gave him a bit of a sense of security, and his greetings and pleasurable mingling with the other guests of the wedding held in it less hindsight embarrassment. He did have certain reservations of course, considering in particular a certain recent conversation that left him wondering. 

Even so, he was wise enough not to let burdens outmatch the festivities. And so he partook of the food and drink. He savored unfamiliar yet enjoyable flavors and listened to the songs of Ambrose Rose. It was little surprise he found himself thankful for the bard’s dedication to providing a backdrop to Caledonian celebrations. He engaged the other guests in conversation and it seemed some hours had gone by with much rejoicing.

When he heard Wither, her tone escalating in volume, he at first paid it no particular mind. The young coymutt could well be loud. He knew this well. And from their earlier friendly encounters on this day, she had already had some to drink, to eat and to be merry. The occasion was no less joyous to her than it was to the rest of the guests.

Why then was the aggression in her tone rising so?

As though feeling a lingering sense of responsibility for her, whether from the times he’d treated her injuries, or from certain private moments shared, he headed closer towards the forefront when all attention seemed to turn to her and the man she was addressing. He did not know this one well. They had not spoken. He did not know the context of their argument. From sheer contrast in their exchange, it seemed Wither was far more open about whatever had transpired between them, whereas the unfamiliar male was eager to keep the conversation from escalating further.

Even Ierian knew better than to expect Wither to stop from such tactics. But even Ierian couldn’t expect what happened next to occur.

There were gasps from the crowd. There was growling from Wither as she tackled the man. He saw the flash of fangs in passing, and heard the urgent cries from the attacked male and from those around them alike. He was not the first behind Wither’s back, but he came into motion quickly.

His staff was quickly discarded with little care, and it seemed the very force of his large, heavy steps sent an ache bolting through his limbs, yet he stormed on forward. His giant looming figure alone was sufficient to move some out of his way. He reached his large, burn-covered arms from under the cover of his cloak. It flared like a regal mantle draping a shadow of former glories. And with his strong hands he took hold of Wither, pulling in tandem with the male already upon her.

“Enough, Wither! Let him go!” He demanded, and much like his sudden display of physical force, his voice showed exactly how much restrained strength was inside the body of the giant. How his gentle tone could amp itself towards the makings of a proper roar. Especially when he felt Luperci blood in the air. It was not immediate that she unclenched her jaws, but the resistance from the one she pinned, the two men pulling at her, perhaps even the sound of Ierian’s angered, commanding tone served to weaken her enough for her to be untethered from her victim.

He kept his hands on her to restrain her, ignoring the thrashing, his size, for once, put towards overpowering one smaller and younger than him. And the one from whom Wither had been removed was in a state demanding instant attention, even with one of the pack rushing to his side to try and stem his bleeding. The coydog still writhing and gnashing her teeth, Ierian let out another roar that carried across the crowd like a roll of thunder. “Bellad! Bellad, he is bleeding! By the Myriad, come here at once!”
The ceremony had been seen differently by each of the Northoliels. Iomair had seen it as yet another proving moment that the Realm was growing into its own. Vodeva saw it as a change from the old ways – a ceremony twisted to suit the endless line of New Caledonians who understood little of what had come before them. Indis saw it as little more than pomp to assure that everyone understood what it was that connected the pair before them. She barely understood love, and now that her parents had severed their connection… well it left her wondering if there was any magic to it at all.

They drank and laughed, and Vodeva watched as many eager faces took to dancing.

She heard Indis argue with Tuilinn about how much was appropriate to drink, but beyond that she floated from place to place – engaging in conversation when it was appropriate and avoiding questions about Iomair. He had his own role to play now, and she felt relief wash over her that she did not need to concern herself with where or how he was. The party was over, and many had begun to head for home. She toyed with the idea herself before choosing one last drink.

She sipped from her goblet sparingly, savoring the wine and made to seek out her fellow Priest.

Vodeva pressed a hand to her braids idly as she surveyed the crowd. They were a rightful crowd now – a vast change from the tiny gang who had founded the Realm the year before.


The word crackled on the air with electricity, instantly pulling the focus away from the party to the tiny pinprick of gold that was Wither Rose Soul. Vodeva saw the room take a great breath, and she gathered her skirts in one hand as she made her way over – curious and uncertain of the manic energy that was rolling off of the woman in waves. There were others now who had turned to listen, and hackles were up, uncertain.

It all happened very quickly.

Wither exploded into action after hurling accusations that caused Vodeva to gape, her eyes immediately narrowing as others hummed at the notion that she (and Fennore?!) had lain with Rand Caora. Wither was a tornado now, snapping teeth and raking claws that sought to take down any in her wake. There was blood now, staining the floor and the liver pelt of her companion – but Vodeva stood cemented in place, a kerchief pulled from her pockets to dab at her mouth.

