piecebymiserablepiece

[piecebymiserablepiece]

The Dead

She remained on her bed for a long time, almost as if in shock. She knew this was coming, saw it from a mile away, and yet it still stung like a dagger twisting in her gut. Rogue. Never to go home. Never to gain rank. Never to be smiled at, laughed with, taught by the people that had been with her since this entire thing began. Everything hurt. Everything stung. The feather piece atop her dresser was the worst of it, a sharp reminder of exactly the family that she lost. That she still loved. Rosemary no longer had the energy to sob, to cry, so though her shoulders shook she was nearly completely silent. The mark on her forehead felt like a burning brand, a reminder of her failures, of all that was given up. She remembered being told what this would be like. The Black Hand warned her. Doubt, pain, uncertainty...he was right. He was right about all of this. She hadn’t realized grief would well up like a bubble even after the sentence she already knew she would receive came down. Soon, she’d talk to her pack. Soon, she’d talk to Serafino. It was far too important to make sure the Blood Accords weren’t simply worked around. But now, she grieved. It was almost funny how the only words she could think to speak aloud weren’t anything but a quote. “We are the dead.”

[piecebymiserablepiece]

Burial

The rain, when it fell, was soft and light, nearly a mist as Winter had its first givings about turning to spring. The wind whistled softly in the quiet field where the Madame stood, so much so that she could hear even the beating of her own heart. She clutched her flowers and a wooden box to her chest, closing her eyes and listening to the wind for a few moments longer. A glance- almost a means of security- back at Nick, who remained in his spot: leaning against a tree with a cigarette held loosely in his hand. There was no danger, but still she wanted to run back to him, summoning up all of her nerve to stay where she was. The cemetery was empty. He’d made sure of that. She looked a few rows away from her, upon the grave she visited before this one. The Reverend Doctor Marcus McDonald Oglivy. The flower she left there was a half-hearted apology, slightly damaged when her composure slipped and her hand had clenched too tightly around it. She had the least amount of pity for him. Even so, the brutal scene that had marked his last moments-...she wouldn’t be able to burn the aftermath of what her motley had done out of her hand. Not after being the last person to see him before the fight. She shook her head, and looked at the graves in front of her, much closer together. One stone for Malcolm. The sibling. She could still hear his slow, smug drawl. She hadn’t expected him when she took on his sister’s, Jaime’s, face. She hadn’t expected his zeal over protecting her. She hadn’t expected the cruel, perverse monster, either. Violent, depraved, tortuous-...she had made a mistake posing as one of his loved ones. Of seeing the human side of him.

She wondered if he was buried under the dirt, her gloved hand picking nervously at one of her flowers and settling it down on the grave. She wondered if it was salvageable. She could still feel the heat and fury of overwhelming grief in her body. The realization that maybe, maybe he could have been fixed still plagued her conscience- monsters don’t just come out of nowhere. He was unconscious. Helpless. And she’d cried in that room alone with him for an hour before she’d ignored her motley’s wishes and stabbed him until he was more viscera than man.

Gone now. The only harmful part of him anymore were the memories. She wondered if he worried about his sister in his final conscious moments. The Madame looked over at the second grave, almost sad that her mantle afforded enough light to read it clearly. McKennas. Both of them. Jaime, the monster whose death started it all- the one that the Madame tried to become simply to get rid of a threat. Her husband. The other McKenna. They were given the same grave. Of course they did, Jaime had no body- why waste the space? Her husband’s death was the source of the Madame’s worst nightmares, though. An innocent man, a blind, sick fellow who simply thought a beautiful woman had fallen for him. The unknowing bank of the Ashwood Abbey. His note was with the box. “I left to be with Jaime.” Grief clouded her eyes, dripping down her face nigh-uncontrollably. She never should have tried to help him. Of course he’d know his wife more than anyone else- know she’d never genuinely be kind. The Madame had driven an innocent man to suicide.

