reynthrough

[reynthrough]

[reynthrough]

hey babes. Just letting yall know I'm alive, and Lavender and Raf will be back soon. work has been crushing me. ✨️

[reynthrough]

Read only Memories: v5

Excited!! Plot is starting to plot!! As always, I love to hear from yall. Please let me know what you think!

Taglist: @helios-eyre

Curtains rustling and the faint, dull roar of the distant tide was all that Lavender could hear within the abrupt silence left in his wake.  Of all of the possible scenarios she could’ve imagined after sharing the secret of her Evol with someone other than her sister for the first time, being dubbed a friend of Lemuria was not on her bingo card.

The weight of everything left unsaid hung from her shoulders, dragging her to sit back down on the couch.  She had half expected to be granted a measure of some kind of depraved mercy, to be consumed by the iridescent bloodlust that flickered in his eyes.  Lavender now understood why her confession had elicited such a response from him;  she was well informed about Lemuria - or, as informed as anyone could be about a long-dead civilization and all the mysteries surrounding it.  Before letting her mind wander too far into that particular rabbit hole, she needed to go home.  She had to work tonight and really didn’t want to run the risk of inciting this man’s ire any more than she already had.

Inspired by her responsibilities, she shrugged the robe off and started gathering her things.  Her lips pursed at the sight of her ruined dress and decided that she’d just have to .. borrow the clothes on her back for a little longer.  

Her mind was still working too fast with all that had transpired.  She kicked half-heartedly at her shoes, groaning audibly.  She had a deep, sinking feeling that the man who had fled in such haste would occupy her mental real estate much more than she was comfortable with in the coming days.  She glanced around the room, really taking it in for the first time, silently willing it to spill some secrets, some hints or indications about the identity of the dusk haired enigma.  Her inquiring footsteps halted rather abruptly as a pang of guilt rippled through her.  Whoever he is, he had garnered her respect in the short time she'd known him.  “Ah, well” she thought.  She wasn't sure why, but she was certain that she’d come to know more about him whether she liked it or not.

Compelled to linger just a little longer against her better judgement, she carefully collected their coffee mugs and made her way to the kitchen pensively;  she half expected her host to reappear at any moment.  She washed and dried their mugs, turned off the forgotten coffee pot, and borrowed a crumpled paper lying on the counter.  Unfolding it and smoothing out what seemed to be an abandoned grocery list, likely discarded because the handwriting was nigh on illegible, she scribbled a note of thanks and returned to the sun room.  She took great care folding the robe she’d borrowed neatly and left it stacked on top of her note.  It was time to go.

Tonight, Lavender was working at The Nest.  The facility was firmly in the N109 zone, but even so, the clientele that could enter such a place was severely limited.  Here, the real powerhouses came to talk business.  Major players from any affiliation were welcome here - provided, of course, that they followed the rules.  Violence of any kind was strictly forbidden upon entry.  Failure to abide by this singular tenant would result in a fate worse than death.  Lavender had heard tales of those who deemed themselves above this rule, all of whom had not only lost their lives, but also their legacies.  Each was wiped off the map with deliberate ease.  

Membership to The Nest was not something you could obtain simply because you wished for it.  You were chosen.  An invitation here was arguably the most coveted item that money couldn’t buy; Lavender still was uncertain how she managed to get hired to work here, but she wasn’t one to let an opportunity like this slip by.  Before she’d realized it, the position here had become indispensable to her - a veritable treasure trove of all the people that she needed to rub shoulders with in order to get a lead on her missing sister.  Now, she was allowed to work two nights per week.  It had taken her two years to be granted even that much.  She didn’t complain.

The familiar rhythm of crafting fine cocktails was something that soothed her - the meticulous preparation of ingredients and garnishes, arranging flavors and elements just so, the ritual of combining her efforts and seeing them to fully to fruition, and even the endless polishing of glasses all served as the closest approximation to meditation she ever had.  Within this clarity, her ears were free to listen to the world around her; each new combination of people revealed something as yet unknown to the rest of the world.  Remaining impassive was an unappreciated art, she thought.  In this place, the employees were meant to be seen and not heard; you only spoke if you were spoken to.  And so it was.

Another quiet night passed, wholly uneventful.  She was privately grateful for the reprieve.  The hangover she’d woken with and everything that had happened in between was crashing down on her as she stepped out into the alley.

The shadows sprung to life and fell into stride beside her. The panic that involuntarily flooded her veins was not evident in her expression, nor the relaxed gait of body language. Crow masks, in unison, tilted slightly towards her in what she knew was a respectful greeting. She also knew they were being unusually considerate and giving her time to collect herself, waiting for her to speak first.

For her part, Lavender’s thoughts were a wreck. Whatever reason brought them to her was almost certainly one she didn’t want to hear, be subjected to, or take part in. Although, the faint glimmer of a possibility that it was good news was one she couldn't ignore.

Luke and Keiran were two of the only four people in the world that Lavender and Amelia could think of as something like family. After all, the pairs of twins both survived that place together, escaped together. Maybe because they were both sets of twins, she and her sister always felt closer to them than the other duo that had escaped with them. The absence of her other half was never more sorely apparent than it was when she was in their company.  They knew that, too, although it'd never been spoken aloud. Probably because they understood the connection between them, the boys had given her a wide berth over the years. Lavender was aware that they, too, were working in the N109 zone, and for someone who held an enormous amount of influence here, at that.  She never asked who.  She trusted that they would bring her any leads, should they have them. And that was enough.

The silence was beginning to consume her, the anticipation and anxiety of it was beginning to fracture her mind.

With a deep sigh, she stopped walking abruptly, and said, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“To whom, I think?”

“To whom, definitely.”

