[P] [M] hit me with your killshot

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: substance use, sexual themes.

forward dated after the 10th.

With all the craziness going on in Casa, Viridian wanted — no, needed a night away. Death still weighed them down like a ton of bricks, a grim reminder of a feast that had gone so wrong.

The trial for the accused had accomplished little. They were still no closer to figuring out what really happened, who had it out for them; but at least they had detained the accused instead of killing them outright. Viri still thought it would've been better to give them the boot and let winter deal with them, but in a surprising moment of clarity, she wondered if the fact she had been banished herself made her want to do it to someone else.

No. That was stupid. She was over it, now. It was ancient history.

It had to be.

She wore her rank cloak for the first time in a long time, the dense dark fabric keeping her just as warm as the steady stream of drinks she ordered from the bar. Viri thought herself a veteran and knew what to bring to trade; though as the season grew leaner, securing the goods was easier said than done. If anything, it gave her a limit on how shitfaced she could afford to go.

Though nowadays, it didn't take her much to get drunk. Just enough to make the shakes go away for a little while and keep her head from hurting.

She brought the cup up to her mouth to take another swig, but nearly spilled half of it down her chest when someone suddenly bumped into her — some brainless headass, she thought with a growl, before sharply looking over her shoulder, her tooth snagging against her lip.

"Watch where you're fuckin' goin', pal — "

sig by Raze
The bar had not been where he had meant to go, but it was where he had ended up.

He had traded with the barkeeper easy enough, slapping payment before accepting a heavy mug of ale. For a moment he felt guilt – there were other tasks to accomplish, other conversations to be had… but for now all he wanted was to sit in peace with his drink... Or two.

They had asked them all to go forth and connect with the other packs of Nova Scotia. It would serve as both distraction and an effort to collect information and goods as fall finally released the land to winter. Typically, the changing of the season brought about a sense of optimism – they had survived another journey around the sun, another year woven by their experiences together.

But this was different.

He sipped, lapping at the place where bubbles gathered in his beard. The King struck an odd figure amongst the travellers who leaned over card tables, or the women who danced together off to one side. The Roja was a place of color and endless entertainment – here he could escape, if even for a short while to pretend that darkness had not found them.

Iomair sipped again, side stepping a pretty shoulder as he tried to make his way towards an open table. He stepped on the edge of a long cloak in error, and some of his ale splattered onto the creaking floor.

"Watch where you're fuckin' goin', pal — "

”Please Miss, my apologies.” He growled softly, "I just want to get to my table-"

… Wait.

The voice was familiar. He felt his entire body stiffen, the fur along his shoulders standing on end as he inhaled sharply. He was transported to a wedding, to puddles of blood and the keening wail as she was pulled into the Underthing.

He bared his teeth and sat the mug down with a resounding thunk.

"Wither Rose Pole." He coughed, "Soul." He raised his eye brow before reaching to twerk the fur collar of her cloak, "By the gods, what are you doing here?"

Without invitation he moved to sit across from her, "... I believe I owe you thanks."

He raised a hand to wave at the Barkeeper to bring another round.

(///) | NPCs: n/a

At times, she forgot that, out in the wilds, she was vulnerable again, susceptible to familiar faces with prying eyes. The Stockshow should have been more than enough proof of this; but, still, Viridian was surprised to see old ghosts out on the open road, even more so when they were so painfully and shockingly undesirable that she almost couldn't believe her luck.

When his hand found her collar, immediately her teeth pulled back with a growl, and Viridian just about snapped her jaws down on his hand — before he not only used her deadname, but butchered it as well.

Honestly, she had to laugh, though the sound was hollow and cold. It was harder to stay mad when it was clear the other person was drunk.

"Oh, I dunno, I think you exiled me or something, last I remember," she shot back at him in a hushed whisper, scoffing as she flattened down the fur where he had disturbed it.

"Better yet, what are you doing here? Don't you have a Kingdom to rule or whatever?"

Her eyebrows hitched up high when the King seemed to lose his fire, sliding next to her and... thanking her?

She scoffed, "Yeah, for what? Because I can think of a couple of things I need to thank you and Fennore for, if we're talking about gratitude."

Her tone indicated she felt quite the opposite.

But, truly, she supposed she did have to thank them for her life, when they so easily could have executed her as a show of power. That had been on the table for far longer than she realized, if Fennore was to be believed in her numerous trips to the Underthing.

Still, she was pissed at him, and rightfully so, she thought. He had still banished her, after all.

sig by Raze
”Mm. I suppose you’re right.” Iomair drank again, ignoring the warning that peeled in his gut like a bell. ”Better to be exiled than dead.”