And it hurt. It hurt the worst out of all of this. She adjusted her skirts, crouching down and grabbing the shovel sticking out of the ground beside her. A small frown crossed her face when she saw that the dirt was loose. She stole a glance back at her husband- the look on the monarch’s face said it all. That was his doing. Probably more concern for her. Some hidden part of her was grateful. The pain probably wouldn’t make her strong enough to do this on her own. Digging still took ages. Her breath was haggard by the end of it, though she made sure it was never visible to the man nearby. The occasional hand on her abdomen was the only indication she had any discomfort. She dug with as much strength her grief could give her. At all the pain at the death of the utter monsters that were oh so pitiable- and the victim of suicide who had heard too much. She hit the coffin lid with her shovel, then cleared the dirt around it, taking a moment to relax.

Her voice was nearly a whisper when she spoke.

“Sorry, sir- for intruding one more time.” her hands gripped the lid of the coffin “But there’s still something I feel I ought to do for you.” Glamour surged through her fingertips, and she removed the lid with ease.

The smell was enough to nearly kill her. The sight was likely to as well.

Her movements were fast, and laden with apology. She opened the lid of the box she had with her, and gingerly placed Jaime’s bones next to his. A final gift to a man the world had wronged.

Cleaning up was easier. Refilling the hole was easier. Leaving with Nick was easier.

The grief, however, was not.

[piecebymiserablepiece]

Fire

For the first time in what felt like ages, Cassius actually felt cold in his room. The summer sun had given up it’s strength this late at night, and finally let the night air pervade through every part of this house. Cass sighed through his nose, catching the ball he’d just thrown up in the air, lithe fingers barely snatching it before he threw it back up at the ceiling again.

Lonely shadows following me

Lonely ghosts come calling

Lonely voices talking to me

Now I'm gone, now I'm gone, now I'm gone

His mouth was fixed in its usual scowl, his eyes narrowed in concentration. Don’t think. Not now. The bad thoughts were making their way in, taking advantage of the quiet and making every part of the world drip with poison. Throw. Catch. Throw. Catch. What would Edith say if she saw him now? ...what would Sibyl? And my mother told me son let it be

Sold my soul to the calling

Sold my soul to a sweet melody

Now I'm gone, now I'm gone, now I'm gone The ball dropped onto the bed with a thud. He didn’t bother to pick it back up again, heading to the bathroom instead. His roommates weren’t about. He’d have time to shower without being pulled into conversation. He just didn’t have the energy for it today. Lord give me that fire. He closed the door behind him, grimacing when he saw his face in the mirror. He’d gotten even more pale. Even more sickly. Once proud of his face, his appearance- he now saw everything being stipped away, day by day. He looked sickly now, dead. A corpse barely keeping itself moving through spite alone. Lord give me that fire.

He pulled his hair back, trying to ignore how dry it’d gotten, how almost ready to split it was- almost in an attempt to hide it from himself. Was it a sin to cling to looking alive again? Lord give me that fire. He started the water. Slowly unbuttoned his shirt and vest, placing them carefully on the counter, struggled with his binder, and finally got so fed up that he dumped the rest of his clothes in an unceremonious pile on the bathroom floor. He stepped into the shower and ignored the fact that he’d turned it far too hot, simply letting it run over him and scald everywhere it touched. Burn, burn, burn. The revolt. His thoughts always turned back to the revolt nowadays. Was he strong back then? Was he a coward now? Weak and soft and relying on others for protection? He’d fought so hard. He’d torn into that house, fangs bared in a malicious grin, more beast than person and hungrier for blood than he’d ever been in his life. The toreador had gone up in flames so fast, screaming and pleading all the way to ash. Then was the woman. The woman in the next room who screamed a scream so loud that it ripped into Cassius’ skin, past any defense he had up, that sent him willingly into a hateful frenzy. Teagan had barely stopped him back then. Teagan was the only one who knew why he’d reacted that way. Without him, he’d be lost. Instead, someone else tore her apart, amidst Cassius’ hateful screams and snarls. They made a comment about how they always wanted the Discipline she was using. Oh, a thousand faces staring at me

