demonscanary

[demonscanary]

i will be cruel to you. it will stop your breath, how cruel i can be— but you understand, don’t you? you are clever enough. i am a demanding creature.CATHERYNNE M. VALENTE CONTENT WARNING:minor child neglect, psychopathy & sociopathy, emotional & domestic abuse, murder, cause of animal death. she's her own warning. adoption is a reminder, a word that denotes personal history. she doesn’t understand it the first time she hears it, nestled in a string of english by cautious young mouths — far from her mother tongue. each face around her was curious to openly disdainful, there are too many mouths, too many hands, and not enough attention to go around. there were others, and with help from a maid who spoke the same, understood enough to tell that none around her played a part in childhood memories. ( this family brought you into their home, be kind to them. ) she doesn’t make out half the words, but the difference is clear. the pair that had taken her in had their own children, most kept their distance, the younger few make the effort to play wordless games. good behavior is learned, and not everyone makes the same progress. she learns slowly, what a smile earns even without the ability to communicate, and what the opposite brings. it helps her, bridges the gaps between her lack of knowledge and earns more attention. she doesn't know how to read or write, or doesn't remember, but the way her fingers curl around writing utensils seems practiced. if anyone notices, they don't comment. her instructors are private and patient, they help her alone until she learns how to speak a new language. it comes with effort, word after word. communication is difficult. it's made easier by bribery, small offerings to encourage her to do something other than watch, bewildered and uninspired. ( what are you going to do for me? ) and something small slides across the table, wrapped in shiny paper — reinforcing the need to make an attempt. two years passes before she can manage to string together a sentence, and another after that before she can manage to converse in english. the newness of siblings has already faded. distance has always been an instrument in the home she'd been taken into. attention was provided in abundance from the household help, less from the parents who spent most of their time working — both for the government, the same institution (unbeknownst to her ) that brought her here. she sees them for the first time on the television, women, men and others in suits, droning on about things only other adults seemed to comprehend. but she watches each channel, absorbs what she can while she can, curious to glean from it what she can. besides the woman who had been with her since the first memory inside this house, shows made for a much easier babysitter, leaving time free for the hired additions to chain smoke in the kitchen. another year would pass before she manages to swipe a cigarette from the table undetected. they have expectations, all of which seem to make themselves clear once she's settled in and comfortable. a grace period of a few years was enough of an adjustment in their minds. average was nothing, the lowest, unacceptable to academics, or a pair of highly skilled and highly ranked officials who saw nothing but potentials for success in their wards. it starts with the older few, seen in the way they pour over their studies, and how they use their abilities to impress. everyone is eager to earn a moment's praise, a path she follows all the same. the beginning of her ability training starts, alongside the explanation of it's rarity, paves the way to impress. learning to falsify details becomes a significant skill. there are half a dozen children beneath the same roof, and want more than what needs demand. some have more than others, and she helps herself when it comes time to steal something from another. it's something small and meaningless, and she takes pride in the power that comes with escaping unscathed over obtaining a new object, disposing of it the next day. the sibling she'd taken it from was none the wiser, and she soothed his upset with an oddly gentle hand against a shoulder, immersed in her own self satisfaction. by the time private instruction ends, the need to be garmented becomes a necessity. leaving the house poorly dressed is a poor reflection on her hosts, and it isn't difficult to enjoy what finery becomes available. she enjoys more, and the older she grows, the easier it becomes to accumulate different things. there's one black coat she favors, wears it until her second year of high school until it starts to fall apart, only feeling some loss once the stitching had unraveled, leaving it unable to mended. the use and misuse of abilities can be hazardous. the more she learns to control them, the more it becomes clear that she is controlled for a reason — not one that personally benefits her. she learns to slow first, a messy process that takes time before it works right, but the moment she has a grasp on it, becomes like a second sense. it's acceleration she finds more interesting, though, the ability to age, and she finds (with much surprise ) that any rapid effort to do so only resulted in killing her target entirely. it starts with plants and ends with lab rats, practicing targets and ranges until she can control and use it effectively. ( successful applicants should be intelligent— ) and she is. her adoptive siblings work for various organizations, all talented, the expected reflection upon the pair who demanded nothing less. when it comes time to make something of herself, she chooses the army. unlike a desk job, strength and weapons training bring new opportunities to expand her skill set, and it becomes a small competition between herself and a brother, drawing them closer than ever before. promotions come naturally, and infuriatingly even, only inspiring her to work harder, and is far from