Lavender pinched the bridge of her nose, ignoring the snarky quips the twins somehow always had ready. “Is the whom Amelia, by any chance?”

They stilled instantly, looking at each other and then back to her. They shook their heads slowly.

“No, Lav.”

“Sorry, Lav.”

She took a steadying breath, the disappointment already flooding her stomach despite her effort to not get her hopes up. “I see. Well then. It was good seeing you both, but I'm heading home now.  Please take care. You apparently know where to find me if you hear anything about her.” She spun on her heels to depart, but she didn't make it two steps before they were in front of her again.

“Of course we do! We gotta look out for you, after all!” Luke said, grabbing her shoulders to still her.

“Don't be so cold, Lav.  We just came to deliver a request.” Keiran sulked, kicking at a rock that wasn't there. 

“Didn't you miss us too?”

“Lav, we really missed you.  A lot.”

Even though she couldn’t see their faces, she knew the pleading expression they were making.  Despite herself, even in the few moments in their presence was soothing an ache she’d forgotten she had.  Pausing for dramatic effect, she ran her tongue over her teeth weighing their company against this ominous request they’d brought to her.  The boys’ confidence was beginning to waver, their shoulders stiffening, and she barked out a laugh.  Groaning, she said “Of course I did.  I always do.”

The boys leapt into motion immediately, like excited puppies allowed to go on a walk, each wrapping an arm around her shoulders.  Laughing, oddly child-like, the trio disappeared down the alley.

The boys took her home dutifully.  Along the way they explained that their commission was from their boss; it was nothing too difficult, just a task he’d asked the twins to take care of - they’d just not known where to look.  “Boss” was looking for an alien prince.  Lavender laughed heartily, but when they didn’t join in, her laughter faded.  “Sorry, wait.  No, sorry, what?  You can’t be serious.”  Concern furrowed her brow, her eyes flicking between them.  “Guys, if you need new jobs… I can help.  Your boss doesn’t sound… well.”  Sympathetically, she patted their shoulders.

Now it was the twins' turn to erupt in a cacophony of laughter.  

“Ah, Lav, you really - ah!  You really are the best.”

“Right?  Right?!  We should hang out more often!” Luke chimed in, catching his breath.

“We’re being serious though, Lav.”

“Said what we said, Lav.”

Lavender blinked rapidly.  “An alien prince.  Royalty.  From space?”

“Now you’re gettin it.”

“You still got it, Lav!”

Arriving at her home, she hopped out of the nondescript SUV and tilted her head at them, now thoroughly unamused.  “Sooo, should I look for like, crowned tentacles?  Or are we feeling more of the ‘bejeweled little green man’ variety?”

The twins waving goodbye emphatically, still laughing boyishly, just said, “We’ll be in touch, Lav!” In perfect unison.

Lavender watched their car leave, the after image lingering, the chill left in their absence settling again familiarly to her pale skin.  Shaking it off, shoulders sagging with barely contained exhaustion, she walked the block to her small apartment building.

Tiny meows drew her attention just before she opened the door to home.  Unable to contain her curiosity, she followed the sound through the trees in the back yard.  Her hair began to stand on end, and she paused, her instincts screaming to stop and look closely.

In the clearing up ahead, a young man lounged against a tree.  His chest was gently rising and falling, obviously asleep.  Something so serene was making it impossibly more precious - an army of tiny kittens draped over him, on him, climbing his shirt, playing in his hair.  Lavender didn’t notice that her bottom lip poked out just a little while she watched a particularly curious kitten chase after a firefly.

Ripping her gaze from the scene she’d unknowingly intruded upon, she quietly made her way back out of the woods and finally, finally went home.

[reynthrough]

Read Only Memories: v4

Note:

warning: violence, implied kidnapping, light mentions of captivity.

I did my best to cover the scope of the scene without going into sordid details. I think I still conveyed what I was trying to.

Describing experiencing Lavender's Evol is hard!! It took so long for me to write and edit this because I wrestled with it so long. I'm definitely open to criticism if you have it.

That all being said, I so appreciate your comments - it helps keep me motivated, and almost always makes my day. Thank you for reading. :) let me know if you want to be added to the tagliatelle.

Taglist: @helios-eyre

x posted on AO3!

------------------------------------------------------

Rafayel was disoriented.  

He was no longer looking at the bizarre and beautiful companion he’d acquired.  Nor was he looking at his studio at all.  The edges of his vision were fuzzy, his periphery laced in what might have been refracted light - blurred, faded rainbows etched within static.  He didn’t have time to dwell on the particulars, though; he was not in control.  His body - if he even had a body - would not listen, and he remembered what she’d said.  He was watching a memory.  

His vision was full of a small, run down studio apartment.  It was so Spartan - no clutter, no sign of life aside from two duffel bags neatly stacked at the foot of the bed, a bookbag, and a picture frame that was turned away.  The owner of the memory was rolling a pendant in their hand.  An intricate star cut from a diamond hung from a silver thread.  He watched his vessel fasten the necklace while walking to the bathroom.  A mirror hung above a too-small sink showed a reflection - he was Lavender.  She was checking herself out, but not in a way that was appraising.  No, it was quite critical, he thought to himself.  She was calculating whether this look ticked all of the boxes she was aiming to tick - and in his humble opinion, there was no reality where the vision of her like this was unsatisfactory.  The (now iconic) red dress that lay abandoned on his floor looked incredible on her.  She applied matching lipstick, finalizing her look, and “they” were out the door.

Just like this, Rafayel watched her night play out.  She’d gone to an upscale restaurant that he’d recognized as being the one that was several miles down the beach from him. There, she sat at the bar, constantly scanning the crowd, searching for someone.  After what felt like hours, Lavender seemingly saw something that made her move.  She “accidentally” stumbled into the back of someone that sent molten lava through Rafayel’s veins.  Raymond.

