i am not alone

Misery · 11-29-2010, 10:42 PM

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The thick forest seems to be set on stopping her progress. Tenacity is a defining trait of the D'Angelo female though, and through sheer stubbornness does she make her way. Each step is careful and measured - her form is fuller and better fed than it has been in years, but old bones ache - she doesn't want to risk a fall. Bright gold-green eyes peer out from her downy white face and she snarls briefly at a gnarled tree root that seems set on catching her and bringing her to the earth. Misery jabs at it with the carved stave she uses as a walking stick, laughing in a wicked, quiet little way. Tiny bits of vengeance always warm the hardest of hearts.

There is purpose to her venture. This is something that has been lacking for the mad woman in these years - oh yes, she has led the Khalif, yes, she is divine now - but this is family. You abandoned him. The whispered voice of Damian, beloved Damian always in her ear. "He will understand." The words are low and measured in her sweet voice, spoken to a ghost. His scent has been trailed and followed - her sight is failing and her muscles have grown weak but she can still find a trail - and soon her pretty little Lark will be before her again.

Fire burns in her soul. It has been years, ages since she has truly communed with Tak. Born in darkness, fur as black as the deepest of sins - age has turned her to downy whiteness. One ear is marred by charcoal, other patches stain her, but she is more white than black these days. Salvation. Damian whispers the word like a joke - she can hear that teasing, sweet laughter in his voice and it makes her shiver-shudder. They think she has been saved, her brother-cousins, her sister-aunts, they all think she has found her way to Ankh. But a soul born to the night never really learns to love the sun, her heart is his. The red-eyed god, the devil in the moon. Tak, Damian, they all run the same these wicked days. Thoughts of god slide away though as she approaches the cabin - Larkspur lives there, Larkspur yet another in a long line of pseudo-sons who hold her lonely heart.

Larkspur D'Angelo · 11-29-2010, 11:06 PM

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His dreams were always fretful things. Shadowy figures trespassed there, whispering in the dead language, whispering to him the things he has seen in the ini. It was dangerous to go there, but he has gone regardless. This is the only way he knows how to reach the earth-demon, the dark god that has spoken to him in a voice that would drive any sane man mad. He dreams of his king often, though the image is never solid. He has seen the ini and seen Tak’s eye through the burning pink light that it is.

Yet the dream changed today. The shadows parted, spinning back to wherever it was they came from, and he heard a voice that was not his, but her voice and it woke him with a start. Larkspur’s eyes opened wide, his pupils great dilated things, and he staggered from his makeshift bed and into the cold. It took him only seconds to find the woman in the graying forest. She might have been a ghost. He did not see anything but her, and a joyful puppy-like noise escaped him. The five year old rushed to her, seeking to see that she was truly real, not as she had been the last time she came to him.

Misery · 11-29-2010, 11:21 PM

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Puppy. The word is disdainful and Misery chases Damian's voice away - she does not have patience for his sour attitude. The sound is clear to her sharp ears and she grins, showing aged, worn teeth. He rushed to her like a child to its mother and Misery grinned, leaning her delicate weight on the carved stave. It was a present from Psyhke, the daughter of poor Anzu - Anzu who died so the boy before her bright eyes could live. She takes him in with warm affection, pulling him close for a hug. It has been far too long since she has seen this boy. He reminds her so much of Gin it makes her ache, and she wonders, so very often, what became of that boy.

"Tak has blessed you." The words escape her as a soft, warm murmur and she affectionately nips at one of his ears. Her black and white boy, so brave and bold. She loves him as deeply as she loved those children long ago - the long gone Poe and Samhain. Even thinking of them kills her and she wonders where all the time has gone. "You have done well, my little Lark." He looks happy and healthy, she is thrilled. There is a violence in him that worries her...that violence can attract unwelcome attention. "Tell me, what have you done?"

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Larkspur D'Angelo · 11-30-2010, 12:32 AM

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Her embrace, her scent and her warmth, it was the world. He closed his eyes against her pale fur, breathing in the scent that has been nothing less than savior and mother to him. To Misery and Misery alone Larkspur owed his life. His devotion to her was what the Khalif valued, even if they had scorned and hated him. It no longer mattered. The Khalif were not important here. All that mattered was his aunt-mother, and what she asked of him.

The words filled his heart, turned his head dizzy. Blessed. She knew. She could see the signs. He clutched her fur as gently as possible for such a brute and finally released with her praise. The tall man sat back, looking up to his aunt-mother with nothing less than devotion in his Jack-o-Lantern eyes. “As y’asked,” he replied. “Found ‘em. I found a boy who wanted t’learn. His blood ain’t right, but he’s eager. Found ‘is mother too, but she ain’t worth th’ time.”

He thought suddenly of Eris, and of her promise and demand. His destiny had not changed, but grown because of her. “I have a woman,” he added. “She’s gonna have my kids.”