the only one searching for power for less than noble reasons. curiosity keeps her interested, and what lays beyond the wall is not something everyone gets to see. being among the few feeds her ego. she goes from jubilant to devoid of emotion without notice. like a switch, she moves from gently running her fingers through a lover's hair to retracting her hand and her attention. ( don't you love me? ) no. but she can tell a convincing lie, and she does with a certain flare, easing the other woman into a sense of security only she can tear out from under her at her leisure. and she does with the first, the second, the tenth — until the routine itself grows boring. she’s always keen to know more, eager to see and volunteer for anything to get her further from home. before her brother sees the borders, she finds herself stationed there, staring off the edge of the known world. a thousand different rumors run through her mind, all of them disproved by the sight of land and the sounds of the sea. she's not stupid enough to brag to anyone but those who already know, to a brother who was now safely enough behind her not to be considered an opponent challenging her own success. everything outside the outskirts is desolate and uninteresting, and she returns within the year, closer to home. loss affects everyone in a multitude of ways, and it surprises her how much she is forced to coax out tears at a funeral, but does so with all the practice of a method actress. she doesn't care about the death of what would be considered an older sister, and only attends to watch the range of emotions that plague the rest of those in attendance. she nurses a brother weeping genuinely against a shoulder, soiling the silk blouse she'd picked up for the occasion. for a moment, she considered shoving him, making a show and a lesson of it — fingers curled around his throat. she doesn't, she knows better, but the thought still lingers. manipulation is a tool. in it's lesser form, she uses it to wrap her captain around a finger, to bend the rules she knows she can't break. it earns her more, from a trusted place at his side, to the ability to skirt around rules. at it's height, allows her to find a heightened sense of enjoyment in poisoning relationships from the inside out. subtlety keeps her afloat, existing untouched, free to play the games of her own design. those who notice say nothing, dismiss it as a one of, or so she believes. everyone gets married someday. she's needy, picks the first that stays when the time comes, accepting the natural progression of those come before. twenty five is old for some, but it feels like an unnatural fit — made all the more tolerable with each cake tasting. but she drinks too much, picks a fight once the door closes behind them, leaves purple thumbprints in places that are difficult to hide. nothing is called off early, not until a white dress hangs on the back of her door, and she leaves it behind in favor of sinking into her captain's bed. without two, no wedding can take place, and all the guests are forced to go home. she doesn't care. next to the other children. she is obsolete. her decision to follow her cold feet leaves her as the most disappointing of ones they'd taken in, made worse by moving back into their home. there was no salvaging what was broken beyond retrieving her belongings from their former shared space. it no longer interests her, though the idea of being home doesn't sing to her either. to avoid the tension she leaves for a year, works outside the wall until it's time to come back and piece together what she'd left behind. being kind to the family that had chosen her could only be fulfilled by starting to reimburse them. expectations — projected pieces of herself meant to impress once more. she allowed herself to slide into a precarioussituation. one wrong decision and the spotlight shifted, and she was no longer flying under the radar. it unnerved her to know word had spread, being on the end of judgment she had once preferred to dole out. her favorite brother isn't home when it comes time for an argument, and leaves her unable to sit or listen with her usual indifference. they attempt to shout her down, it leaves her silent, withdrawn but angry beneath the offered apologies. she doesn't fight, she isn't their child, that much has always been clear. the morning is quiet. she's due to leave before the sun rises, long hours before the house wakes, and anyone is due to work. a lack of sleep leaves her erratic — angry from the night's events. it doesn't dissipate, not while she dresses, or while she fills a vest pocket with what few pieces of jewelry she favors. there's a gold chain from her late sister's room, and she toys with it before making a decision. they're asleep when she slides past the unlocked door, and silent when she leaves it. time moves quickly, she forces herself to move along with it, unhindered by the morning's events. "it's a rabbit infestation. terrible thing." she shows him her phone, the line of small, dead mammals — neatly laid with respect. her pout grows, tears welling in her eyes as the captain offers a hand. "i thought it would be the most humane." she's not supposed to use her abilities, and the chip in her neck tells them when. it's an excuse, but one she weaves with all of her remaining talent on little sleep. it'll be hours on the other side of the wall before anyone knows the truth, a benefit of careful planning. her separation is intentional. she leaves a glove and what drips from a sliced hand on the ground, another manufactured story to confuse. it buys her enough time to get what she wants, bartering the gold for a colony scalpel, for the freedom only crushing it beneath a heel offers. she can't stay, and doesn't — there is not enough that interests her in one place. she'll find a home in the city, in what lawlessness resides there, and what opportunities being free of expectation offers.