She had dropped the goblet at some point and not even noticed.

Men ran to pull Wither off of Rand, and one of the Healers sought to staunch his wounds with the help of a young boy that Vodeva did not immediately recognize.

She refused to play into the story that was unfolding before her, but released a silent prayer that Rand would survive the attack and that Wither would pay for what she had done - and for what she had said.

(///) | NPCs: n//a

Hello my name is Vodeva and I am nothing but a bystander. She is standing close enough to see but far enough away that she won't get involved. This will be Vodeva's only post!

It was a party until it was not.

Iomair had sat lounging in a chair as the night deepened and many of those in attendance had decided to make their way back home. It had been a beautiful day wrapped in the Tanaka’s love story, and he had been keen to celebrate something, anything as he settled into living alone.

It turned out that it was not so different as the way he had been living before, but he allowed himself more time to explore and scout beyond the vestiges of their territory.

Rabbit paused to offer him more drink, and the King gave a gentle shake of his head. Soon it would be time to turn in.

At the first shout, Iomair rose instantly to his feet – his ears roving the room for the source of the voice. There were others murmuring now, turning heads which he followed at a quick clip, a snarl building in his throat as the voices grew and grew-

He slipped back into the way of a soldier almost immediately, checking the entrances and exits as he sprinted toward the altercation. It had grown into an ugly blood bathed thing, and Iomair could not hide the disdain that crept into his eyes. This had been a day of joy, not of… this.

As he came upon the scene he bellowed, ”Enough!” Saliva dotted his chin as he snarled at Wither, and attempted to aid the men who had been close enough to grab and pull her away from the wounded priest. ”Control yourself woman!” His voice sharpened as he panted with exertion, fighting the bucking wild woman as she continued to cry out and snap. There was a momentary stillness which fell between those who had gathered as the pair were dragged from one another and forced apart. His voice became a dangerous rumble, "Enough blood has been spilt here."

The blood stain was a ghoulish punctuation on the floor between them.

”We take her to the Underthing.” He slid the belt from around his waist and offered it to one of the men to tie her wrists, and to any who could hear him, "Make certain that the Priest does not bleed out."

(///) | NPCs: n/a

Quick tldr so everyone knows where everyone be :)

1. Hibiki and Ierian pull Wither off of Rand - Rand fell down bleeding/wounded - Bellad is called for
2. Harlan is trying to stop bleeding on Rand
3. Iomair helps Ierian and Hibiki with crazy Wither - offers belt to bind her wrists so that they can transport her to Underthing for punishment.

We could use more healer/bandagers to help out Harlan/help stabilize Rand!

1. Hibiki and Ierian pull Wither off of Rand - Rand fell down bleeding/wounded - Bellad is called for;
2. Harlan is trying to stop bleeding on Rand;
3. Iomair helps Ierian and Hibiki with crazy Wither - offers belt to bind her wrists so that they can transport her to Underthing for punishment;
4. Bellad reaches Rand. He is having Harlan assist him in stabilizing the Priest. He may still require additional assistance;
5. Ierian lets go off Wither after she's restrained, reluctant to enact her punishment, but unable to stop it.
Bellad had a hard time believing it, knowing himself, but he was finally taking a break from eager consumption of New Caledonian wedding tradition. It wasn’t without outside help of course, but all in all he had eased into what this was meant to be. A celebration. A day to share happiness with the newlyweds. This was something everyone did in their own way, though of course the food and drink assisted greatly.

For the time being, the younger Songthorn made no significant emphasis on getting involved with the greater scope of the event. He dodged yet another offer from Ambrose Rose to give the guests another taste of their duet first shown at the grand Feast. The bard joked that he would wait for Bellad to drink some more then ask again. Bellad smiled and thought to himself he wasn’t drinking tonight. Then still ended up drinking, if in moderation.

This, however, was not destined to be the only confrontation of the evening. And the one that grabbed the attention of all those still in attendance flared like an uncontrolled fire. It began with nothing too out of the ordinary. A spat of some sort. Elevated tones. Opposing parties. Bellad only started paying attention when it became clear that the conflict was dire enough to stop the music and to ring out like an aria all of its own.

He turned his head and he saw the participants. It was Wither and his rude visitor. He never did develop a fondness for the man following that, not so much due to persistence of grudges, as due to this being his sole experience. Still, from what he’d seen it was little surprise that the man would have somebody willing to yell at him. Especially somebody with an attitude like Wither. The whole scene was starting to make for a foul taste in his mouth. But when Wither’s tone escalated into a string of accusations, it felt like a bitter berry burst and spilled its juice upon his tongue.