Thousand times I've fallen

Thousand voices dead at my feet

Now I'm gone, now I'm gone, now I'm gone Cassius couldn’t throw up. Couldn’t even heave. His body was no longer capable. Instead, he just started to sob, blood running off of his face and mixing with the water down the drain. And now he dared to advocate for peace. Disgusting. And my mother told me son let it be

Sold my soul to the calling

Sold my soul to a sweet melody

Now I'm gone, now I'm gone, now I'm gone Lord gimme that fire

Lord gimme that fire

Lord gimme that fire

Burn, burn, burn (Song- Fire by Barns Courtney)

[piecebymiserablepiece]

Imzadi

Narrow steps creaked under Jess’ feet as they gingerly made their way up to the top of the Winchester. They exhaled, sending dust particles spinning across rays of sun peeking through the slats of wood that made up its ceiling.

They inhaled, air stale on their tongue. The reek of the room was commonplace by now, the room they had so glibly referred to as their office throughout the weekend a horror show to anyone not prepared for it. There, in the corner, jars full of the spilled remnants of liquid, glowing ever so slightly in dim light.

Across the wall, ash and viscous liquid, smeared across it by a haphazard hand too impatient to wait for a towel to be handed to it. Pieces of guts and brains, yet unclaimed, still peppering the floor, only cleaned enough to allow for a wide path to walk.

And finally, the wooden bed, almost completely covered in fresh, red blood. It was the only thing the doctor avoided looking at.

And if we should die tonight, then we should all die together

Jess pulled the only chair in the room up to the small makeshift desk they’d made for themself, gingerly starting to put away the surgical implements that they’d left strewn about the place. They picked up a small cloth nearby, inspecting it for a spot that hadn’t been recently bloodied, and began to clean the tools one by one. They eyed the box of barely used gloves beside them, and shook their head, pushing down the nonsensical anxiety swelling in their chest.

Raise a glass of wine for the last time They put everything back, exhaling once more through their noise and trying to calm the screaming in their head. They wondered if they’d ever forget the sound.

They’d fancied themself so numb to the world, so ready to hurt other people that pain no longer meant anything to them- but her face, her screams...Jess felt like their heart was coming apart at the strings.

Prepare as we will watch the flames burn on and on the mountain side Desolation comes upon the sky.

They remembered the mountain. Their mistakes, and their triumphs. But their biggest failing stood out to them like a broken limb. There, too, people had counted on them. There, too, they’d failed.

Now I see fire, inside the mountain I see fire, burning the trees

They reached up, clutching their chest, fingers pressing against jagged grey veins nearly popping out of the surface of their skin. For a moment, they wondered what they had lost.

And I see fire, hollowing souls And I see fire, blood in the breeze

For a moment, they wondered who would possibly risk their lives after so many had already laid them down for Jess’ mistakes.

And I hope that you'll remember me… “Do you have a minute? I’d like to talk with you about something important.”

- “Hey, wanna go through it all again?” “Are you asking if I want to, or are you asking me to?” “The latter, I suppose.”

- “I...I know there’s no way I should be asking you this, but I want you there with me…”

… There were three now. There were just 3. They’d have to tell him that. They’d have to tell him that was all there were, all they cared to trust. But their heart felt like it was screaming again. Begging them to be honest with themself, if with no one else. It was stupid. Pointless. They pulled out a scrap of letter paper and began to write. Are you, are you, coming to the tree? They strung up a man, they say he murdered three Strange things did happen here, no stranger would it be If we met at midnight, in the hanging tree.

And I hope you will remember me.