“without predators, people who can think the unthinkable, and act without fear or hesitation, the world stands still. you are an evolutionary necessity.” —lj. CONTENT WARNING:minor child neglect, psychopathy & sociopathy, emotional & domestic abuse, murder, cause of animal death. she's her own warning. time manipulation is vasya's birth given ability, and one she's only recently begun to use to what she believes is it's full potential. while living within the wall, she was trained extensively in it's management and prides herself in having mastered it — even if she uses it to cause harm, most often. she can decelerate and accelerate targets or ranges at her leisure, and stop it if she chooses for a shorter amount of time. with private and career based training, it takes a significant amount of use to tire her to the point of being unable to concentrate. most of her periods of use last less than a minute, though that can easily be extended a few times when need arises. without regulation, the freedom to express her ability has drawn unique attention. she uses it to provide for herself, offering her aging services to all those who have the ability to pay for it, turning back the clock for a short period of time or speeding it up in cases of desired punishment. after using it to murder her adoptive parents, there is really nothing she won't do ( given the right amount of inspiration ) and has associates who employ her for their own purposes. the more she uses them, the more voraciousher appetite has grown. she enjoys using her abilities in ways previously not permitted, exerting her power over others in ways only her personality could. vasya has honed her ability to force the speed of her abilities, resulting in enough pressure to leave her targets dead in a relatively clean and undetectable fashion. the vast majority of her time spent using her ability is to negatively affect others to her financial benefit, transforming from something to use at her leisure to a survival aid — not to say she doesn't enjoy ever moment of it's outcomes.

[demonscanary]

“if they do, i don’t remember.” none of his lessons had been considered aside from what small amount of preparation he’d made, and all that had been taught with the master-at-arms, little when it came to the experience of battle. some good sense couldn’t be taught.

but her words amused him ( even the jabs ) and jon’s expression changed — a half lift of his mouth, subtle enough. it was an unlikely scenario, one that would surprise, even draw interest from his father before the punishment set in. “your fearsome reputation will suffer.” her help was unexpected, and a different greyjoy might have made a different choice. “sailing, not running.” “to the wall.”

[demonscanary]

the last full, peaceful night of sleep she'd gotten had been long before her imprisonment on the ark. before this war, before their landing, before her father had told her of the fate of the ark — before she'd ever had to worry. since then, it had eluded her, the mirage of a good night's rest lay just over the horizon, unable to be found no matter how determinedly she chased it. she attempted to pretend it was the opposite, however, saving face as she eyed the commander. was lexa doing the same? in many ways, clarke knew she was out of her depth. lexa's experience was in practice, her own was in theory. in front of the generals, she knew they judged her upon it, ( why wouldn't they? what if your ideas get them killed? what if they get you killed? ) a frightening thought, one that only compounded all of the rest. her hands were already stained with blood, some innocent, some far from that. by the end, would she be able to recognize them? recognize herself? had lexa experienced the same once, before she had been the one to make these plans? she couldn't ask. instead, she touched at the wood of the table, feeling the grooves beneath her fingertips. her eyes were no doubt ringed in purple, long term exhaustion beginning to show. the brunette's offer began to register as clarke watched her, blinking until it became clear that the offer was sincere. her culture dictated the acceptance of an offer extended - ... politeness was easy enough to achieve. "oh." another step was taken around the table — closer to the bed, and lexa along with it. "thank you, i'll try." her gaze lingered once more, taking in the details of the commander's robe. without the dark stain of warpaint along lexa's cheeks, she looked soft, entirely approachable. clarke knew that could change, not that she imagined she would ever be a match for lexa if they chose to fight. nor would she want to, their amicable relationship was preferable. a half smile settled against her lips as she passed the other woman, seating herself on the fur covered surface lexa had previously occupied. her coat was removed, keeping the dirt on it off of the bed out of respect. she settled in a position between sitting and laying down, eyes drifting back to the commander and the wartable — to the throne beyond them both. ( what an odd arrangement. ) she took a few breaths, low, relaxed - ... the thought sunk in, she was safe here. that was an unusual turn of events. her voice rose enough to reach lexa, fingers curling into the furs beneath her. "i don't always sleep well, if you want to talk about our plans... we can."

