You will be the death of me

[Ocèane]

POSTED: Sun Sep 21, 2014 4:02 pm

+500 because this reminds me of them, yeahhhhhh >:D

See Wiki for credit.

Autumn was descending on the forest, sweeping tendrils of red and gold into the withering leaves. Domovoi stared up at them through a curtain of disheveled curls. His pale eyes were bleary, bloodshot. He couldn't focus well on the light filtering in through the canopy, so he let his glassy stare wander elsewhere. His breath was faintly visible as wisps of fog.

He became distantly aware of a rough sensation against his back. Tree bark; he was sitting leaned against a tree bole, otherwise he would topple over, right? Another sensation buzzing around his clouded mind was that his knuckles hurt. His eyes eventually settled on staring at his hands, which were puffy and crusted with blood. He had… punched something, probably. Judging by the splinters, the tree he had fallen against. Presumably he hadn't gone off to attack Inferni or Anathema, or the blood wouldn't only be his own. He couldn't remember a thing from last night. Or the night before. Or where he even found the liquor.

The wolfdog inhaled the crisp fall air, then winced. He reeked of vomit and piss, and oh god, his head. His skull only pounded this horribly after a binge – and the only thing that would take the edge off was more drink. He'd been resisting the poison for so long, thought he'd been doing better for his AniWayan family… he blamed Anathema for this relapse, not that they cared. Amorette and Olivia were tearing him apart, and did either of them even know? Of course not, when he was too cowardly to do anything but shout at them and then drink alone in the woods.

He groaned, shutting his eyes and letting his fingers grope blindly for the hard edge of a nearby bottle. He was in no mood to figure out where the hell he was or where he should go from here.

Ninovan's eyes were fathomless pools of black ink, radiating her fury and disgust. She had warned him against "just one sip", knowing full well how the addict's control would crumble. The wolverine's pelt fluffed to double her size, her tail a rigid bottle brush as she ran. She was not his keeper. She had faith that he was better than this, but she would not waste her time lecturing him when he was in such a state. She had no patience to deal with this side of him, but she would find someone who could knock some sense into him.

She already knew who she was looking for, and rippled into view before the Great Fire. Domovoi would be humiliated to be seen in this state by the dancer he obsessed over, but she was the only one whose opinion he cared enough about to have an effect on him. Uncomfortable and moody under the eyes of another, the finicky spirit guide hesitated for just a moment before speaking in her rough voice.

Gata Hineyu, I have need of you, she stated formally. Her chin rose in a subtle gesture of pride, an internal struggle as she asked for help. I am Ninovan… The fool has done something stupid and can't find his way back home.

Her words were tense and angry, but it was obvious the wolverine was worried as well. Follow me. I will take you to him.


User avatar
Miyu
Luperci
sentiment
endlessly
I'LL SAVE YOUR BONES

POSTED: Mon Sep 22, 2014 11:53 pm

At first, his absence had been a reprieve. She needn’t worry about finding his eyes in the territory, she needn’t worry about seeing him and avoiding him. Océane was free for a few hours, free to walk confidently and without guilt.

But the hours turned into days. And the days turned into a week. And then the freedom was gone. Something else took its place, something darker, something heavy, something terrible. Worry.

Domovoi often vanished for a few days. He couldn’t stay bound to AniWaya for too long, just like Océane couldn’t. She related to his wanderlust, to his need to get away. She knew he was probably drunk somewhere, probably with someone. She knew he would come back. So she didn’t care. She even looked forward to his short absences, because then there was no space between them to be charged with electricity. The air was sweet and clean. But he was never gone for more than a week. AniWaya called him back. She called him back, even if it was just mentally.

He was dead. She knew he was dead. He’d cracked, he’d finally killed himself with a knife or with alcohol poisoning. She’d seen the signs, the way he talked about himself like he was nothing more than mouse droppings, and she knew it could happen. She’d just had too much faith in him to stop it. And now he was dead, and it was her fault, and he was dead, and it was her fault.

The fire was cold. She sat at the very cusp of the Great Fire, the singing smell of burning fur in her nose, certain that most would have long since moved away by now. Certain that anybody else would have caught on fire. But she was this close, and she couldn’t get warmer. She was cold. She was so cold. Just a few more inches, and she would catch on fire. Fur was very flammable. But something stopped her. Some second sense, some displacement of the air around her, ever so slight. Océane whipped her head around, and there stood the wolverine. His wolverine. Numbness encompassed her, because she was so sure the Spirit Guide was here to give her the news. But she didn’t.

Several seconds after the message was delivered, she was frozen. Disbelieving. And then she was on her feet and she was in her den. How’d she gotten there? She couldn’t remember. She’d probably run. Then she had her satchel, and she was filling it with bandages and the small handful of herbs she had stored in her den, and then she was outside again, and then she was running, she was running, running after the steady stripe on Ninovan’s back.

* * *

The trees had become a blur. A blur of brown and green, and then there was a splash of gray. A sharp line of blue. She stopped, realizing the spirit guide had stopped, too, and she rounded the tree. And there he was.

Océane dropped to her knees in front of him, her eyes bright, her eyes feverish. She reached a hand forward, slowly, carefully, and caressed his face in it. Her fingers fluttered over his throat, finding his pulse. His heart was beating. It was fluttering, but it was beating. He was breathing raggedly, the smell of alcohol on his breath, but he was breathing. Something wet was on her cheeks, and she realized she’d been crying silently. “Oh my god, Domovoi.” She whispered.