Horrified, livid, a litany of emotions thrummed through him - he was increasingly aware of how helpless he was in this state, trapped in the passenger seat of her consciousness.  Mentally, he was thrashing trying to escape.

Torturous hours passed.  He watched as Lavender took her time wrapping the very same vile man that he’d spent months planning to eradicate around her finger.  She fed him drinks, laughed at every humorless joke, leaned in close at all the right moments.. Until finally suggesting they go home together.  She simply had to see his collections that he’d spent the evening trying to impress her with.  

Rafayel’s white hot rage condensing to a chilling, patient simmer afforded him some clarity of thought.  He realized that he was watching her lure his target.  Successfully.  In a single night.  Now, he watched in awe of her;  seemingly effortlessly, she was able to achieve something that he’d worked tirelessly to bring to fruition.  Raymond was a notoriously paranoid and careful creature.  A bonafide recluse.  She must’ve known this and capitalized on an opportunity Rafayel himself had not gotten wind of.  Truly impressive.

Brimming with curiosity, Rafayel observed the pair board an exuberantly expensive yacht and travel to an island that was much too close to his home for comfort.  They walked inside, and Lavender was immediately searching for something - unbeknownst to Raymond.  They toured the manor together, Raymond’s boasting positively ceaseless about the “treasures” he’d acquired over the years, the wheres and hows of his acquisitions.  As he was rambling on, immersed in his hubris, Lavender put a deliberate hand on his shoulder.

Rafayel’s senses were once again under siege.  The now familiar feeling of his skin being too tight, squeezing him forcefully into another perspective, the shift - the excessive disorientation of watching a memory within a memory left him feeling sick.  It was different this time, though - he was living Lavender’s experience of Raymond’s memories, and the distinction was dramatic.  

Moments flashed in Rafayel’s mind: Raymond, paying thugs to find him silver haired women.  Raymond, receiving a young silver haired girl.  Raymond, dragging her to his basement.  Raymond, chaining her to the wall.  Raymond, collecting samples of her blood.

Then the squeeze of his consciousness again - blessedly back to living in only Lavender’s memory.

Rafayel could kiss her.  Lavender wasted no time smashing Raymond’s skull into the nearest statue - not quite killing him, but definitely rendering him unconscious.  She dragged the bastard into the basement behind her, stopping only to fish keys from his pocket.  With haste, Lavender unlocked the girl’s bindings and cradled her to her chest, ferrying her outside as quickly as she could manage.  

Carefully, tenderly, Lavender soothed the girl, her face in her hands, whispering words of comfort, promises of safety, taking the time to cover the trembling teenager in verbal sureties.  In a final gesture of trust, Lavender smiled at her and pulled some of her own hair from her updo and wiggled it at the teen - a silent show of solidarity.  Satisfied, she sprinted back to the basement where she’d left her victim.  She still had a score to settle.

Naturally, she repaid him in kind on behalf of the girl.  Raymond was now fully clad in chains, thick swaths of blood painting his wretched face.  Lavender’s hands twitched with the desire to end him here and now.  She took a deep, shuddering breath - carefully compressing her bloodlust - and returned to the girl.  She’d send someone to deal with Raymond later.

Rafayel can barely remember the rest.  His every waking thought is fixated on that basement, on the abandoned prize he simply must obtain.  Raymond had a blood price to pay to him, to his family, and that reckoning was coming tonight.

Somewhere in his haze, he felt his consciousness squeeze again.  His eyes fluttered open, his mouth agape - the sun glittering in Lavender’s silver hair made his eyes well with tears.  She was astonishing.  He tried to find the words to express all of the thoughts tumbling within him, but was crushed by the weight of them, the volume of them, the impossible depth of them.  Instead, he fell to his knees before her, reverently taking her hands in his own despite the way his trembled before gently raising her knuckles to his forehead and pressing them there.  Rising slowly, dragging her gaze to his, he placed a single kiss to the back of her hand.  He bowed low to her.

“I owe you a debt greater than you shall ever know.”  He rose, placing a fist over his heart before continuing to speak.  “Many do.  My people will not forget this.  You have a friend in all of Lemuria.”

Lavender studied him closely, unsure what to make of this declaration.  Before she could speak again, she was interrupted.

“Make yourself at home.  I suddenly have somewhere to be quite urgently.  Hope you understand.”

Lavender gaped, her host vanishing before she could form a coherent thought.  She never even got his name.  

Typical.

[reynthrough]

Read Only Memories: v.3

Note: I'm working on formatting - I've never used tumblr like this before, so I appreciate your patience!!

Taglist: @helios-eyre

Lavender remained in place for a long time, the lingering after-image of his retreating form haunting her thoughts.  She wondered if she’d made a mistake in making that promise to him.  It was impulsive, innate, instinctual - entirely uncharacteristic of her.  The tingling in her leg reminded her that she’d been stationary for much too long.  Banishing the ghost of him, she rose at last; her fingertips lightly trailed over the plush towel and preposterously soft clothes laid out for her.  Each of his thoughtful actions and kind gestures chipped away at her simmering anxiety.  

A scalding shower was enough to soothe her miserable bones.  Now somewhat human and realizing she’d kept her host waiting much longer than intended, she made quick work of getting dressed; the t-shirt fit more like a dress, and the gym shorts didn’t stand a chance - she made it work by affixing the loose fabric on her hip with her hair tie.  Notably refusing to abandon the beautiful blue robe wrought with heaven itself, she exited the bathroom and was delighted by a pair of fluffy shark slippers waiting for her just outside the door.  She’d never really experienced kindness being offered simply for the sake of being kind, and it left her feeling untethered.  Untethered, but, the encroaching warmth in her stomach was undeniable.