[demonscanary]

Her touch was always purposeful, neither overly soft or malicious. It was her duty to treat everyone the same way, no matter if they disliked her or thought she’d hung the moon. No doubt, Calypso fell under the former category, and not without some valid reasons. Outside of her work here, Alleria had put the goal of reconnecting with Solara over the welfare of the prisoners, knowing that one individual was not more important than the masses in a situation like this. Fortunately, the back talk was something the blonde had grown used to among a group of people who had various reasons to lash out at her. The vast majority of people were upset with her father and the symbolism of who she was, rather than her personal treatment of others. So few really knew her. Alleria’s gaze didn’t even lift as she was spoken to.  “He and I aren’t the same people.” As if that wasn’t clear — for her, the differences were stark. And my oaths are above his orders, she thought. Resigning the wounded to suffering and death was precisely the opposite of what her studies had taught her, and not what she intended to do now. The rest of the cleaning and bandaging went off silently without much issue, likely because Calypso had come to her senses and understood that tending to her wounds was important. Putting herself through the extra pain wasn’t necessary, and only made her look foolish in the end. She wasn’t judging, nor did she want whatever problems they had to influence her medical needs. Alleria looked up, features softened as the conversation shifted toward business — long since having tired of the direction it had taken when her father had been the chosen topic.  “You can have whoever you need to help.” The sooner they were up and running, the better, and whoever needed to be sent to aid would be. It was clear that they would likely always be at odds, judging by tone of their conversation and body language alone. Luckily for both of them, an interruption came quickly in the form of Adrian re-entering the tent, meeting eyes for a brief moment before she diverted her own gaze. Things were too uncomfortable in public, and sometimes she feared what she might see staring back at her if she looked too long. A lockdown was unfavorable, more so when she was stuck with the current company -- an unpredictable and potentially volatile companion. Alleria only looked up as their snappy exchanged continued, unwilling or uninterested to complain. After all, it was better not to further upset Calypso if they were going to have to spend some time alone. Her brow rose instead, drawing his attention and explanation without a word needing to be said. That keeps you safe. His logic made sense, she wouldn’t deny it. The blonde nodded, a confirmation that she understood and would comply with his plan. It was all business, she did not reach out to him to touch, not to send him of with a tender greeting that some might have to their future spouses. They were far from the public eye, fully immersed in a time of crisis, with no need to be affectionate and entertain. She sent him off with another nod, paying enough attention to notice his last few words to the dark haired woman across the tent. Without much more delay, he was gone, and they were left to themselves. For a few short and underappreciated seconds, she hoped she could reorganize and reevaluate the status of her supplies, only to be interrupted before the task could be started. Her initial, silent answer was no, but it seemed the former prisoner had only uttered it rhetorically before jumping right into her question. Her relationship wasn’t ever a topic of discussion for good reason, and not even the current climate would pull too much out of her. “We aren’t having an argument.” They were distant, for more reasons than one, she imagined. He never offered his reasoning, and she had never been the type to chase. It was her mother that had been ill before they’d come here, and him that had pulled away, never really to return. Feeling abandoned wasn’t new, and she had sunk quietly into the background instead of demanding that Adrian do something other than ignore her and her needs. “What you saw was a series of public events. We’re individuals, and we’re stranded here.” Not all a lie, each of their public personas was different than the day to day. Under stress, they’d laid the act aside — not that it needed much prompting. Alleria looked up from her tools, focused on Calypso, ready to convey what she felt about such an invasive line of questioning. “And I don’t need advice on my personal relationships.” There was something odd about it, to the point where she wondered just what horse the brunette had in this race. Was she trying to make a fool of her? Was this leading to some greater vengeful plot for Calypso’s injuries? Whatever it was, she wouldn’t play into things. It felt relieving, among other compounded feelings, not to have to pretend to be untroubled. Loving her people was not easy to do when her mind was elsewhere, living in quiet fear as much as others were. She wanted to go home.  “I’ll do whatever I need to do to fix this, I’m not going to play a part here, or take a backseat — that’s a waste of time.”

[demonscanary]

trigger warnings for death, suicide attempts, drug use, depression.