And then all of the gentleness was gone. That one minute of all the tenderness in all the world that had been held in her eyes was vanished, and she tore the bottle from his hand. She chucked it, and it shattered loudly against the nearby tree, shards of ice falling like glitter to its roots. “Get up.” She ordered, and then grabbed him beneath the arms, hauling him to his feet.

((653)) I love this already

Océane Aston

User avatar
Ann
Luperci the rules of paradise are never nice
I want your fears, your hopes
the whole kaleidoscope

POSTED: Thu Oct 30, 2014 12:27 am

+300

See Wiki for credit.

His head lolled as he drifted somewhere between wakefulness and dreaming. It was not a comfortable rest. There were aches and pains throbbing all over his lanky body, but the worst was his pounding skull. He knew from experience that he couldn't actually sleep with a hangover that fierce. All he could do was fight the nausea, because if he started to vomit again, the sudden movement would cause the pressure in his head to explode.

His blindly crawling fingers found the cold glass surface of the bottle, and ever-so-gently he managed to pull it toward his chest, cradling it to reassure himself. The antidote to his poison was more poison. Funny how that worked. His eyes were still screwed shut when the sounds of someone crashing through the fallen leaves reached him. Dom did not move. He looked like a corpse, and at that point, that was what he really wanted to be. He would be passed over by whatever approached. He did not see Ninovan's look of contempt before the spectral wolverine vanished to wherever unwanted spirit guides went.

It wasn't until warm breath and the light touch of fingers against his bared throat that he stirred. A pleasant scent cut through the ugly reek clinging to him. A hoarse moan escaped his lips, because then he knew he must be dreaming after all. She would never come looking for him. Bleary eyes struggled open, blinked in confusion. The comforting hue of chocolate-brown fur was so close. He wanted to stroke her hair like he used to, but his leaden arms were too heavy.

Dom reacted sluggishly to the bottle being wrenched from his grasp. He lurched forward and cried out at the deafening explosion of glass that reverberated through his skull. Nnnng, was all he managed to grunt before sinking his face into his hands, but there were fingers clawing at him, forcing him upward.

Stoppit, the wolfdog protested weakly, slumping his weight against the tree. I left Anathema alone... so just leave me to die, he added, his arm slung over her shoulders for support. His legs were buckling, head hanging low. If she let him go, he would crumple like a puppet with its strings cut.


User avatar
Miyu
Luperci
sentiment
endlessly
I'LL SAVE YOUR BONES

POSTED: Fri Nov 28, 2014 6:08 pm

The stench of alcohol was so strong, it made even Ocèane’s stomach turn. It was a wonder her wasn’t already dead; she could see that he’d consumed much more than any with even the slightest sense of self-preservation would have. Had she not thrown the last of it, he would have downed it, and those last licks of poison may have been enough to bring him the darkness he was so desperately trying to find. It made her so deeply, terribly sad- yet it also was what sparked her anger. She didn’t bother trying to be gentle with him as she hauled him to his feet. If he had endured so much alcohol, he could endure her sharp claws under his arms.

He was too drunk to make sense of left and right, so she didn’t bother to try and conceal her frustration or fear. She didn’t bother to wipe the cold tears from her face or steady her shaking hands, nor did she try and method of calming down. She didn’t bother to keep her tongue in check, and everything she thought flowed easily from her mouth. “You just don’t get it, do you?” Ocèane let her overwhelming senses of relief, fear, disgust, and sadness fester in the pit of her stomach. She was long past thinking straight or acting rational, which could contribute to her reasoning- or lack thereof- for dumping him in a freezing cold river.

She’d seen the peacefully burbling stream, and she knew it would be cold. Cold enough, even, to perhaps shock Domovoi from his drunken stupor. The Ayastigi was heavy on her shoulders, but adrenaline was still fresh in her veins, and she didn’t waste any time pulling him to the shore, finding a deep patch of water, and dropping him in it. Cold water sprayed from the stream, soaking Ocèane’s shins and creating a pool of mud where she stood, yet she didn’t seem to notice or care.

Ocèane was not about to kill him from hypothermia when she’d just saved him from alcohol, so once he began to sink, she lunged forward and gripped him by the armpits, her own forearms quickly growing numb from the chill, and dragged him from the water where she let him fall heavily in the puddle of mud she was kneeling in, managing to successfully coat them both in muck. It didn’t change much of Ocèane’s appearance besides darken her beige fingers, but Domovi appeared dirtier than he had been even moments before. At least he didn’t smell like piss and vomit anymore, she thought.

The Hineyu then keeled forward and tucked her arms to her chest, burying her face in her knees. She allowed herself ten seconds of hitched breathing and senseless tears before straightening, wrapping her arms around her middle, and taking deep breaths. When she was somewhat calm, she rinsed her still-shaking hands in the river and opened her satchel. She was vaguely surprised that her bandages had not been muddied, but the emotion seemed so small and insignificant she barely noticed any feeling at all. Then, numbly, she reached forward and began to clean and bandage Domovoi’s broken knuckles.

((500+))

Océane Aston

User avatar
Ann
Luperci the rules of paradise are never nice
I want your fears, your hopes
the whole kaleidoscope

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