No. It wasn’t even due to him putting all that much stock into Wither’s testimony. It’s that this man, this man he didn’t want to hear being put next to Fennore’s name. Especially not in such a vulgar context. He felt his own fur bristle, though one who didn’t know him intimately could well read this as an instinctual reaction to the rising conflict. This couldn’t be true. Tensions were high, and fewer and fewer guests could remain impartial to what was happening. He felt a strange, frenzied rush when it came to its seeming climax. Like his body flaring with a fight or flight instinct by proxy.

It was happening too fast. Wither lunging the way she did, going for the throat. Ierian bounded through to make his way to the two tangled souls. He knew his brother cared for the coymutt more than he ever did. He saw Ierian and another man pry her off, kicking and screaming and biting.

Some part of him wished to turn away. To leave. To remain above it all. To somehow purge this disgusting aftertaste and let the fools make their mistakes. “Bellad! Bellad, he is bleeding!” He heard his brother call for him. Bellad grit his teeth. He didn’t want to help him. He didn’t want to save this man who may or may not have touched Fennore. And who certainly never held himself back from vicious disrespect for the Isiltári. “By the Myriad, come here at once!”

He had his duty. He was a healer of the pack. Bellad steeled his mind and made his way forward. His perception sharpened, the scent of blood tickled his nose. A young soul hovered over the victim, clutching the wounds, getting drenched in blood. “Make space. Let me see.” Bellad demanded unceremoniously. It wouldn’t be the first time he had to mutilate clothing, and this time the tunic he wore was his best option. Pippa's fine creation was torn and quickly repurposed into bandages. Rather than usher Harlan away, the healer gave methodic instructions, going so far as to reach for his bloodied hands. “Press down here. Hold tight. Press down! Better it hurt than he bleed out.”

Busy as he was over the man’s wounds, he only caught the gist of what the King said. Key notions penetrated through his blood and ice-tinged tunnel vision. Enough blood. Underthing. Priest does not bleed out. For but a moment Bellad cast off his focus to see Ierian from the corner of his eye. As more and more gathered to restrain Wither, the older Songthorn had let her go. There was pain on his muzzle. Reluctance. Did his brother only now realize he aided in her imprisonment? “Myriad…” The word clicked against Bellad’s teeth like a slur, and he returned his eyes and hands alike to the purpose of stabilizing the wounded Priest.
flew too high and burnt the wing
lost my faith in everything

There was a time when she had high hopes for the coyote girl.

Wither Rose Soul was about as charming as her name, and her novelty did little to impress Fennore when they first met; but, with patience, the then-High Lady of Dawn had come around. She took the time to learn Wither's story, the little eccentricities in her prior life that had shaped her into what she was today — and she had bore witness to the slow descent as it first took hold, a slow-burning fire that grew and grew, little by little, consuming all that was around it.

Fennore herself had been burned by it, and it was difficult to justify continuing to try and help her when clearly she held no sway over her ward. Once-ward, really. They had not talked in weeks, if not months, aside from expected pleasantries that were undoubtedly one-sided. Somewhere, deep down, the Isiltári knew she had been right to worry for her, but there was little she could say or do to bring the Soul to reason.

For a time, the flames had been contained, or so she had thought. But tonight, of all nights, the inferno raged furiously, a fiery display of blood and gnashing of teeth.

She did not understand the words she heard flung angrily on the wind; she heard her name come from the mutt's mouth but not the context. There was very little opportunity to mull over it before the yowling began, a terrible, awful sound that split open the air. Rand Coara was helpless to stop her. He was the next to test that flame and fail.

They did not go unnoticed. Caledonians descended upon them from left to right, looking to tear them apart and bring the Lorn priest to safety. Iomair demanded she be bound and carted to the Underthing — a dark, dank cavern reserved for only their hardened criminals. She saw Amon rush over to the scene, helping bind her blood-soaked hands behind her back as she wailed and kicked and screamed.


It fell upon deaf ears. Fennore barely even the insults she hurled at her victim as she made her way over, her eyes wide and her mouth gaping as she surveyed the damage.

Bellad was there, attending to the fallen Coara and ordering for those standing by to assist. The dog was gasping for air, his breath sputtering and tinged with red with each ragged breath; a horrid, gurgling sound coming from his ripped throat. Blood and flesh intermingled and shimmering against his liverish pelt. She swooned at the sight, steeling her nerves as she slowly looked back to the attacker.

The girl vehemently fought against those holding her back. Fennore smelled the alcohol and smoke on her and, numbly, found herself unsurprised. For a moment, between her shrieking, her crazed pale eyes fell upon the she-wolf, and she went quiet, only the sounds of Rand's rattling breaths and the Songthorn's ministrations between them.