it was a rush, feeling the first hit course through her system. it had been like that for months now, a year — sometimes it was difficult to remember just when this all had begun. Iexa could remember the day but not the date, as her interest in keeping track had long since died. depression had driven her to the edge of sanity, to an alleyway instead of to the doctor’s office. without coverage, she would’ve been denied therapy, let alone the legal medications needed to manage the mood swings attributed to her condition. Iexa had always been broke, not stupid — not until that decision, at least. a series of bad decisions had led her to more drugs than any one person had any need to try, anything to get over the pain of loss. she could still see it all in her head, a memory as fresh as the present moment. the message on her phone had been a single message from a detective, a request to call back as soon as she could. was it jury duty? had they found her missing wallet from months before? the anticipation grew as she called back, greeting by the same voice, asking her to come down to the hospital. why? he said he’d explain when she got there. Iexa had chewed her nails down to the beds on the way, fearful that she was in trouble. had her high school stealing stint caught up with her? the moment she’d entered the building and laid eyes on the sullen officer, Iexa knew it was more serious than that. they’d tried to ease her into whatever she was there for, oddly calm, though clearly troubled by something she couldn’t see. just tell me why i’m here. numbness consumed her when the truth was revealed, that there was a body to identify. it didn’t make sense. co/stia was still at work, she wasn’t due home for another few hours — they’d spoken some time ago. ( co/stia couldn’t text at work, tending bar kept both of her hands busy. )  her silence had not been out of the ordinary for a work night, but apparently, it was. shock overcame her, unable to form a coherent thought as they guided her downstairs. beneath a white sheet lay all lexa had left in the world, the childhood bestfriend turned woman, cold and still. no, no, no, no. it was a dream, a false conjuring of her worst fears in her sleep, not a real sight. there was a bullet wound beneath an ear, a bloodless mark that had been co/stia’s undoing. before Iexa knew it, she was retching over a shoulder, trembling, tears freely falling. she’d stayed there until she couldn’t anymore, not wanting to go. all that was left of her girlfriend was returned in a wooden box, a reminder of how cruel life could be, and how quickly it ended. drugs had never made her feel better, just less, and with that had come other troubles. rent stopped being a priority, as did virtually everything else until the eviction notice came. her furniture had already been sold for temporary highs, her only remaining possessions were some clothes and everything of co/stia’s. Iexa would have starved before allowing anyone else to own what was left of her late partner. she’d bounced from place to place with her belongings, done far too many unsavoury things for the next high, yet never felt the relief of a good mood. drug addiction and depression was a dangerous combination, had left her hospitalized. her wrists had been slit, an old needle lost in a pool of blood when the shelter called in paramedics. Iexa had awoken to the bright lights of a hospital, and to another hospital bill she knew she couldn’t afford. being alive was expensive. it was different this time, there a woman with a hard set jaw at the side of her bed. an/ya, she called herself. she’d smelled like a cop. still, she offered the promise of rehab in exchange for a paid hospital bill and her stuff back. for herself, she wouldn’t do much, but the thought of co/stia — and her possessions — laying in an evidence locker didn’t sit well with her. 

before Iexa knew it, she found herself in detox. a locked house, locked doors, locked drawers. withdrawal brought sweat with it, nights full of trembling, unable to find rest. as soon as her bills were paid, she would run. every moment was spent planning her exit, her next score, next high. she needed to relieve this discomfort. the common room had the strongest air conditioning, though Iexa found it unnerving to be around other people like her. she was situated infront of the tv, curled up on a corner of the couch, trying not to scratch her arm raw. it was a challenge not to, and she resigned herself to rock slowly, trying to relieve the needs inside.

[demonscanary]

shanghai, 2009. it wasn't often that ra's al ghul permitted sara and his daughter to take missions together, likely cautious of how distracted they'd get if they were ever sent away together. who could blame him? the moment sara and nyssa vacated nanda parbat, they'd gotten close — like moths to a flame, magnetized to one another since they'd met. sara found things easier when she could tuck herself into the crook of the brunette's neck and travel like that, hand in hand. leave it to sara to make it sentimental, though it helped them skip from country to country without bringing up suspicion. two women wrapped up in one another wouldn't easily be mistaken for a pair of assassins, ready to neutralize the target they'd been given. between the two of them, sara's visible affection was always more of a selfish display rather than one meant to aid their purpose. the lights and sounds of one of the world's most occupied cities had welcomed them both, needing little more than the small bags slung over their back to do as they intended. sara hadn't been many places, certainly not on what seemed to be a minor, if unofficial, vacation from the league of assassins. beneath the mostly hidden excitement of being so far away from those two would have rather separated them, sara was well aware that they still had work to do, an obligation that needed to be completed no matter how much she might have preferred to explore the city. her trip on the queen's gambit had made way for an end to all of  her childlike wishes, and all of the simplicity of life she had once taken for granted. she tried not to dwell on it.

instead, sara pulled nyssa into a dark corner, away from prying eyes. she lifted herself onto her toes, hands sliding around her neck, through dark hair to touch gently.  "i imagine we should get ahold of some weapons."  she mused, lips brushing against her companion's own.   "and then maybe take some time for ourselves? once we're done..." 