Misery · 11-30-2010, 12:42 AM

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Roman had been a good boy. She had loved him and he had defended her, but her affections had been turned against him. Kaelyn had been a sour and unlikable woman and she had interfered with conspiracies that such a simple minded thing couldn't understand. Misery had found her an entirely stupid woman and so she held only contempt for the woman Roman had courted. Misery appreciated simple beasts - like her lovely Larkspur and her beloved Gin - but she had a profound hatred for the stupid. Perhaps it didn't make much sense, but the mad rarely did. Bad blood and a mother not worth the time spoke of the spawn of Roman and Kaelyn - she knew no other D'Angelo's who had not tasted the homeland.

"Good boy." Misery speaks those words with warm, earnest affection. He is a good boy. He knows his place and his purpose - and so often those things, even without her presence - are shaped by Misery's ghostly hands. Misery knows of the depths of love - she does not dream of and long for Damian for a lack of love. Everything before him was meaningless - every male she beds now is just as worthless. For Misery, true love is one and only, and she knows the power of love. She remembers the pyre and sometimes she misses the warmth. Larkspur loves her and for that, he will always belong to her. Anzu had been a good man, a sweet man, but he had not really loved her. His love was a spark compared to the flame of Damian de le Poer. "Blessed boy." She is very proud of him - Larkspur is damaged and dangerous but he can do normal things, important things like continuing the holy line. "You must let me meet this boy. And your woman, what is her name? What is her bloodline?"

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Larkspur D'Angelo · 11-30-2010, 01:00 AM

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It was no fault of his own that he was simple. His isolation as a boy had stunted any hope for a normal life. By the time he was meant to burn, he was nearly feral. Larkspur was almost a true wolf by then, coaxed only back to intelligence by a woman who had once sought her own demise. He loved her as truly and as purely as one could. Everything fell short after her—even the woman who carried his children, even the children she would give birth to. They would be nothing if Misery so demanded.

My life for you. He had whispered this to her as he fell to the ground, broken and bloodied, saved from the holy fire. Chosen. She had chosen him over all others. Bright eyed as a child, he smiled widely—the expression was both warming and terrible all at once. Larkspur had the makings of a monster in him. “I will bring him,” he said simply. The boy would come, even if Larkspur had to drag him from Dahlia de Mai. Conor had no power over him.

“Eris. Her family leads the coyote clan.” He did not know the name beyond this.

Misery · 11-30-2010, 01:18 AM

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Now make him roll over, Mis. Sometimes she wished she could conjure the dead so she could give him a firm smack. Her inner voice has ceased to be a reflection of herself - it is his voice, it will be his voice until her dying day. Her ears perk and a pleased grin creeps across her face. One scarred hand reaches up and briefly touched the rounded cross-charm that hangs around her delicate neck - Damian's necklace, rescued from a pyre - and she is thrilled. The leader of the coyote clan is de le Poer - she knows this from previous visits. Gabriel de le Poer if things have not changed, son of Kaena Lykoi and Ahren. She is beyond thrilled, she could feel herself growing nearly giddy with excitement. This is some of the best news she could have received. This girl is of Lykoi stock - she is fond of them, she finds Kaena to be an amazing creature - this is a choice she can be thrilled by.

"How long until they are here? And why does she not stay with you?" There is a slight edge to her tone, subtle and quiet. He should be tending to this Eris, keeping her well and strong. The children growing in her belly represent a unique union of lines if her guesses are correct - and they often are because Misery is meticulous. What Misery does not know is that this Eris is of Eternity stock, and she hates him so. He has not been the only male to touch her so violently, but something about him cut deeper than the others. But there is a part of her that is thankful to that mad man - it is what he has done to her that sparked rage from Damian, rage that drove him to send Salvaged away, rage that let Misery grow closer. "What is his name?"

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Larkspur D'Angelo · 11-30-2010, 01:26 AM

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Larkspur did not understand the weight of his choice. He heard the tone in her words and his ears turned back. Guilt welled up in him, and he looked down at his feet. How childish. He did not want to admit that he was not strong enough to do things alone. Even surviving this long was in large part to the can tah. Without it, he would not have found his courage. Unfortunately, this was also what might have driven him to be ousted from Dahlia de Mai.

“Th’boy’s name is Harlowe,” he answered first, still unable to look her in the eye. He felt as if he might have failed despite her praise, and doubted himself. “I can’t take care of her alone,” he began to explain, fiddling with the dying grass by his hands. “There ain’t no way I can take care of her and pups,” he added, frowning. He was one wolf. What could he do?

Misery · 11-30-2010, 06:21 PM

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Misery survived on her own because she had a way about her of making others want to take care of her. Perhaps it was because even on her healthiest of days, her form still looked deceptively fragile and frail. Generations of inbreeding and years of abuse could do that too one. She could survive from very little and was quite resourceful. As soon as his ears turned back she felt bad - he was very sensitive to her and her alone. She did not like causing him distress.

