Text
Mist & Memory || Mercy & Arthur {POTW Flashback}
Bloody Mary ruins Netflix and Chill.
Who: Mercy and @arthurjdrake
Where: Drake Residence, evening When: near the beginning of the Bloody Mary POTW/end of the memory monsters POTW
TW: assault, injury, blood, gore, mentions of mass death and illness
Mercy had spent the better part of the day - which had been mostly sunny and fog-free, thank the gods - working in the backyard, tending to the small vegetable garden she’d started for her and Arthur. It was all neat and tidy now, with it’s little baby plants all in rows, and even a scarecrow to frighten off any critters that thought they could get a free meal out of Mercy’s hard work. She’d been quite filthy (and just a tiny bit sunburned) by the time she’d finished up. So filthy that Arthur had threatened to hose her down himself (risking bodily harm in the process) before she came back inside. Mercy had merely grinned at him - knowing he was (mostly) full of shit - and flicked a bit of dirt his way before ducking inside and racing off to her room to shower.
Now she was clean, hair washed and dried but still in a mess of wavy locks that fell down her back, and wearing a long-sleeved sweater and sleep shorts. She and Arthur had watched the first Lord of the Rings movie, and Mercy had drifted off at some point, the combination of a long day’s work and Arthur’s familiar presence - as well as several mostly sleepless nights in the last week - too much for her tired body to resist. She dozed lightly, her fingers having found their way just beneath the hem of Arthur’s shirt as she slept. They moved absently over the soft warmth of his skin as the last few minutes of the movie played out.
Outside, the thick, creeping fog had returned as evening fell. It drifted up from the ground, enveloping the house and the yard in a blanket of grey mist that was impossible to see through. As full dark descended, a small furrow appeared in Mercy’s brow, and she made a sound of discontent as she shifted restlessly.
It wasn’t entirely uncommon for Mercy to fall asleep during films, Arthur had grown rather accustomed to it in fact. So much so he ended up propping the bowl of cheese laden doritos on her side as a makeshift table considering he couldn’t reach the coffee table in front of the sofa. Plus considering how tired she’d been looking he’d felt it was only right to let her sleep, after all, there would be plenty of other times to watch movies.
As the final credits rolled, he grabbed the remote and switched the TV over to a lo-fi playlist off youtube considering he was rather effectively trapped on the sofa by Mercy. Not that he minded. If she got some sleep even only a little bit it was better than nothing, and it wasn’t as if he had anything else to do with the time.
Grabbing a few more chips he popped them into his mouth, letting his arm fall over the back of the sofa, sliding a little further down the sofa so he could prop his head on the arm. Night was coming in earlier now and it wouldn’t be long before darkness took the town for the night.
Mercy didn’t often mention her sleepless nights to Arthur. Not because she was trying to keep something from him - she’d decided a long time ago that she wasn’t going to do that anymore - but because it had been going on for so long that for Mercy, it was normal. But Arthur knew her better than anyone, and he noticed. She knew he did. She often wondered if he noticed how much better she slept when she was next to him. Tonight, however, was an exception. Her dreams were troubled, full of writhing shadows and the smell of rotting flesh. Stained and splintered bone and glassy, sightless eyes. A darkness so fathomless and so ancient that even Mercy was frightened of it. Of what waited beyond the torchlight… in the deep… in the dark…
The world trembled-
Mercy woke with a start, and it took a moment for her to realize where she was. Her heart still thrummed frantically in her chest in the dim light of the room. The fog was thick and milky through the windows, and she could’ve sworn she saw something move in the far off shadow of the trees lining the waterfront. But as she kept watching, it didn’t happen again. She sighed, and the warmth next to her drew her back to the present. Mercy pressed a weary hand over her eyes as she sagged back against Arthur. “Fuck me… sorry. Bad dream…”
Arthur was just reaching for another handful of doritos when Mercy startled awake, thankful that it was mostly crumbs left when the plastic bowl toppled off and onto the rug considering his slow-reaction attempt to try and snag it failed rather spectacularly. Resigned to not being able to move and get it he ended up tiling his head back and dropping the chips into his mouth. Little else to be done really and he was hardly going to let them go to waste.