[demonscanary]

national city, present day. it was a city like any another, bearing little differences when compared to her own. there were bustling streets, busy neighborhoods, underlying criminal syndicates— as well as vigilantes and heroes trying to even the score. there was no supergirl at home, no otherworldly being that could make quick work of the rabble that so often troubled daily life. in the league, each of them had been ordinary humans with extraordinary skill in battle, sometimes training so well they could give a metahuman or two quite the run for their money. here, however, sara knew better than to try a kryptonian after seeing her displayed skills. there was no reason to, either— one would be hard-pressed to find a nicer woman. 

sara came to them with a warning, unable to deliver the truth of the future gideon had told her, but able to forewarn supergirl and her team about the dangers of what they faced. it was a mission she'd taken on alone, knowing a single of the legends off alone was better than all of them. she could manage this task alone, and it wasn't as if any of her fellows were a match for an alien— let alone a few. her knowledge was more beneficial, and anything more was merely a calculated risk, as each scenario seemed to be every moment they spent outside of the waverider and it's offered protection. unlike some, sara didn't mind the uncertainty of new places, or the prospect of death.

without laurel, knowing how her end had been met, it was difficult to feel worthy of her life. all the things she'd done would have condemned her long ago, had it not been sheer luck and oath that kept her alive. laurel deserved the life she'd been given, and the one she'd been resurrected with. the guilt often threatened to suffocate, and was no doubt playing a part in why rip hunter had allowed her to complete the mission without any help. everything about him and his decision to recruit them reminded her of her loss, and her anger hardly subsided when she thought of the impossibility of saving her sister. others could save their own, but she was forbidden to. without a sufficient distraction, her mood soured.

luckily, sara had found enough distractions to keep her mind from the timeless abyss of grief. helping others was an oddly fulfilling purpose, even if the truth of her monstrous nature was ever present. she liked being here, enjoyed the company of supergirl and her sister— their team too. her attachment had grown, it had grown harder to deny it to herself. 

even harder when she awaited alex, dressed up more than usual. in the midst of all their troubles and the presence of another group of kryptonians, a night spent in the company of one another was well deserved.and it wasn't as if she didn't know when they'd strike. dinner was doable, and she was farily persuasive when shw wanted to be. getting alex out for the night was only a small display of it. her fingertips teased the edge of a wine glass, looking up at her dark haired companion. "do you drink wine?" she questioned, brow raised inquisitively. "it's a little tamer than i usually opt for, but it's good."

[demonscanary]

waverider, present day. loneliness was something sara had grown used to over time. the on running theme throughout her life had been the lack of true company, deep connection, or a real interest in being close. nyssa had been the first real constant, perhaps the only person in her past who truly cared enough to be around without wavering. the darkness inside of her had only been seen by the league in it's entirety, and no doubt others would shy away from the truth. not even oliver had known the extent of her troubles, and though ava had read her file, even she would never begin to know it all. in some ways, it was better off that she didn't. with all that had been going on, ava didn't need any headaches she created. sara had attempted to put herself into the time director's shoes, to imagine what life might feel like if it were upended at the root. everything — or most things — about her own life had been fabricated. it was hard to fathom how deeply it affected the other woman, but there was little question as to the changes one would go through upon having to weigh their existence. there was little she could've done to help aside from reminding ava that her life had affected her, personally, and she had done so — only buying a further period of distance between them. regrets from the last few weeks had eaten away at sara, wishing she had gone about their breakup with a little more care. 

they were better together. that much had been proven before, only solidified after the last time ava had been on the waverider. they had always been at odds professionally, and she hoped they would find a way to return to the personal trust they'd once shared. if mallus had his way, they would all be erased from the timeline, and the last of things she could hope for was to go after making amends with those she loved. dying without regrets was something important now, if it came down to it. without the time bureau's help and damien darhk's betrayal (again ), sara couldn't be certain that herself and her team would make it out alive. hope diminished by the minute, yet she held it in, unwilling to let any of her crew assume the worst. not all of them had been dead  in the same way she had before, and contemplating what cruelty mallus had in store for them was not conducive to learning how to use their collected totems. 

the death totem called for her, knowing that she was the most susceptible to its pull since damien had left. perhaps this was the way it was meant to be, with her wielding the only totem that had betrayed it's siblings in it's final battle. she had overpowered it once, and in order to wield it properly, she would have to do it again. unlike the others, there would be no practicing with her totem, no time spent admiring it, searching it for how it could aid them. it would be a last resort, something used only in their most dire of moments. the box it was kept in was in her office, and she never stepped close enough to slide her fingers along it's lock and release it. not this time. instead, she poured over mallus' past history, frequenty resorting to asking gideon to fill any pieces of knowledge missed. there had to be a way to outsmart him, outwit him. there was more of them than him, more minds to find an eventual solution. 