Rafayel was doing his best to be Casual made flesh; he’d been swapping positions on the couch, unable to decide which posture would make him look the least eager.  His eagerness eventually abated into impatience - what was she doing up there, anyway?  He could only assume that her showers required her to wash each hair, one at a time, just to piss him off.  He’d fully resigned into anxious indignation, all crossed arms and furrowed brows, practically bristling on the edge of his couch when a voice wrenched him igneous soliloquy.

“Um… hi.  Thank you for letting me use your shower, and for the clothes, and for just .. being so kind, and..”  The tips of her fingers throbbed, vying for her attention; her incessant picking around her nails had sprung forth a trickle of deep crimson.  Pausing long enough to gather herself,  she regained her refined cadence and continued more slowly.  “Sorry.  Thank you, for everything.  You’ve been incredibly hospitable.  I’m not sure that I could or that I even would have done the same in your position.”  Not meeting his eyes, a small smile adorned her lips.  She tucked her hands behind her back, lingering at the foot of the stairs—waiting for permission to be in his vicinity.

Any trace of any of the feelings he was having until five seconds ago evaporated.  Rafayel rolled his eyes and waved her off.  “Seriously?  Anyone would’ve done the same.  You flatter me too much.  Why are you just standing there?  Come, sit.  Stay a while, you know?”  He leaned forward, sipping from a coffee mug that had the word “MINE” painted across it.  Rafayel tilted his head toward a second steaming cup on the table that simply read “ALSO MINE”.  He quirked his brow ever so slightly, waiting.  

Lavender glided silently over to the couch, gratefully accepting the caffeine.  If she didn’t know any better, she’d swear the words on her mug were still wet, as if they’d just been painted.  Curiosity wholly piqued, her index finger reached out to test her theory.  

Rafayel coughed, sputtering on his coffee.  He threw his hand out to snatch her wrist.  In a fit of dramatics, he pretended to be actually choking in a not-so-subtle attempt to divert her attention from the wet paint.  He only had time to register her eyes going wide in shock, her body already a flurry of motion in her valiant attempt to save him.  Before he could blink, she was all over him - yanking one of his arms over his head, furiously patting his back with a surprising amount of strength.  Now actually choking on his spit surprise, he twisted out of her grasp, quickly evading her attempts to *save* him.

“I’m – *cough* – i’m fine.  Forget it.  Don’t say *cough* anything.”  He moved a safe distance away, choosing to sit in the recliner adjacent to the couch, eyeing her with mock suspicion.  “Don’t look at me like that.”  He crossed his arms, positively sulking, and huffed.  “Enough about me, anyway.  You got somethin to tell me, sugar?”

Lavender’s cheeks puffed slightly, thoroughly amused.  Disantly, she wondered how long it’d been since she’d last laughed.  She pushed the thought aside and pressed her lips together, considering where to begin.

“Are you certain?  I could just tell you I had a long night.”  A lingering silence hung between them.  She took her time carefully choosing her words.  Eventually, laden with resignation and regret, she spoke quietly. “A lie would be prettier.”  She fixed him with her gaze, leaving the choice wholly up to him.

Rafayel idly ran his thumb over his lip, his rapt attention on her pensive posture.  He could not parse out what story was about to tumble from her delicate lips.  The apprehension radiating from her forced his imagination to the darkest places.  Leaning forward, exuding every bit of his strength and grace, he tilted his head at her and tutted.  “Perish the thought.  In this house, we require the truth, the whole truth, and nothin but the truth.. Even if it hurts.  No, especially if it hurts.  I’m listening.  Go ahead.”

Settling in, she cleared her throat and began in earnest.

She started from the beginning, as most stories do.  She explained that which he already suspected; she worked in the underground with many of the most notorious groups and figures there - none of whom had the honor of having her loyalty, of course.  Neither do they know her motives.  They do not care to ask, anyway.  Her skills were such that her affiliation was of no importance.  In the right circles, this was a well known fact; she was incredibly proficient at obtaining the most elusive information. This made her a staple figure at many establishments on the edge of the N109 zone. 

Something looking like disgust was dripping from her voice as she tried to convey that living like this was an unfortunate circumstance for her, but one that was unavoidable.  She simply has always had a singular goal, and this was what was required of her to achieve it.

This admission rendered her silent for another few moments.  Internally, she was wrestling herself; she’d never spoken any of this out loud before.  A torrent of emotions flooded her veins.  Ascribing a name to those feelings - looking at them too long - would be catastrophic for her.  So she just… didn’t.  She kept moving, as she always has.

Something about this circumstance forced her to surrender.  Maybe it was always lurking just underneath.  Maybe she was about to burden her enigmatic companion with all the truths she was tired of shouldering alone.  Apologetically, she looked into the deep blue and rose eyes across from her, and continued.

10 years.  10 years she’d thrown herself into a world she despised, doing unspeakable things - things that kept her up at night, that stole her dreams, that rendered her hollow.  10 agonizing years.  Despite how she was sought after and praised for her skills, they did absolutely nothing for her.  10 years and she hadn’t found a trace of the one person she was looking for.

Ripping herself from that reverie, she squirmed in her seat, clearing her throat again.  Her voice sounded much smaller, thick with exhaustion. 

One way of keeping her fingers on the pulse of information was by tending the bar at a particularly upscale bar called Lux.  This position afforded her access to endless information - after all, liquor does loosen lips.  Last week, she’d overheard a man desperately begging another for a favor.  His daughter had gone missing, and he was willing to do anything to find her.  Cruelly, he was mocked, berated, and ejected in that order - nothing too unusual, really.. It happened all the time.