With the credits music rolling and Mercy having woken up Arthur watched her with quiet concern. “Again?” for all their lives Mercy had struggled with nightmares and dreams, these so-called prophecies she’d been gifted with since childhood. He’d never truly known what to make of them or what they might mean but they always worried him. His arm dropped lazily over her hip, hugging her gently in the hopes it might help settle her a fraction. “Was it anything in particular?”
For the most part, Mercy had grown used to her dreams. Most didn’t even faze her much anymore, except on occasion when she was overtired or over stressed. Or when she was faced with ones that were unfamiliar. Either way, they were just a part of her life. Always had been, and always would be. Arthur knew it as well as Mercy, having worried over her for the better part of twelve centuries now. “Yeah…” Mercy breathed, opening her eyes as she lay back down. The warm weight of Arthur’s arm was soothing, and she lay there for a moment, fingers toying idly with the Mjolnir pendant around his neck as she tried to calm her racing heart.
It was so stupid… to be frightened of a dream. At least it should feel that way. But Mercy didn’t feel stupid. She felt… a sense of dread… foreboding. Uncertainty that she couldn’t rightly explain. Other than the old feelings the memory - the nightmare - had brought back to life. “London Below,” Mercy said quietly. “The Labyrinth.” She frowned deeply, fingers stilling on Arthur’s pendant. He knew the story of what had happened there. “The old forest god...”
Some things simply couldn’t be changed, they were a part of your life and you simply learned how to deal with them. Freyja’s nightmares were just one of those things, Arthur couldn’t take them away but he could listen and let her share the burden they took on her. Around her there was no effort to try and hide, so when she took the pendant that tended to remain tucked under his shirt and toyed with it he didn’t try to pull it back.
It took a few moments for Arthur to remember the story, there were so many sometimes they blended so much that it was hard to tell one from another. “That hasn’t been an issue for hundreds of years though right?” his fingers ghosted over her arm up and down in a soothing motion. “You got rid of it. It’s probably just old ghosts coming back to haunt you.” After all, once they’d been dealt with especially by Mercy of all people those things tended to stay gone.
“Right. I’ve… been back several times over the years, to London Below… to the Floating Market, and a few other places... but never to the Labyrinth. It was just the once.” When London and the surrounding countryside was being consumed by the Black Death. Mercy had dreamed of that time in her life before, but rarely. It had first come round again when she’d still shared her thoughts with Morgan. These last couple of weeks had seen it recurring more and more often. Recurring nightmares tended to recur for a reason. At least for Mercy. And that worried her.
The light brush of his fingers eased that worry a bit, as did the notion of it being nothing more than old ghosts. “Probably.” Mercy’s frown remained, but her fingers started their slow movements again, eventually tucking the pendant back where it belonged beneath Arthur’s shirt. She lay her palm over it. Felt his heart beating there as well. For a long moment, Mercy was quiet, finding solace in simply lying there with Arthur. But the ghosts wormed their way back into her head. “What if it’s not?” A sensation like being doused in ice water rolled over her, and goosebumps raced along her arms. Outside, the fog shifted unnaturally, and Mercy could’ve sworn she felt the ground tremble slightly. Though it could’ve been her that trembled.
“I won’t be able to kill it this time, Arthur.”
“How’d you even come to learn about it in the first place?” Granted Mercy had a lot of contacts and people in places that Arthur didn’t know of nor did he always want to know. Sometimes you were better off just happening upon things as they happened than knowing every single detail about every single thing. It took the fun out of situations when they did crop up and this was one such example of that.
“I don’t see how it could be anything but, it’s not like they’d come back hm?” his fingers continued their soft pattern, moving up and down her arm eventually stilling and resting against hers. “How could it be? Unless it’s somehow able to teleport across miles of water and end up here? Which last I recall of you telling me this story it can’t teleport…”
“Why not?” it didn’t make sense that it couldn’t be killed. Everything could be killed given means and motivation.