after some time, the ai's voice rose to interurpt her reading. "captain lance— director sharpe left a message for you on your persona phone. should i play it back for you?" ava — her mind raced. what was wrong now? had mallus already made his way to the time bureau? she couldn't delay. "now please, gideon." without another work spoken between them, the former agent's voice played over the speakers.  "hey, sara. i know you're out there somewhere in the timestream trying to find mallus, and i — i suppose if it's my last chance to say it, before we go to war for all of humanity as it stands, i want you to know that i love you. i should have told you before i left, but i was angry at everything — you, rip, everything. it wasn't fair to take that out on you. i still think you deserve an actual human girlfriend, but...if you're willing to let my ragtag group of misfits join you on your endeavor to fight mallus; maybe we both stand a chance of surviving and coming out alive? just...let me know, because i really don't want to take gary's offer."

a smile spread across her lips, unable to hide it. despite everything, the lack of hope, the knowledge that all of this could end, knowing ava felt the same was... relieving, to say the least. she mulled over each of the words, the offer, and the explanation. rip had torn them apart with his secrets, yet she didn't want it to be permanent. if they were all going to go, it was better they went together. "gideon, please get ava on the line." her heart raced, almost teenage as she awaited the dial tones to fade. once they did, sara was quick to speak.  "ava— hey.  i'm sorry i didn't listen to you at first. i'm sorry i ambushed you— but i want you here. more than the bureau, i don't want to meet whatever mallus has in store for us apart." she paused, fingers running over her knee. "but i could tell you all that in person, if you wanted. we've got room on the ship."

[demonscanary]

her fingertips brushed the soft flesh of her prey’s throat, tracing over the marks she’d made. one fang, then the other. blood welled from each of the small wounds, and she dipped her finger into the crimson droplets, guiding the soaked digit into her mouth. once, blood had tasted unpleasant, smelled of her father’s forge — filled her mouth when she’d bit her cheek. now it was all she could think of, the lifeblood of her existence, and all that she wanted in the moment. her meal was placated in her lap, mildly compelled not to thrash as rebekah drank her fill. she could feel the steady heartbeat beneath her other hand, situated just beneath the young woman’s ribs. she immersed herself in her feed, tucked away in the windowless room of the bourbon street hotel picked for this purpose. privacy, among other things, was preferred over the messy affair that a few of her siblings had chosen to engage in. by the time she’d finished, the only leftover blood could be licked from her lip in an easy lap of her tongue.

rebek/ah proceeded to lay the woman down, nip her wrist and press the open wound to her mouth. blue orbs affixed themselves to the glassy pair beneath her, commanding her to drink, heal, and forget. it was there that rebek/ah left her, with another night compelled out of the innkeeper in order for the woman to sleep the feeding off. killing was messy, the cleanup was always unpleasant, and unnecessary.  there had been enough death, she thought.  the city welcomed her as she stepped from the building, eyeing the oftentimes tacky fluorescent lighting that lined the street’s shops. as one who had missed most of the information age, the blonde had yet to truly appreciate the sights and sounds around her.

instead of indulging in the reverie, rebek/ah retreated to the comfort of the home her and her siblings shared, preferring the relative quiet of the compound over the debauchery of any bar along the street. each of the city’s vampires were unpleasant enough  —  the tourists were much worse. she slipped past those walking on the streets, behind the door of their reclaimed home. the noise of the streets were drowned out in favor of what lay inside, the presence of a number of heartbeats  —  of fre/ya, hayIey, of hope. leave it to klaus to be elsewhere, hopefully not stirring up any extensive trouble. it was to hope’s room that she headed for in one quick move, leaning against the doorframe, watching the slow rise and fall of her niece’s chest.

they had spent the better part of half a year together, day after day, busying with the simplest of tasks. even now, it was hard to look upon the redheaded child without imagining her as a babe, falling asleep in her arms with ease. those few months had been the most meaningful of her life, the fullest  —  immediately reigniting her desire to have her own children in whatever capacity that might be. even if such a dream were to come to fruition, there no replacing what had come first. of who had come first. watching her was peaceful, helping to pull her from the reality of her own immortal nature. though she could snap necks with ease, her arms had also raised the a child, and that in itself was hope for her future. in childlike fashion, hope shifted, knocking one of the stuffed creatures from her bed onto the floor. rebekah retrieved it from the ground, returning it to the line of the others, so it would not be missed once she awoke.

another heartbeat. the blonde turned toward the door to find hayIey within it’s threshold, no doubt having heard the noise across the hall. a small smile spread across her lips as she turned heel and headed toward her, pausing in front of her. “i didn’t wake her.” she promised, turning her shoulder to allow the other woman to see over it  —  to know that she hadn’t intended on interrupting anything, especially not a child’s slumber. before slipping past her, rebek/ah gave her shoulder a little mischievous nudge. “she doesn’t snore — she really does take after you.”