The smile he flashed was wide and full of barbs.

The drink made him feel loose and comfortable – the eyes that lingered on them did so in passing, it was the sort of attention that was allowed as you travelled through the world anonymously. A woman slunk by and ran her hand along his shoulder before disappearing into the crowd, and Iomair allowed a subtle rumble to escape him as he watched her go.

With so much pain back home, it felt good to wallow in the gold of his ale.

”Rand of course.” Our here he could air his mistrust of the Priest without repurussion. ”He has ugly scars now from where you caught him-“ He gestured at his neck, dragging a claw across the slant of his throat. ”But I can’t help but believe that he’d be better off in the ground.” The King whet his lips, glaring at Viridian Soul as the barkeeper returned to place a set of new drinks before them.

Iomair twisted the mug so that the handle faced Viridian, and then picked up his own to hold it before him. An offering to a god that seemed intent on testing him every step of the way.

”He is with Vodeva now.”

He tilted the glass and drank deeply, wiping bubbly froth from his whiskers with the back of his hand.

He leaned on the table between them and cocked a bushy brow.

"And you, where did you go? You look well fed. Well clothed." He flared his nostrils and snorted, "Clean."

"It would seem that exile has not treated you so poorly."

(///) | NPCs: n/a

She had seen a smile like that before on the face of many men. Each time, she thought it foolhardy and reckless; each time, she saw a bit of herself reflected back, like a mirror.

Iomair was the last sort she had expected to be down and dirty with the rest of them, but then again, she was ignorant to his wandering eyes and the sort of company he preferred. She just assumed he, like his Isiltári, was a square and always had been and had no reason to question this assumption.

She bristled at the name, the power of it feeing quite heftier being spoken out in the open rather than the sanctity of her own mind.

It was surprising to hear him agree with her, after all that he had felt in those days following the attack. Fennore had made it no secret what her King had wanted, when she made her visits to the Underthing — setting herself up as Viridian's savior from a most certain death, now that the Soul could look at it in retrospect and with more clarity than before.

"Well," she took the offered drink with little hesitation, deciding her thirst outweighed whatever haughtiness and disdain she still felt for him and his supposed gift, "I guess that's on you for not letting me finish what I started."

When she drank of the cup, it was hard and fast, and an amber bead of liquid trailed down the pale fur of her throat before she set down the glass with a dull thud.

Her tall ears quirked at this revelation, though it was one she had long since suspected, that the Priest and ex-Queen had been canoodling behind her back. And behind Iomair's, too, it seemed.

"I figured," she sighed, an ancient anger rousing within her — but the flames had long since tempered, now that she had left that life in New Caledonia behind. "That was, uh, kind of the whole reason I wanted to knock his brains out, if you all somehow missed that."

She scoffed, shaking her head. "He's a fuckin' sleazebag and none of you wanna deal with it."

It took her a very long time to realize it. When would the rest of his Kingdom wake up? Was it just easier to ignore the fact that everything Rand touched disintegrating at his fucking fingertips?

Oh, well. She was far beyond caring about it, now. So far beyond. Far, far beyond.

"Uh, sorry to hear that though, I guess. I know you two were married or whatever."

For whatever good the invisible bonds of marriage did for literally anyone ever. A mere concept was hardly enough to keep two animals from acting out on instinct.

She rose her cup in a mock toast with a laugh, "Here's to shitty partners."

Her tongue flashed out to lick the boozy residue at her muzzle when he spoke again, and she gave a noncommittal shrug as she took another deep gulp of her drink, ignoring the way her stomach felt warm and full from the alcohol. "I went to Casa di Cavalieri. Seemed a better fit since all they expect me to do is fight."

A thoughtful hum.

"Though I didn't expect they'd be so much more stiff than you all. Lots of rules, like no drinking — but what they don't know doesn't hurt 'em."

Gesturing loosely to her glass, she accentuated her point by taking another sip.


sig by Raze
Iomair growled softly before he spoke, ”If I knew then what I know now…” He drummed his fingers against the table, ”Then perhaps we would have had a different outcome.”

”Your fate was decided long before you joined my Realm. It is good that you found a place that accepts you as your are – scars and all.” He couldn’t help the grin that spread across his features, the gentle wag of his tail as he leaned closer to the mottled girl with the wheat-gold hair. He tweaked a piece of it between his fingers and was reminded of fields of endless gilt grass.

If he looked closely he could forget the trails and tribulations that the woman had bestowed upon his Kingdom.