"Then you will find a pack and do your best to bring her to it." Simple and gentle, trying to soothe his unhappiness. Misery reaches a thin arm out, placing her scarred hand gently on his shoulder. She can remember well bearing Poe, Samhain, and Rune, and not so many months later, the unfortunate children with Damian. Without Chimera none would have survived...not that any of them really did, she knows four of them are gone, and is certain the other two have joined their dead brethren. "I am not disappointed, Larkspur. It is just important they are taken care of. I don't care if you love her or not, or what it is between the two of you, but for them to be raised with faith, you must keep your woman close, and keep them alive and well."

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Larkspur D'Angelo · 11-30-2010, 06:56 PM

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Certainly enough, her praise lightened his mood. It was almost immediate, as if a cloud had left the sun. His eyes burned with a hellish fire, gleaming with the madness of all fanatics. She was the closest thing to salvation he had. He would do whatever it took to please her. He listened and tried to form a plan, but the can tah’s frantic whispering told him what he all ready knew.

“The boy’s mother is forming a pack,” he said abruptly. “She probably ain’t gonna be happy to see me, but maybe…maybe y’could help me?” The children of a foolish woman might not be considered worthy, might not know of his aunt-mother’s power, but he believed that she would be capable of anything.

Misery · 12-01-2010, 02:54 AM

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This Harlowe's mother is making a home. Family ties, distant as they are, can tug at the hardest of hearts. She will play the frail old aunt-sister, whatever she is to this Harlowe's mother. Just what the tie is remains meaningless to Misery - but she will use it. Few wolves are liable to enjoy spurning family - especially a frail old thing like Misery. They assume her wise, they assume her useful - she has her uses true, but whether or not she is wise is up to debate. Most certainty Misery is as mad as a hatter, but the white lady is cunning as well. Terribly so.

"You will apologize." A soft, gentle command. "Its irrelevant if you mean it, but she must believe you do. I will play on my tie to her, I am old, and I can play the weak role well." A quiet snort as she looks at the walking stick. She remembers grabbing a stick a long time ago. Adder, looming over her most beloved Jude, she remembers the heavy weight of it. Damian's voice so furious, the way it felt connecting with his fool skull. Ending the bumbling male had felt wonderful - few things brought so much pleasure. "You will be my...caretaker. You will do what you must, through sweetness or force to bring Eris to whatever it is this Harlowe's mother is making." A thousand D'Angelo's can come, but it will never be Chimera. His voice is cruel, and she lets a barely perceptible shudder run through her. No, it is no Chimera. There will never be another Chimera and it kills her.

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Larkspur D'Angelo · 12-01-2010, 10:54 PM

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His aunt-mother would have been crowned as the whore of Babylon had any survived her. Few did. Larkspur knew this as certainly as he knew that she was magic. Why else would she have come now? He needed her and she had arrived. There was most certainly magic within her. The language of the dead had opened Larkspur’s eyes to the world of magic that he had not been aware of until then.

A nod. He would do as she asked. “I will find her,” he promised. There was a long pause. Finally, his tail wagged behind him. “Will you stay?” He asked, that same fanatical light blazing in his eyes.

Misery · 12-04-2010, 01:38 AM

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Larkspur obeys without a thought to consequence. His drive to please her is vast, and most adored. She knows she could use and abuse him...she is not above using him. But she will not abuse her beloved little Lark. He is precious and loved because he is the only one left to her really, and the loss of her children, birthed and adopted leaves an ache in her. Poe, Samhain, the devil three, Gin, Ahren...so many lost. So many gone. The children of Anzu scattered to the four winds. Her loneliness is desperate, it is all consuming.

"Until God calls for me." Maybe death, maybe another purpose. She does not know and she does not care to know. God is good, god is cruel. When he calls - she obeys. Larkspur understands, Larkspur alone understands the word of God. Of Tak and his whispering tongue that sounds like madness...and sweet, soft lullabies. God is dead, Misery. The words are spoken in his whispering voice that she longs to hear. Quietly she thinks back, no, my Crimson King, you are. And while Damian is many things, he is not God. Not to anyone but her.

Larkspur D'Angelo · 12-05-2010, 04:06 AM

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She was right in knowing he understood. Larkspur understood what it was to be chosen, even if he was not the first, not touched by Tak. He heard the earth-king’s voice, he spoke in the language of the dead, but he was not given the gifts that Misery had received. It was her that had been chosen, her alone that would lead the future in the image he believed it needed to follow.

The ultimatum was accepted with the same blind devotion he had always shown her. He nodded and turned his face to her, orange eyes gleaming. He smiled widely, a ferocity, a dumb sort of danger in his face, and spoke only once more. “My life for you,” he said quietly, as if to remind her of the things he had promised her, things that she knew he believed ultimately.

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