His pleas haunted her, though.  She resonated with his desperation, feeling a reflection of herself in them.  Over the next few days, it consumed her.  She was driven with desire to find his daughter for him, as if helping him would be her salvation - truthfully, though, she thinks she just needed to prove to herself that she could find someone.  After all, she had no results to show for herself.

Lavender, growing more exhausted by the second, took a good long look at Rafayel.  Studying him carefully, her eyes roved over him, notating every detail - dissecting him. 

The minutes passed by, and Rafayel was growing impatient.  Why had she stopped?  As if she could read her mind, she silenced his protests before he could launch into the tirade simmering at the edge of his tongue.

She offered him a small smile.  “So, should I keep going?”

Rafayel blinked rapidly, obviously confused.  Flabbergasted, he whined at her.  “Are you joking?  You’re kidding right now.  You can’t stop there.  Absolutely not.  No freaking way.  It was just getting good, though?”

Lavender’s lips curled up, mustering the closest thing she could find to a laugh.  She pat the seat beside her, beckoning him over.  He, of course, obliged - perhaps a little too quickly.  She hummed, getting ready to do something she was sure she’d regret later.

“I won’t tell you the rest.”

His brows shot up his forehead, and then furrowed.  Again, she silenced him before he could throw a fit.

“I will show you, instead.”

She waited, delighting in the changes of expression cycling rapidly across his ridiculously handsome face.   “My evol.”  She answered the question he wanted to ask.

“Are you reading my mind right now?  Is that your evol?  Oh.. oh god.”  His hands flew to his head, as if they would protect him from psychic powers.  He peeked at her through the crook of his elbow, trying to sound convincing.  “I gotta say, you really, really shouldn’t get in my head.  It’s uh, yeah, don’t.  Do not do that, kay?”

She laughed, fingers gently tugging his arms down.  “Hmm.  I wonder." She pat his arm, savoring this last moment. Gathering her courage, steeling her resolve. She signed deeply. 

"No, no. Your mind is safe. Right now, I’m going to put you in my head.  Well, more accurately..”  Her fingers drummed on her chin, looking for words she’d never used before.  “My evol is like… watching a movie.  Reading a story.  But, the movie is in first person.  You experience it, even though you didn’t live it.  I experience the memories of my target.” Her fingertip went from her forehead to his, tapping gently. 

She waited, letting that extremely invasive fact sink in.  “I can also show my memories to someone.”  Her eyes hinted at her intention, waiting for him to catch up.

It happened faster than she’d expected.  If her eyes hadn’t been glued to him, she would’ve missed the way that, for the briefest of moments, he smoldered - white hot flames - seething, incandescent, barely contained - threatening to reduce her to naught but ash and dust.  How, if she had so much as blinked, she would not have seen the bloodlust that rippled through his eyes, or they way they glittered, glowing an ethereal iridescent blue. 

Several things happened for Rafayel at once.  Unbeknownst to her, this ability of hers had untold potential for devastation; in the wrong hands, it would spell annihilation for an entire people - his people.  His reason for being, the one immutable truth that defined and justified his existence. 

His instinct demanded he remove her from existence immediately. 

Composure, though, reigned in his impulse - barely.  Reason flooded back to him and his gaze found hers again; the sight of her stole punched the breath from his lungs. Watching the singular light of her fragile hope extinguish in real time was ruinous to his soul.  Her delicate shoulders crumpled under the weight of her disappointment.  Had heartbreak ever been personified like this before? Her tender, knowing eyes were drenched in the heartrending sadness of having her expectations met.  And just as quickly as it came, it was gone; a disturbing anticipation colored her otherwise evanescent features.

“I won’t stop you.  If you want to take my life, I will give it to you.”

Too overwhelmed to respond to the provocation, he shook his head no.  His voice sounded raw, husky.  “Show me.”

She tilted her head at him in acquiescence, raising her hand in front of her.  Wiggling her fingers in a silent command, his hand found hers.  A now familiar silence settled between them for just a beat too long.  True to form, Rafayel couldn’t stand it.

“All of this wasn’t just an excuse for you to hold my hand, riiiight?”  He laced his fingers with hers and gave a gentle squeeze.  “You really had me going there for a second, sugar.”

Lavender’s brows were furrowed in concentration.  She peeked an eye open - her concentration lost - and squeezed his hand back.  She noted that the tips of his ears gained a distinctly red hue at that.  “I’ve only done this with one other person… Sharing memories, I mean." She groaned, her effort draining her.  "It’s been a long time.  I’m trying.”  

Another silence.  Another question.

“You mean... I’m not the only one, babe?  How cruel.”

Sighing and dropping their hands together in exasperation, she shot back.  “Doing this with my twin was much easier.  I barely had to try. It just ... was.”

Rafayel, not missing a beat, couldn’t contain himself.  He was relishing any opportunity he had to lift some of the heady gloom lingering over them.  “There’s two of you?  Good god-”

Her hand slapped over his mouth with a loud clap, her withering glare warned him not to continue that sentence.  The fury that threatened to consume her, or the thought of her other half, must’ve been all she was missing:

A buzzing sound, growing ever louder, began - slowly consuming Rafayel's hearing.  Static filled his vision.  His skin felt too tight, every hair on his body stood at attention.  His senses were fully overwhelmed, and just when he didn’t think he could take anymore-

The world shifted.

[reynthrough]

Read Only Memories - v2

Lavender was still having a crisis.

Clutching onto the (blessedly clean) toilet like it owed her money, Lavender faithfully deposited the sum total of every single drink she’d ever had, every last morsel of food she’d ever dared to consume, and her collective sins in it’s basin. This Throne was her church, and she was praying feverently to any god that would listen to be liberated from her mortal coil.