[demonscanary]

    she hadn’t asked for this. not for the ground, not for her cell, not for being mistaken for someone of importance in kIark’s world. nothing could be done about it now, nothing could be taken back   —   not that she wanted to take back the nights they’d spent together. life as a captive with those who might have preferred to kill her, and certainly wanted to now, had made for better nights than those on the ark. without anya, home hadn’t been home, and dreaming of the ground had lost it’s lustre once there was no one left to share it with.

  if only anya could see her now. no doubt she’d be horrified by the sight of her, the broken skin, the scent of burning flesh   —   the fear in the whites of her eyes when anything drew too close to her injuries. they would need to be touched often and for some time, and she dreaded it with what little energy was focused on the future. with what little modern medicine the commander’s people possessed, there was no guarantee her wounds wouldn’t fester and grow infected.

 when it came to that, the choice would be clear. she’d thought of asking  —  begging  —  for it to end, but niylah was too soft to slide a knife under chin and make it quick. before she could be convinced, no doubt, the healer would seek permission from her commander, a woman who didn’t need another body on her hands. feeling klark’s hand against her own was tempting enough to stay. before long, she would have to leave, retreat back to her people or lose herself where she would be difficult to find. though she hadn’t told her captors anything about the woman she knew, that kind of opening was dangerous for a leader.

   for a few moments, selfish behaviour won out. she wouldn’t beg the woman at her bedside to kill her. not yet. her palm was too warm, her voice comforting  —  her strength enveloping the room. the combination, along with the lingering tea, was enough to distract her from some of the pain. Iexa’s fingers curled around rough hands, well worn from the training she spoke of often. those hands could fulfill any promise of protection the commander offered.

    ‘ more. ‘  her eyes lifted, stealing a half lidded glance up at kIark. working herself up had ruined the peace the tea had first brought, not enough to close her eyes and sleep through the lasting aches.   ‘ more first. ‘

[demonscanary]

   no one asked for more than cIarke. it had been an infuriating process, trying to give her what she desired. the sky woman had gotten used to her caving to teach of her demands, from an alliance to allowances for many of her criminals, including allowing an entire village to be destroyed in order to get them all to the base of mount weather. sacrifice was sacrifice, and it was clear that only one of them was used to making those decisions. there was no explaining in this state, not while cIarke looked at her as if she might cross the room and take her revenge. her eyes conveyed enough of that emotion, familiar enough        Ieksa had seen it in the eyes of others. being well liked was not one of the hallmarks of her rule.

  hate was a strong word, but not one that surprised. hurt, perhaps, but that not an emotion to lay at clarke’s feet in hopes of forgiveness. weakness would not do anything but steel the other woman, as it was clear her mind had already been made. a thousand more justifications could have been made, but the truth of their exchange would always lay in a difference of opinion. they had yet to really walk in each other’s paths, and perhaps the chance had been lost. not all could be mended.

         ‘ i will go, but i can’t let you go. ‘    two different options, and only one kept clarke safe.hadn’t enough blood been spilled? for her, it had. for clarke, it had. another head in her sheets was not an option, and it would undoubtedly be if anyone in nia’s reach knew that her charge had been released. the extent of the ice nation’s cruelty was not all know to any of the blonde’s people, only having touched on the very edges of their capability.    ‘ not yet. ‘

  it was then that she turned away, carrying herself lightly enough as not to disturb the baby against her chest. one of the three of them deserved not to be miserable, at least. her steps alerted the guards, who opened the door without it needing to be touched. once, leksa might have looked back to lay eyes on clarke one last time        not now. that time had passed.

   she kept herself busy tending to the child, doing as she’d been instructed by indra upon finding the girl, from feeding to carrying her until sleep overcame her. that didn’t last for long. the girl rarely slept, and if it she did, it was short lived. by the time the sun went down, all that could be heard on the uppermost floors of her tower were the cries of new, very perturbed child. nothing, from milk to the warmth of a shallow bath seemed to quiet her. not being walked, not laying against her furs. was this what she had been like? had titus and his associates ignored her cries until they stopped?