“Of the Labyrinth?” Mercy’s brow furrowed as she tried to find the answer. But it was so long ago. “I don’t remember. I think I always knew.” It was a vague statement, but not that unusual coming from Mercy. “The beast I heard about at the Floating Market. The sort of thing that’s… whispered about but never really spoken about out loud.” A shadow fluttered across Mercy’s face. “They said it was a demon. That it had brought the plague.” Her voice lowered, as if even now she was afraid to speak too loudly. “And that… the only way to end the dying was to slay it.” Mercy closed her eyes. “I remember sitting near a fire… night after night… listening to all manner of men and women - soldiers, hunters, casters, demon-killers, thrill-seekers - argue and fight over who should be the next to go down into the dark. They were all very brave… and very strong. Yet most never returned. The few that did…” Mercy made a small sound. “They were different.”
A small beat of silence followed. “Eventually, there was no one left who would go. The plague was... so many were dying. So… I volunteered. Should’ve done it sooner, but… I wanted to see what it would make of the others first. If they could succeed. When they didn’t, well.” Arthur knew the rest of the story. And Mercy didn’t care to relive it again.
“It can’t,” she agreed. “It never could. It wasn’t a spirit, or a phantom. It was real and it was ancient and it was… something other than just a boar… but it was flesh and bone and blood. And I killed it… I painted it’s blood over my eyes… and left it to rot in that place.” Her voice was slowly rising as she started to get upset. “Because I lost my spear. I used it on that fucking squid demon…” Mercy sighed, pressing a hand back over her eyes. “It’s at the bottom of the lake. And I can’t kill the boar without the spear…” If it were even real, and not just a ghost of a nightmare, as Arthur said.
For a moment after that, Mercy thought she was trembling again. And maybe she was. But when something in another room shattered as it fell to the floor, she opened her eyes, giving Arthur a familiar look that needed no explanation.
“Did you hear that?” she whispered, going very, very still.
It was strange for Mercy to not bite the bullet sooner, an action orientated individual he knew it was simply her nature to charge into battle without a second thought for the safety of a situation. But those were different times and circumstances changed so Arthur didn’t think to question too further on that account. She did what she needed to do and that was that.
“Well then, as you say… It’s dead.” And if it wasn’t, well there wasn’t much they could do about it now was there? “What about getting your spear back? I’d say I would help but…” he gave her a mildly apologetic look knowing they were both acutely aware he would be no assistance in this department. “What about diving equipment? I’m sure you could scour the lake.”
“Mm.” But the quiet comfort he’d been letting himself sink into was interrupted by the crash from the direction of the kitchen and Ren had to stop himself from sighing. “Yeah” he answered lowly before grumbling under his breath “why can’t we get five bloody minutes of peace in this place?”
If she hadn’t lost her spear, Mercy would’ve already gone after the creature that she knew she’d seen prowling the woods. But she remembered the dark and the rot and the ones that never returned from below. She remembered knowing that the weapon was the only way. That she was the only way. And if this thing had truly come back from the dead somehow… then there was no one else who could stop it. No one else who would. Or so the part of Mercy that still feared the old gods… and the deep, deep dark... told her.
But Arthur, as always, pulled her back from that darkness. She smiled at him, some of the tension easing out of her face. “I know you would…” But the spear was beyond his reach. It might be beyond Mercy’s as well. “I could,” she nodded, a small furrow returning to her brow. “ I tried to get it back once. Recently. I even had help.” But that hadn’t worked out well for either her, Mina, or Ariana. “But I… I don’t think I can go back into that water…” It was rare for Mercy to be frightened of anything. But the last time she’d been beneath the black water of the lake, she almost hadn’t returned. She didn’t need to say it out loud to know Arthur would get her meaning. She was scared.
The shattering glass was a singular sound that didn’t come again. As the house stayed quiet once more, Mercy slowly forced her body to relax again. It wasn’t fair, she knew - hearing Arthur’s muttered annoyance - to never have peace. That was what Mercy wanted more than anything, despite the Fury nature that would always have a need and a craving for turmoil and chaos. She didn’t want to merely survive anymore. She wanted to live. With Arthur. To finally have the one thing that had always eluded her. The one person that had always been just out of reach. But who was here now, lying with her, listening to her fears and her failures and taking them all in stride. As he always had.