Time passed. How long, she didn’t know. She’d slipped into something of a meditative state in the midst of her self imposed exorcism, and was now fairly settled into the rhythm of non-existence. Was she dead? She thought so. Some god may have finally answer her prayers. The thought made her lips curl up ever so slightly, exhaling loudly through her nose in a near-laugh. The moment, of course, was interrupted by the now familiar and damn near musical cadence of that strange man.

“Knock, knock! Sugaaar, I’m coming in. You decent?” He opens the door, waving the wet rag in the air, both announcing his arrival and a gentle reminder of their peace treaty.

“Pffft. Kidding, kidding - it was rhetorical.” His eyes were already scanning her up and down, assessing the damage. He settled in on the floor beside her as if that was the most obvious and normal thing to do. “Come, let me get a look at you.”

Lavender’s head drew upright, her eyes twisting shut as though it would shield her from humiliation. “Sugar?” The term of endearment felt alien in her mouth, but it also made her stomach flip. She chose to mistake that particular sensation for…unfinished prayers, as it were. What was left to do but match his energy? She lolled her head to the side, finally making lazy eye contact - in her own way, she was doing her best to comply with his request.

His hand flew over his heart, grimacing with no small amount of flair. Taking care to emphasize his chosen endearment, he said “....Sugar, you look like shit.” He chucked, looking up at her from under his brow while rubbing her back in a soothing gesture. “Don’t worry though, I gotcha. I’m a pretty capable guy, you know? I’ll take it from here..” A mischievous grin painted his otherwise angelic face. “...buuuut, it'll cost you.”

Lavender, stunned at his kindness and familiarity with her, simply hummed in response.

True to his word, he went straight to work; he could sense that talking wasn’t something she could or would do quite yet. He held a glass of water to her lips, and didn't release it even when she brought it to her mouth - the silent support was something Lavender was actually grateful for. The scant few slivers of pride she still possessed would’ve made her insist on doing it on her own. He even stopped her before she drank too much, too fast - his voice, now surprisingly gentle, had murmured that the water wasn’t going anywhere and to just take it slow as he moved it barely out of her reach.

He captured her chin just as she was poised to resume the mantle that was her arm pillow, and made quick work of wiping the sweat off her brow, cheeks, and the corners of her mouth before silently assenting to her lying her head down again. He’d gathered the hair from under her before she’d even begun to let her head fall. Faintly, she laughed; even in her state, she was still noting how deft his hands were, marvelling at his silent and quick movements.

Quiet filled the room, one that she found easy and comfortable; her steady breathing and his hands grabbing another damp towel to clean her hair were the only disturbances to this reprieve. Rafayel, on the other hand, couldn’t stand it. His movements became less graceful with every passing stroke of her hair, as if the absence of conversation was slowly strangling him.

Finished with cleaning her up, his practiced fingers ran through her hair, carefully dislodging the rats from their proverbial nests. He gently nudged her to sit up again, and he began braiding her hair. This time, his voice was quieter when he spoke again.

“Is there anyone you want me to call for you? Do you even have your phone?”

Her shoulders tensed; she always hated this question, these kinds of questions. Her answers always seemed to make other people uncomfortable, and in equal measure, their discomfort became yet another burden for her to carry. A hint of exasperation, or weariness, twinged her face before she donned her usual blank expression. She exhaled and shook her head no.

“Mm. No. I don’t, but don’t worry about it.” She cleared her throat and threw a glance at him over her shoulder, her eyes crinkling in apology. “I’m almost better. Just a little while longer.” Averting her gaze, her fingers found the spot between her eyebrows. She rubbed it slowly, silently willing her brain to think coherent thoughts for a moment and form an escape plan.

Rafayel’s brows furrowed at her physical anxiety. His eyes flicked to the bruises - now a myriad of splotches of angry red that lined dark patches of purple down to her delicate wrist that was hellbent on digging a hole in her face. He reached out slowly, tenderly wrapping his fingers around her wrist to settle the movement, lingering for a moment until he felt her shoulders relax. He pulled her hand to her chest, guiding it over her heart, and pressed it there before retracting his own and continuing his work on her braid.

“No worries, sugar.” His musical cadence returned, and she could hear the smile on his face. “It’s your lucky day. Yours truly is off work, and I suppose I can spare some of my time to help the stray that wandered in.” He fastened the hair tie he’d rescued from the living room floor around her braid, admiring his handiwork. He spun around to lean against the cabinets to face her, propping one arm up on his knee, stretching his other leg across the floor. Bending to catch her gaze, he cracked a small smile. “Buuuut. I did say it’d cost you, remember?”

Lavender tugged the robe closer to her, suddenly feeling very exposed by the weight of his stare. She reached for the braid, studying his work, and once again found a wave of irritation at how obviously skillful he was. Instead of verbalizing her intrusive thoughts, she opted to cast a suspicious glance at him. “I don’t have any money, sugarplum.”

His eyes widened for just a second, surprised at his new nickname. He crossed his arms and huffed, a pout forming on his plush bottom lip. “Puh-leeease. Do I look poor to you? Get real. I don’t want money. Especially from someone that breaks into houses.” He cocked a particularly sassy brow at her in challenge.

His reaction was a small victory she didn’t know that she really, really needed. Her brows climbed up her forehead. “What, then?”

He turned back, locking her in his gaze, abandoning pretenses. Something about her mannerisms was uncomfortably familiar to him, and so he asked his question maybe slightly more bluntly than he'd intended.

“Curious minds need to know. Tell me everything that happened yesterday. All of it.” He paused, intentionally drawing out the moment. “The truth, please.”

Lavender felt quite unsettled not only by how she knew that there was no purpose trying to fabricate a story, but also that she didn't feel the need to. She worked with some of the worst people in the country, men and women alike that do unspeakable things to others. She knew bad people and intentions as if there was a detector in her DNA. She also knew how to assess a threat, and if he wanted to be one, she hadn't met anyone that could rival him to date - which was impressive, especially in her line of work. She nodded without a second thought.