Out here they were little else then two neutral parties who sought to forget that lands that lay behind them, if only for a moment. Iomair could feel his memories cloying to his like gossamer ghosts, winking and tugging for his attention as he sought to abandon thoughts of his wife and family. They had crumpled like parchment, a chapter forgotten in a book that had never quite been written.

The King lolled his tongue, brushing down his beard as he hummed at Viridian Soul.

”Married or whatever?” He glared, though there something sad and funny brewing in his eyes, ”We pledged ourselves to one another. We took vows.

He stumbled over his words, ”And… well, it fell apart in the end.”

He laughed dryly, a deep drink stalling their conversation before he placed the mug back upon the table.

”To shitty partners indeed.”

He had been one. He knew it deep down.

He canted his head as he slid his chair over to her, his head coming to rest in the scarred centre of his palm.

”More rules? You don’t seem the type to abide by them.”

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She flashed her teeth at him again, her pale eyes lingering on the silver around his muzzle.

"You strike me as a man full of regrets," she teased lightly. "There's no point in looking back on it now — this bullshit, the war that brought you all here, any of it. What's done is done. We learn and we move on from it."

That was the whole point of New Caledonia, wasn't it? Their first Kingdom didn't pan out so well. Second time's the charm. It seemed to be working out for them so far.

His hands so close to her face had her growling softly under her breath, this newfound closeness stirring a pleasant heat all throughout her body, tingling her nerves. For a moment she thought she'd made an enemy of him again; but Iomair's anger ebbed into self-pity once more, and he nursed his wounded heart swiftly with another swig of his glass.

Whether they knew it or not, the ambient din of La Roja — and their steadily-growing drunkenness — brought them closer and closer, both subtly bringing their chairs closer until the wooden legs were just about touching. She could just feel the fur at his knee brushing hers, and Viri gave a little shrug.

"I do sometimes," the Officer said. "Just enough that they don't kick me out."

Her eyebrow arched at him.

"I feel like you're breaking a few rules yourself, being here," she posited, finding her own cup regrettably empty and dared to steal a sip from his, just before his very eyes. "Talking to me."

She snorted.

"I won't tattle on you, though, don't worry."


sig by Raze
Was that who he had turned out to be, a man full of regrets?

The word hung between them like the keening of a bell. It range in his ears and had his smile stuttering across his lips before falling flat as he receded into his thoughts. The drink did that, pulled them in and out of the swells of conversation as his thoughts went inward. He had given so much and received so little in return; he had been good, so good and felt that even this went unnoticed by his mountainous god.

He hiccupped, ignoring the shame that came with thinking of his god badly.

There would be no regrets on this night.

”Move on? Is that what you did?” He growled softly, leaning further upon the table so that he could make out the perfect shade of her eyes, ”Was it that easy? Sometimes it is like climbing on of Dúrs mountains – an impossible feat, my pockets weighed with stones.” He sighed, reaching for her hand to squeeze it gently. ”You make it look so easy.”

She had torn through Rands throat and found a new life for herself amongst the Cavaliers. She had a new name, a new bond – and Iomair couldn’t help but feel curious. Deep down he was too loyal, his crown too heavy. He would live and die for New Caledonia and knew it in his soul.

He shrugged his shoulders and snuggled closer, ”Probably.” He tipped his muzzle so that he could nestle it closer, his lips split in a wide grin.


On this night he would have no regrets.

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She blew air through her nose and rolled her eyes.

"That is exactly what I did. I had no choice," Viridian reminded him, because even if drunk, she couldn't entirely forget all that New Caledonia had put her through in the end.

After all the rank advancements she'd achieved, all the manual labor and hunting she'd done for them, all the friends she'd made, all the potential just ripe for the taking — all of it gone in one instant, one moment of lapsed judgement.

He would get what was coming to him soon enough. It was good to know that the Priest's transgressions hadn't escaped the King's eye, even if he, too, was bound by a code that emotions could not best. Rules were without feeling. The law was the law.

Even if they made it up as they went along.

His hand was calloused and rough, having toiled for many a season. When he squeezed, it was a limp half-measure; Viri, not to be outdone, slipped her hand out to pinch his palm with her claws.

"None of it was easy. I worked hard to get where I am. I fell a hell of a lot farther than — "

But she stopped, and she laughed.

"Hell," she waved a hand, "you know what it's like starting out with fuckin' nothing. Look what you've done with just a little hard work. A whole new Realm! The Gods would be pleased, Nanny 'n Ninny and the whole lot of them."

Oh, she knew the gods, alright. For as much as Fennore made it apparent she thought of them as folklore and nothing more, she sure as hell saw it honorable and right to make them the topic of a majority of their reading lessons when there were so many more interesting topics than some shitty deities she put no stock in.