"Wither Rose," the name sounded hollow on her tongue, the shock of it all devolving into something devoid and lifeless, a defense mechanism. Once she had spoken that name with something akin to a fondness. Once they had been close, or as close as they could ever hope to be. Even now Fennore could remember the feel of Wither's straw-colored hair betwixt her fingers, the many sessions they had shared just talking as she braided her unruly mane.

Those days were irrevocably gone, now.

"What have you done?"

There was nothing more she could say.


sig by Despi
During the planning of the wedding Tora had spent more hours than was healthy worrying. What if no one showed up? What if too many people showed up? What if Kalypso got cold feet at the last second and walked out? Maybe a sudden wind would blow up and knock aside all the food or a freak storm would roll aside and dilute the drinks. There were thousands upon thousands of ways for the day to go wrong, each less likely than the last but no less terrifying. But that was part of making marriage preparations. He dealt with the fear by lying to himself, saying again and again that everything would work out okay.

And for a while it did. The ceremony itself went off without a hitch, perhaps weighed down a bit by weighty references to gods Tora didn't care about but overall magical. He and Kaly exchanged vows, kissed and no doubt embarrassed their children with such an overly emotional display. It was everything that he had wanted, a cementing of the tumultuous relationship he had fought to hold onto. 

Gifts were given, well-wishes received and due diligence paid to the higher ranks by the lower. Somehow Tora's fears had turned out to be baseless for once.

And then Wither went and fucked it all up. 

He could hear vague shouting from her, cursing and carrying on. Something about a sordid relationship with the worst of the Old Caledonians and him sleeping with the Queen (a juicy bit of gossip that made sense considering the context Kaly had given him), things best suited to be talked about behind closed doors or away from the town. Really, anywhere that wasn't at someone else's wedding party would have sufficed.

The scandalized samurai gripped his goblet tighter and took a swig, glancing nervously towards Calan. He wanted so badly to return to their conversation but whatever they had been talking about had been totally wiped from his mind. He ignored it all as best he could, fighting the urge to smash bottles over the heads of both Rand and Wither.

And then she pounced, tearing at his throat like a maddened animal.

He was late to the scuffle, eyes blazing and teeth bared. Rand was being tended to and Wither restrained, the king offering his belt to tie her up. Amon got it before he did while Fennore simply stood around being useless. The Queen was off in the corner surveying the scene while Rand himself laid there bleeding like a stuck pig. Old Caledonians, stuck up and worthless leeches who could barely fend for themselves. Tora was sick of them and their bullshit traditions, sick of toeing the line while others gladly skipped over it. Wither would suffer no more punishment than a time out and Rand was probably not going to die.

Fueled by both red hot rage and a sense of betrayal over the fact that someone he considered a friend had spit all over his hospitality Tora pulled back his arm and punched Wither right in the jaw before stomping away to cool off. For the first time he was grateful to be unarmed because if he hadn't the worthless cunt would have been savaged just like her lover. 

OOC: Wordcount 549
broken, bruised, forgotten sore
too fucked up to care anymore

She couldn't taste the spewing blood or torn flesh in her mouth. She couldn't feel as he tried to fight back with whatever life he had left. She couldn't hear herself scream into his throat as she ravaged it, irreparable damage, a justified revenge. He fucking deserved it, he was a fucking piece of shit and he deserved it and she was going to make him feel every fucking last inch of her fury —

A yelp escaped her mouth when she was pried away, hands belonging to faces she couldn't see. She didn't want to see. "Let go," she screeched, a shrill warning, "Let me go!"

Didn't they see Rand for what he was? Did no one else understand? How could they not?

But they didn't. They wouldn't. There were a thousand voices all talking at once and they would drown her out, a single drop in an endless ocean.

Rand was obscured from her sight, numerous shadowy forms hunching over him as they attempted to slow the bleeding. He was a fountain of red, viscous currents; he would've made his stupid fucking river goddess proud.

There was a tightening sensation at her back, restricting her movement, and panic set in full-force. Her head was swimming as she looked this way and that, trying to fight off the ones that held her back. Only at Fennore's stunned voice did she stop screaming, for just a moment, but it felt like a lifetime.

"What have you done?"

She did not understand. But it didn't much matter, because before she could even answer, there was a searing sensation at her jaw, blooding spilling from her mouth when her tongue rammed up against her teeth.

There was no time to ask who, or what, or why. She didn't even have time to feel the pain. There was no time for anything anymore.

"Wait," she said hoarsely as they began to take her away. Her toes dragged against the ground, and she tried in vain to yank herself out of their grasp. Where were they going? Where were they taking her?

"W-Wait, please, I — wait!"

They didn't. They wouldn't.

aaaaand that's a wrap, folks! thank you all so much for participating and rolling with my bullshitery :']

sig by Raze

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