“Okay.”

“Okay. I'll be downstairs. Come out when you're ready.” he stood up, making a lazy gesture at the counter, sauntering to the door. “Yell if you need me. Clean towel and some of my clothes here on the counter.” Turning back to cast a glance at her, he said “I'll be waiting. Not my favorite activity.”

With a wink, he was gone.

[reynthrough]

Read Only Memories: v1

Stirring from his slumber at the sun's insistence, Rafayel groaned and slipped from between his silken sheets. Not bothering to open his eyes, he tugged his favorite robe on.  It was made of a light, silken material; the deep ocean blue of it resembled rippling water when it flowed behind him. He never bothered to tie it for that very reason.

A yawn contorted his face, the brevity of which was a testament to how deeply he had slept.  He scrubbed a lazy hand through his hair.  The other absent-mindedly scratched his stomach, as he meandered down curve of his staircase. The simple promise of coffee steered him towards his kitchen on auto pilot.

Staving off the last  stubborn remnants of sleep, he threw his arms up for a stretch so good that it made his toes curl. His eyes, finally alert, are open for the first time. He stumbled almost immediately; something unexpected was draped across his couch.

Sparkling silver hair captured the sunlight.  Long, flowing strands were splattered haphazardly across the lone pillow and the arm of the couch - some of it crumpled under a face he's never seen before, impossibly more of it was pooled on his marble floor. The remnants of what had probably been a fancy updo was still loosely tied behind her shoulder.

Demanding his gaze, the loud red dress loosely clung to the curves of his intruder - it's low open back ushered his attention naturally down the vast length of her spine. Fine pointed heels were suspended by the ribbons still tied around her ankles, as though she'd only partially succeeded in taking them off before giving up and flopping on her stomach on his couch. She had made herself quite at home.  

He was sure that, had he met her under any other circumstance, he would’ve been utterly captivated by her.  It was as if someone had plucked an image of ethereal beauty directly from his thoughts.  Inwardly, he twisted; someone that knew him well was trying to set him up.  

Rafayel quickly recovered from the shock of an audacious stranger being so defenseless in his home. His feet carried him silently to the couch. He crouched in front of her, leaning in to study her face, and found himself quietly appreciating her delicate features despite himself.   

Once again, the thought of a set up pissed him off.  Such beauty should not have been wasted like this.  He wasn’t going to fall for it.

He rested his chin in his hand, elbow on his knee. He was curious.  How would she react when she woke up?  He wondered if she’d concoct a tale about them having spent a passionate night together.  Maybe she’d strike first, skipping the seduction entirely.  He thinks he’d prefer that.  A wave of tiredness washes over him.  Only one way to find out.

Smirking, he leaned in closer, and gently blew on her face.  

The woman's brows scrunched together for a moment, stirring at the sensation. 

Satisfied, Rafayel's lips tugged into a smile. 

“I'll play along,” he murmured, tilting his head.  One hand reached out to tuck her hair behind her ear. “Good morning, sweetheart. Did you sleep well?”

Her eyes flashed open. 

In the split second it took for her to register the unfamiliar voice, her instincts were already acting. A kick aimed with deadly precision shot out toward the voice while her hands worked to push her up.

She was devastatingly fast, but he was even faster. In a single movement, Rafayel easily caught the would-be projectile that was her ankle in his hand, keeping it in place where it hovered with a grip so tight it threatened to shatter her bones; his other hand seized her by the throat and pushed her upright against the back of his couch.

He let out a long, deep whistle; he was impressed. She would've destroyed her mark, had she been dealing with anyone other than him. His eyes flicked from her black heel that dangled helplessly beside his face all the way to the incendiary gaze glaring down at him.

“So…” he raised a brow at her, his composure uncomfortably intact, his voice dripping with a veiled threat. “You're into this sort of thing, huh? Darrrrling.” 

--------------------

Lavender was having a crisis. 

In the moment that reality crashed in on her, she'd assessed that the only threat in her vicinity was the purple haired menace between her legs. Her blood was screaming, an instinct she was seldom ever met with urgently warning her that she was in well over her head. 

Her fingers twitched, both hands already wrapped around the wrist at her throat. 

A silent war raged between them; each assessing the other's strengths and weaknesses, each strategizing, preparing counters mentally. Within seconds, the war ended as quickly as it began. His lips twitched up, his pride swelling at his victory painting the smallest smug smile on his infuriatingly perfect face. 

Lavender swallowed the curses on the tip of her tongue. She knew. If he actually wanted her dead, she would be. The playful lilt in his voice did nothing to disguise the predator lurking in his eyes.

Instead, she managed to spit out three words:

“Who sent you?”

Her gaze, unflinching, met his; barely contained defiance was palpable in her grip on his wrist.

He returned her gaze, brows lifting slightly, and chuckled; it was a laugh that held no warmth. Something incredulous was laced within it instead. 

“Me?” The index finger around her neck traced a blistering path to her jaw, forcing her head to look at her surroundings. 

“You're the one that walked in here. This is my home.” His voice no longer carried whatever pretense he had been playing at before. His amusement was quickly being replaced by impatience.

“I won't ask you again.” The grip around her throat tightened. The way her pulse didn't quicken at his threat slightly unnerved him. She wasn't afraid, and neither was she embarrassed by the compromising position he had her in. His brow furrowed, hinting at his growing irritation. 

Practically growling, he asked with finality: “Who sent you, sweetheart?” 

The tone of his voice made something primal in her recoil. Her face didn't betray that uncomfortable fear; she didn't flinch, but her brows did knit together in a subtle display of confusion. Her calm facade slipped for only a moment, but it was enough. He saw it.