At least Nanin was kind of bad-ass sometimes (she, unfortunately, hadn't completely forgotten the many passages she'd just about committed to memory by the end of it). The "Heart of Vengeance" or something like that. There was real appeal to it, to folks like her.

Iomair made his intentions loud and clear, in no short part due to the booze and his obvious loneliness. She couldn't blame him, if his wife had left her for fucking Rand of all people. He fell upon hard times, that much was for damn sure.

As for her? Well. Many drinks in and feeling just about as lonely, herself, Viridian Rose was in no position to be making good decisions. That wasn't why she came to La Roja.

"Promise," she whispered, taking his hand and coaxing him from the table, away from the rowdy voices and the dense, smoggy air. Soon they were little more than background noise, a gentle purr occasionally broken up by the sound of cups hitting the table and an uproar of laughter.

In this quiet, private corner, it felt like they were alone against the world, two fuck-ups that had gone through the motions so many times.

The Soul perched herself against the wall, letting the fall of her cloak reveal more of her body to him than in the main room. The scars there were fresh, still rosy pink against her pelt. The low light cast her in all manner of shadows, the bruise-purple fur looking almost black.

"So, High King." She canted her head, bat her eyelashes at him like the floozies of the bar.

"What rule do you wanna break first?"


sig by Raze
As they drank, he allowed himself to forget their shared history. It was as if the alcohol blotted away at his memory, leaving behind only flashes of the womans time in his realm.

He felt himself floating on the silvery bubbles of their ale. He felt as if his entire life had been cast in shades of gold, the sheen in his eyes reflected back at him through the rivulets of her hair. How had he never noticed that up close she was soft and smooth as velveteen? Viridian Souls eyes pulled at him like the moon, the scars around her mouth luring him as she gathered his hand in hers and lead him from their seats.

Like this, he could forget that he was anything but this moment.

The music swelled before it faded away, the offbeat tune forgotten in the wake of their proximity. It was as if they had passed through a veil, and Iomair flattened his ears as he rumbled softly and stepped towards her. He splayed a hand against the wall behind her, grinning against the shadows that sought to claim them. He could feel the heat of her against him, the pent up energy that had slowly begun to leech its way across the table.

The sleeve had fallen from her shoulder to expose waves of pale fur, and he could just make out the set of pretty mouth in the dark. He leant forward, pressing his nose to the crook of her neck as he crooned.

”This one.”

Carefully he felt in the dark, his hand wandering over the curves of her breast before cupping her cheek.

When he kissed her it was as if the world ceased to exist, the raucous noise of the tavern muted like newly fallen snow.

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It was funny, when she really thought about it. Something about her blasé attitude seemed to attract the ones with skeletons in their closets, ones that were just as broken or fucked-up as herself in one way or another. Calan and Ierian had been just as lonely as her; Rand had been as depraved, seeking to project his fantasies onto a willing partner; and Eros had an appetite as large, if not larger, than herself.

Iomair could have been the former, or the latter, or maybe he was some combination of them all. In the end, he really was not so different from her, and the eagerness with which he disappeared into the dark with her was all the proof she needed of this.

His hands fell upon her hungrily, the roughness of his paw pads a familiar comfort. She canted her head to expose her neck to him without asking; there was no need for either of them to waste unnecessary words when their mouths could be put to better use.

Her eyes, half-lidded, almost rolled into the back of her head when his lips found hers, the tingly sensation mixing with her drunkenness and producing a feeling that brought out the best of both. The nausea tickling her stomach felt a hell of a lot more good in that moment than it did bad.

She couldn't help but laugh against his mouth, pulling back to look him square in the eye, her pale gaze full of mirth and want.

"Not bad for an old man," she needled his chest with her claws, hands exploring and relishing the feel of his wiry fur under her eager palms.

Now that he had opened the door, Viridian had no problems walking all the way through, straight off the cliff that lay on the other side.

The Soul pressed forward, kissing him again, harder than before. The purpose, two-fold, was to scratch that itch that she just couldn't reach — and to show him that she wasn't the sort to be pushed around.

Not anymore.

"Lemme show you something," she breathed into his ear, stealing a glance at the loud merry-making in the main room. They went on without a care in the world, not sparing a thought for the two indulging a bit too deeply in the pleasures of the night. In the dark, they were more or less covered; the worst that could happen was that they were discovered and kicked out, but that wouldn't slow either of them down too terribly much. Being out in the cold meant they would need ways to keep warm, after all.

She reached beneath his tunic for the source of his excitement, watching keenly for the jolt of shock in his face, before she pressed a finger to his lips.

"But you gotta keep quiet."