He deserved better than a life of pain and fear and heartbreak. So Mercy let herself settle. The house was quiet, the thick white curtain of fog still shifting strangely outside, but she turned her focus back to what was, instead of what might be. “It’s probably just Nana…” Mercy said, letting her fingers drift along the curve of Arthur’s arm. “Or Loki.” She traced the images inked into his skin, using them as a focal point as her tension continued to fade. Old fears were getting the better of her lately. Slipping between the cracks left over from recent events. The wraith. The mimes. Arthur’s brush with death. Mercy’s drowning and the blindness that followed. Their trip through her memories to save a friend who had died anyway, murdered in the street. Some days Mercy wondered what the point of it all was. And then Arthur would smile at her, or she’d hear his laughter, and Mercy remembered.
“Let’s stay here…” She looked up at him from beneath her lashes. “I like it better here.”
As much as Arthur would have liked to stay right here and not go and investigate, he couldn’t entirely bring himself to forget about the fact that something had smashed. His eyes pressed closed for a few moments knowing these would be the last few he’d likely get before they had to figure out what had been smashed and the process of fixing or replacing it. “I just hope it isn’t one of my antiques, do you know how hard it is finding a good potter these days?” His fingers drifted over Mercy’s waist waiting and listening yet nothing more came.
Was that a good sign or bad? He tried to continue listening, though the brush of Mercy’s finger over the dark interwoven patterns of their history and their home that he’d had inked into the very essence of his skin started to shift his focus away from that and everything that had come to pass of late. “We should build a big bonfire this year, for Samhain. I also still haven’t warded the house which is definitely something we should do before the end of the month hm?”
“Hm,” Arthur stretched out on the sofa folding one arm behind his head lazily “you make a convincing argument. I’m very comfy right now.”
Mercy hummed in agreement. “I’m sure it’s right up there with finding a decent swordsmith. Or authentic Thai food.” She relaxed a bit as they waited for a follow up crash, enjoying the warm weight of Arthur’s hand at her waist. But the house remained silent, and Mercy didn’t care to seek out trouble. Especially if it drew her away from the sofa.
But Arthur’s focus slipped from the sound and back to Mercy’s attentions. The thought of a bonfire for the upcoming holiday made her smile, and a soft laugh followed. “A giant bonfire that’ll light up the night sky… and rain down fiery embers for us to dance beneath, our faces painted to hide from those spirits who might wish us harm.” It had been quite awhile since Mercy had celebrated properly. “But yeah… the warding should probably come sooner rather than later,” she agreed. Else who knew what might come calling.
Mercy watched him as he stretched. Her fingers drifted to his waist, gently seeking the warm skin beneath the hem of his sweater. “That’s good…” she murmured, snuggling closer. A mischievous look glinted in her eyes as she rubbed her nose lazily against his, ‘Eskimo’ style. “Was afraid you’d run off and leave me all by my lonesome…”
“Actually I’ll have you know that sword shop in town is pretty solid in that department…” Arthur said. “Though I’m convinced they have a vampire behind the scenes authenticating all their stock. No way are they all that legit without some historical perspective.”
“Like we did when we were small, right? We did that?” there were only vague recollections of distant memories, most of the faces blurred and lost to time. Though it was hard to forget the pounding beat of drums and swell of music that sank into your bones and moved you to a place of higher belief. An existential experience. Though that could partly be blamed from the mushrooms they foraged at such events.
“Never. I’m not that cruel.” But even the comfort of Mercy’s presence wasn’t enough to diminish the nagging hypervigilance that White Crest had bred into him and Arthur frowned as another crash came from the kitchen. “Oh come on…” he groaned begrudgingly pulling away from Mercy to walk in the direction of the kitchen “Nana if that’s my vase we’re gonna have words!”
And yet, as Arthur stepped into the kitchen he blinked in apparent confusion. “What- there’s no- What’s going on?”
“Excalibur?” Mercy asked, giving him a skeptical look. “The one time I went in there the guy at the counter tried to sell me a knock-off. It was a good one. But still a knock off. Though I think he was also really high…” She shrugged, grinning a bit. “At least you know your antiques and can’t get ripped off like other people.”