[piecebymiserablepiece]

A Learning Oppurtunity

The air in Anastasia’s room smelled almost revoltingly stale, dust barely visible through a beam of moonlight that had crept in. She’d made sure the place was empty. Roommate- gone. Contacts- unaware of her location tonight. Employees- ensured she was out sick. She opened one of her newer books. Well, new to her, whatever volume this was was unbelievably old, throwing more dust into the air with every page she turned. Far too many times, she’d read over the pages before last, having to look over them again and again before she was able to retain so much as a line from any of them. Even that wasn’t working. Growling softly in frustration, she went back to the beginning of the page, lifting her left hand again and trying to move her fingers properly. How could this be so difficult?!? If it were a challenge, or a complex task she’d have to pick up, it’d be easy! Like recoding a page- but this was just dull. Horrifically and mind-numbingly dull. Her fingers itched, she pulled them back to her chest and hunched her shoulders over, closing her eyes tightly. There was a reason she’d made sure to be absolutely alone- she’d be mortified if anyone came upon her doing something so morally repugnant as all of this. This dedication to such a ridiculous task- entrenched in family tradition and banality- she was walking a fine line between good and evil here. Way too fine a line for her comfort. Her beast was present now, not quiet and full- but angry at being kept here, unsated. And what if it bit her next? She could already feel anger pulsing in her brain… No, she wouldn’t give into evil. She was brushing close with it- but this was temporary. Something to master to better serve her efforts in freeing others- nothing more. Not a dedication. Not an obsession. Just a part of the duty she loved so very much. And it’ll keep him safe. Who cares about your morality if it keeps him safe? Your actions, your mind, your soul...what do those really matter in the bigger picture?

Again.

She opened her eyes, turning another page, and got back to work. Hand outstretched. Lips moving, speaking in a soft rhythm.

Fingers itching worse now.

Her fingertips began to grow cold- then colder. Seconds later, they were on pins and needles, then numb, the rest of her hand following suit.

She looked straight ahead before letting her fingers twitch, tugging ever so slightly at something beyond what most could see.

With a loud crack, energy shot around her hand, and without a second thought she hurled it across the room, watching the wall across from her splinter from an immediate force of impact.

...wonderful. She could leave now.

[piecebymiserablepiece]

The Fog

For once, Juniper’s room was quiet, devoid of the music she normally cranked to a level that corresponded with that day’s mood. The only break to the silence was the occasional thud of a training sword hitting a small dummy, each hit in a carefully measured interval. Her form was off. She adjusted, and went at it again. There was a fog in the cub’s brain that just wouldn’t be shaken away. It had crept in when she woke up, slowly sapping her energy and making today’s practice take a lot more effort than it normally did. No matter. Tenacity was key. The silence was a real bother though. She didn’t really feel like going across the room to mess with her laptop, so it was probably best to bear it. Just gotta practice every day. Practice, and you’ll eventually beat everyone. Even the spider. Another hit. Form was good. Try to replicate that. That’s a lie. What has everyone been telling you? He’s a spider-Ahroun. A Ragabash will never beat an Ahroun- Her next hit faltered, almost missed altogether. Bullshit. Bullshit! I’m a swordfighter. He’s just a fucking spider- an auspice is just a- Her gaze fell to a picture on her desk, among a sea of books and hastily scribbled notes. Mistweaver. Correct her form. Hit. Hit. Hit. Focus on fighting. Focus on practice. She was smart, she knew that. Hell, that picture proved that she must’ve been smart! Couple of nerds, probably researching the same stuff they looked into now. Yeah, he was super smart. Yeah, every time anyone had a question, they went to him. I mean, he probably knows more than you you anyway. Look at you, you’ve been struggling for every scrap of information since your first shift. And anyway- This time she missed altogether “You’ll never be able to do the kind of stuff he can do.” He’s a theurge and you’re a goddamn ragabash, after all. You’ve been doomed to be stupid since your first shift- “Looking into things, it seems you dropped out of high school a few years back. I don’t know why-” Stupid stupid stupid!!!

Her weapon dropped, she barely heard it hit the ground. She fell back onto her bed, staring at the ceiling blankly. Never as good as them. You never were and you never will be. You’re not even special in your auspice, we already have too many of those- The fog was thicker now. More imposing. She slowly brought herself to a sitting position, though it took every ounce of effort she had to do so.

Useless. Only good to fight and die. Just like the rest of the Garou.

Curled up. Sobbing. Was she dying? Was this it? Now, all of a sudden, it felt like that would be a mercy.

No point.

There’s no point.

No goddamn point to any of this any more.