That hadn't been among the reactions that he had anticipated. He was extremely proficient in reading others, and detecting lies was as second nature to him as breathing.

Oh. Oh no. 

She hadn't been sent here. The realization settled uncomfortably into his bones. He was not looking at a face that recognized him in the slightest. He was, however, looking at someone that was absolutely hungover. The smell of stale alcohol filled his nose, and with it, a looming sense of dread.

A pang of guilt and regret ripped through him, each one thoroughly admonishing him for how he'd been treating her. Even if she did break into his house, he'd treated her in a way that was reserved only for those he intended to silence - permanently.

He sighed and lowered her foot to the floor gently. Raising the one hand with surrender, he caught her gaze to make sure she understood the truce he was extending. The small nod she gave resulted in him releasing her throat. Quickly bounding backwards away from her, he raised his other offending hand in a gesture of apology. It was an awkward attempt comfort her.

He looked her over once more, a flush of something between guilt and embarrassment tickling his ears. Her dress was even more disheveled than before; it was really little more than a thick belt at this point. He hadn't noticed in the moment, but their brief grapple must've been more than the pitiful excuse for straps could handle. 

With a bit of effort, he tore his gaze from something that had no business being so provocative given the circumstances.  He quickly shrugged off his robe and tossed it at her. His hand darting to the back of his neck, unconsciously soothing the utter shame he was feeling for succumbing to a decades old paranoia.

“Sooo, uh.” he trailed off, busying himself with looking out the back door. “Someone had a long night, huh.” 

He shook his head in defeat, being at a loss for words for once, already resuming his journey to the kitchen. His voice regained some cadence, having mentally decided to act like this was extremely normal and fine.  “How do you take your coffee?”

--------------------------

Lavender struggled to comprehend what was going on. In a scant few seconds, her bloodlust was assuaged and her primal prey instinct was quelled. The man before her had both brokered and signed a peace treaty between them all by himself. He both started and ended the war before she could do a single thing. Her mind was whirling with thoughts, muddled by confusion and a growing throb in her skull.

She looked at the robe now in her lap and mentally made a note that she'd feel embarrassed later, when she was alone. Her hands traced over her neck, the angry welts silently promising bruises. 

The realization struck her like a tidal wave as his aggression started to make sense. This was not her hotel room. In fact, she didn't have the slightest idea where she was or how she got here. Her gaze followed the retreating body of the man, watching as he disappeared around the corner. Whatever the case, she knew instinctively that bringing her here was not his doing. She pulled the robe over her shoulders; the coolness of the fabric offering a small balm to her wounded neck. A newfound gratitude, both hesitant and confusing, bloomed at the gesture. 

The motion of all the chaos finally hit her, making her world spin. A strained groan ripped from her throat as a surge of nausea threatened to overtake her. She cradled her head between her hands in an effort to regain her equilibrium. 

Rafayel padded back to the couch, placing a mug on the table before her. Worry still tinted his features, internally cursing himself for the marks already appearing on her slender neck, the sight of it made his hands reach out to soothe them. Before he could, her head snapped to him with the most pitiful gaze he thought he'd ever seen. Her big, lilac eyes fixed him to the spot. 

“What is it?” nearly whispering, he slowly lowered himself to her eye level, careful not to move closer - he was sure that the tears threatening to fall from those eyes would rebound directly into his soul.

Her mouth worked for a second, stumbling over the absurdity of the situation. Her grip on his excessively soft robe was so tight that her knuckles were white. The affluence of this man and her surroundings was not lost on her, and she shuddered to even think of what would happen if she let the contents of her stomach empty here.  She did not trust herself to move, lest she lose her choice in the matter. Finally, she croaked a single word, blinking up at him. “Bathroom?” 

The plea in his voice was apparent. Rafayel, heeding her silent plea, showed her his palms once more. Gently, he said "gonna pick you up, okay?" Even if he'd win a fight with her, he had no desire to be hit if he could avoid it. He waited until he saw the acquiescence in her eyes, and wasted no time in hurriedly scooping her into his arms once she consented. He lifted her with ease, and took care to secure her gently to his chest.

Her hand slapped over her mouth in an effort to suppress the bile threatening to escape. She held her breath, and silently urging him to go faster with her eyes.

As if he'd heard her wish, he bounded up the stairs with her, jostling her impressively little. In mere moments, he deposited her gently in front of the toilet.

She wretched, despite the herculean effort she made not to, just before he could fully disentangle himself from her. 

His face twisted into a grimace, unable and frankly unwilling to hide his disgust. He moved away from her as quickly as possible. Fleeing into the hall, one arm over his mouth, the sound of her getting sick forced him to gag along with her. His stomach was surprisingly weak.

Stumbling further down the hall, headed literally anywhere but within earshot of her hangover, he slapped his hands over his ears to block out the sickening sound.

Looking at the water on his hand from his errant tears, the red dress forgotten on the floor of his living room, the claw marks on his chest from scratches he didn't even feel in his rush to help his little intruder.. he laughed. Slowly at first, and then all at once as if a dam broke. He laughed so hard for so long, he had to clutch his aching stomach.

What a mess. What an incredible mess.

He threw a glance back, recoiling at the latest repulsive sound, and rolled his eyes in bemused disbelief.

Where did I put that hangover medicine again?

Rafayel was already rifling through his cabinets, getting a glass of water, and cooling a rag to go back and take care of his little robber. Excitement bubbled in his chest for the first time in so, so long. He couldn't wait to talk to her.

Another wretch stopped him dead in his tracks. He retreated again to a safe distance from the bathroom.

On second thought, he could wait until she got… at least, most of it out of her system.