Mercy’s expression softened a bit at the mention of their childhood. So long ago now that she barely remembered it except for a few vivid memories that were unlikely to fade. “We did. We painted our faces-” She pulled two fingers lightly over his eyes. “-and braided feathers and bone in our hair… we danced until our legs fell out from under us.” A small laugh escaped her as the memory rose up, warming a special place in her chest.
It warmed a bit more as Arthur started to tease her in return, but another resounding crash from the kitchen made them both groan in frustration. Mercy stood, scrubbing her hands over her face as she followed Arthur into the kitchen, ready to clean up whatever mess the ghost had caused this time. Though it wasn’t like her to break things so vehemently. “Is it the vase…” Mercy started to ask as she came up beside Arthur.
But the scene before her answered her own question. There was a something in their kitchen, but it wasn’t Nana. It was something else. Something... dark and terrible. Something that made even Mercy’s skin crawl with a sense of… wrongness. But she barely had time to register what was happening before the spirit was on them. “RUN!!” Mercy pushed in front of Arthur and held up her arms to try and deflect the attack, but there was nothing she could do as the creature slashed at her. White-hot pain flared once, twice, three times across her forearms… and a line of searing fire split across the side of her neck. Mercy turned and shoved Arthur away from the kitchen. She tried to scream at him again, but her words tasted like copper, and she could only choke and cough as she silently begged him to Go! Now!
“Oh really? Huh, must’ve been a different guy when I went. They had some authentics in there that were actually rather tempting but I feel like people would start questioning me if I had too many sharp things on the wall… I already have two axes up, more and I think magic folk would get the wroooong idea.”
What Arthur wasn’t anticipating was an extremely pale and bloodied woman in a white dress, to pull herself out of the fragmented glass. He blinked, shocked into silence and uncertainty about how best to handle this occurrence when his stasis was broken by Mercy’s scream. A scream that cut short into a wet gargle of crimson splashing the countertops from a sharp glint of something reflective wielded by the other figure in the room. “HEY! YOU LEAVE HER ALONE” he yelled, moving to reach out and grab the figure by the arm, and while his hand seemed to sink into her apparition he managed to gain purchase on something ice cold. Still, he dug his fingers in and shoved the creature in the other direction watching it sail across the space and vanish back into the glass. “What the ever loving fuck?”
Instead, cold dead eyes remained fixed on their target from the shimmering depths.
“GO” Arthur yelled, moving to grab Mercy and shove her towards the door, “hide! Now! GOGOGO!”
“You obviously haven’t looked underneath my bed,” Mercy grinned at the mention of sharp things. They were forced up after that, Mercy silently wondering if she and Arthur would ever be given the chance to do anything more than share a few kisses here and there. It seemed like they were always being interrupted somehow.
But those thoughts were stripped from Mercy’s mind as the source of the interruption became clear. There was no time after that for anything but the need to get away. As far away as possible. Because Mercy could withstand nearly anything the raging spirit came at her with, but Arthur… Arthur couldn’t. So Mercy did as she’d always done. She protected him. Or tried to. Blood splattered the countertops, the floors, the walls… the attack was so quick and vicious that Mercy was bleeding out before she realized it. But then Arthur was there, putting himself between her and the horrible shade screaming for her blood… blood that was pooling entirely too fast on the kitchen floor.
And then Arthur was the one pushing Mercy out of the room. She nearly slipped in the slick puddle of gore beneath her feet, but Arthur steadied her and they pair fled the kitchen as fast as they were able. Behind them, the sounds of shattering glass came again, and the angry wail of a killer denied her victim followed. Mercy moved towards the stairs, scrambling up as best she could. They ran the length of the upper floor, away from the kitchen - leaving a gods awful trail of blood in their wake - and when Mercy spotted the large, walk-in linen closet near Arthur’s room, she gestured they should get in. There were no mirrors, no reflective surfaces, so unless the ghost was aware enough to actually follow the trail they’d left behind, they would be safe.
Mercy slid to the floor was the door was shut, clasping a hand to her neck where the glass had nearly severed her carotid. It still bled entirely too fast, but she could feel the hot sting of skin starting to knit itself together. Her arms were better off, but still not healed completely. If she could only stem the flow long enough… and not pass out… she’d be fine. But Arthur… she grabbed his sleeve, pulling on it to get his attention to make sure he was okay.