That would be a challenge with what she had planned, but that was half of the fun.

With a mischievous glint in her smile, Viridian, quite unsteadily, lowered herself to her knees, intending to, perhaps for the first time, give praise to her former King the only way she knew how.

we could fade to black here or keep vague posting! xD i am terrible at this so y'know ♥

sig by Raze
In some other life, perhaps he would have turned out to be a very cruel King indeed. There was power in the curls of the crown, the tines heavy and sharp. He had never seen it as anything else than a responsibility, a title that had been bestowed upon him when there had been less silver in his mane. He had never worn it with arrogance, or demanded respect with a lashing tongue or a slicing gaze.

He asked for respect in silence and gave it in turn to the people around him. He listened when others did not, bestowed his opinions and thought long before speaking.

Emotions were his weakness. They caught him unawares, peeling back his layers until he felt raw to the world around him. He could still hear the sharp calls in the meeting, the angry sheen to eyes that judged in an instant where all he wanted was to bring peace to his halls.


Was that what this was?

Viridian was all at once warm and soft beneath his hands, and he explored her gently with his mouth. The shadows grew around them, a sauntering glow of candelight spilling to engulf only the barest of their edges. They were silver and gold, dusk and twilight – and Iomair lost himself to her and went hard against her thigh.

Had she always been so beautiful? How had he never-

When she bent to her knees he forgot all thought, and instead pressed his hands against the grainy wood at their backs. Like this there was no god to pray to, not conflict to resolve.

They came together and apart again, and he pulled her upright so that he could kiss her firmly - smoothing hair from her face as he hoisted her around his hips.


Later, they awoke entangled in a fluffy bed - her legs strewn across his, her fingers curled into the curls of his chest.

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He was a man full of surprises. At first, she assumed he would melt under her touch, letting her do as she pleased and just enjoy the fact that he didn't have to be in control at all times — something that seemed a given, back in the Realm. Beyond that, Viridian also assumed he wasn't catching a whole lot of tail when living under Vodeva's roof, so having a partner that knew exactly what she wanted (and spared no expenses getting it, to boot) seemed much more his speed.

And still, he wasn't content to just sit back. It was a welcomed change of pace, one she easily fell into; though the mutt didn't mind doing all of the work, at least at first, it appeared as though they would share the load.

And share they did, coming together, pulling apart, in an ancient dance, as old as time.

By the time it was over, her head was no longer swimming in booze but beginning to ache as the start of a headache crept in, insidious and familiar. Normally, more alcohol would have been the remedy; but she found that having a warm body next to her almost did the trick, too, and one of these was a lot less expensive than the other.

She wasn't sure how long they'd slept; probably not for as long as it felt, if she had to guess, and Viridian groaned and stretched against his side, quite content with where she laid her head that night.

He was easier for her to handle than Eros. A lot easier. In a way, Iomair sort of reminded her of how Ierian had been that night once upon a time, but the similarities started and ended with them both having been at the mercy of strong drinks.

Viridian had not given much thought to anything beyond that. Forward-planning had never been a strong suit; it was a problem she would have liked to save for the morning.

Though she would not get much choice in the matter, she was soon to discover.

The door to the room creaked open, orange light spilling from the main room of La Roja into these comfortable, cramped quarters. She squinted, shielding her eyes with her arm, before a disgruntled voice called out to the pair of them.

"What the hell are you doing in here?"

Oh, for fuck's sake.

"What does it look like? Trying to sleep," she grumbled, laying her head back against Iomair's collar bone.

"Comfort Quarters are for paying customers of the Ladies of the Night," they reminded tersely, like they were the head honcho or something.

When she looked up again, looking quite bitchy in all honestly, she realized that they were, in fact, the head honcho or something.

"Oh, shit," she slammed an open hand against the King's chest, trying to rouse him. "Show's over, we gotta go."

She went around the room in a flurry — a feat, for as soon as she stood, the world began to rock and teeter — collecting their loose clothing strewn all about the place. They cleared their throat impatiently.

"Jesus, okay, we're going, we're going," Viri assured, shimmying into whatever she could before seeing Iomair lagging behind.

"Just carry it! C'mon — "

They finally tumbled out of the room, looking a frightful mess, before stumbling out of La Estrella, their arms full of whatever they couldn't put back on.

All the way out, the Cavalier had been laughing, finding humor in it all despite the fact she, probably, could never show her face again here (at least not for a few months before the regulars shifted out); not only this, but they were left outside in the cold, asses to the wind.

She shook her head with a chuckle, giving the man a mirthful beam with all of her teeth,

"I guess we, uh... weren't sneaky enough, huh?"


sig by Raze

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