Muffled wails echoed from downstairs as the murderous spirit hunted her prey.
There was no initial recognition of whatever entity was in the kitchen, Arthur only saw the bloodied fingers clasped tight around a shattered piece of glass going for his dearest companion. It spurred him to action, even as Mercy tried to put herself in harms way for his sake. Not this time. No that wouldn’t fly. Giving Mercy a shove he grabbed the salt dispenser on the side and backed up, dumping it in a line across the threshold of the room. This had to be some sort of spirit right? How did you deal with spirits? Salt and iron.
Backing up into the hallway Arthur stared at the figure as it advanced, steps stilted and stiff. It paused as it reached the line of salt and there was a momentary feeling of triumph that lit Arthur’s chest at the sentiment of something so simple beating this creature.
A feeling that dissolved as one foot stepped over the line and a wicked smile cracked the pale visage’s lips. Mockery. A look that seemed to say, oh dear, you’ll have to try harder than that little boy.
“Shit! Gogogo!” Arthur yelled, following Mercy’s trail up the stairs and following her into the darkened space of the upstairs hallway. He sank down to the floor within, grabbing a loose towl and fumbling in the dark to feel for her neck and the slick press of her own fingers against the weeping wound of her neck. “Here…” he whispered bringing the towel forward to try and help. “What the hell was that?”
Mercy couldn’t answer for several long moments after they ducked into the closet. They simply sat there in the dark, Mercy trying not to choke on her own blood as Arthur pressed a towel to her neck, and they waited on the wound to heal. “Mary…” Mercy managed to say, though it came out in a coarse whisper. “Bloody… Mary… s’ghost…” Another wail came from somewhere in the house. “Can’t… stop her… hav’to… hide…”
She coughed, trying to stay quiet, but unable to help it. A few moments later, the wail was closer. It sounded like the spirit had come up the stairs. When it came again, it was right outside the door. Mercy closed her eyes, pressing her hand over her mouth as she tried to stay quiet. A floorboard creaked… the handle started to turn… and then… nothing. No sound. No wailing. Mercy was almost convinced the specter had gone. Almost. Until something snatched her by the hair and lifted her off her feet. She was slammed once, twice, three times against the closet door, until it too slammed open, and the spirit started to drag Mercy - literally kicking and screaming as she tried to escape - back down the hall.
“Arthur, RUN!” she cried, even though she knew he wasn’t going to listen.
The silence was oppressive, broken only by the wet painful breath of Freyja beside him. His own heart pounded loud enough that he swore it was about to beat right out the front of his chest. And so they sat, hopeful that perhaps they could wait it out. "Bloody Mary? Isn't that a kids tale?" Typical she would show up here of all places.
Yet the silence was shattered, the spirit attempting to bash Freyja's skull in on the hard timber frame of the dark space they were in. Each a short sharp sickening thud until she was being dragged down the stairs and Arthur was once again scrambling after them. "NO! NOT MY GIRLFRIEND YOU BITCH!" he wasn't sure what compelled him to grab Mercy's other arm but in a fit of panic it was all that he could think of. He pulled, feet skidding on the carpet as he yanked fighting for control and possession with a determination rarely seen from the scholar. Not this time it said.
Until finally the spirit's grip gave way, right at the top of the stairs. If she couldn't end it then why not let this empassioned fool do it himself? They tumbled backwards down the wooden steps, bashing backs and heads in the process until they came to a stop at the bottom of the stairs bloodied, bruised and right a ringing headache pierced by another wail.
It was slow to process, but Arthur fumbled unsteadily pushing to his feet and grabbing the back of Mercy's jumper to haul her towards the door. To keep moving, the lock clicked open and Arthur flung the door open dragging her out barefoot into the street towards some kind of salvation.
Wherever that thing was not.
~
#wickedswriting#chatzy#p: arthur#assault tw#disturbing imagery tw#flashback#potw#mass poisoning tw#sort of?? just mentions if anything#//we didn't start this ages ago or anything... nope. Not us... never XDD
6 notes
·
View notes