#Slitbinder tag

[zillyeh]

To Asphalt

cw: murder, thats just really the whole thing that happens here

The air in the church of the Reverent was heavy, hard to breath. And it hadn’t even been set ablaze yet. Azveja’s shaking hands struggled to tend the wound on Kerath’s shoulder. Reverent, revered Kerath Baclef, who was nothing but another set of arms that held her too close to the Messiahs, and too far away from freedom.

No, lack of freedom was never his fault. He was many things, but not blameworthy. Her fate was only ever the fault of Alternia. The law. The Gods. 

Azveja pressed her lips together. The slit across his shoulder was deep. Painful. The metal of her hands couldn’t conduct her powers if she wanted them to. To help. To heal. To ease that pain. They could barely hold the fucking needle.

He placed a cool hand over her free, shaking fingers.

“Azveja, chère," he said softly. “Might I have your permission to calm you so you do not rip my shoulder further?" 

“You don’t trust me,” she said, her voice too shaky to hide how close her tears were.

“Could you forgive yourself if you made it worse?” he asked, soft still. A harsh question coming from anyone but the Reverent. Of course not. He knew that. He knew her like no one ever bothered to.

No one still alive, anyway.

The moment the word “fine” hissed out of her mouth, she felt calm. Clear of mind. But not calm enough to forget her urgency. The tremors of her miserable cybernetic hands were at least bearable when not compounded by nerves.

“We can’t make it out of here,” she said simply, binding his wound with swift stitches. She dressed his wound just as quickly, buttoning his robe back up.

“Azveja, your pessimism is truly the least charming thing about you, have I ever told you that?” 

“I am realistic. We have fifteen minutes.”

Kerath sighed, not moving to stand. He preferred her here at eye level, though she wouldn’t allow him to see hers through her mask. He took her hands, releasing some of the hold he had on her emotions, but not all. Hers were always so much stronger than he could handle, even on her bad nights.

“Amillo, Bruice, and Domnik will return for us, Azveja. If we have to take the tunnels out, we will. We have time. I cannot leave until I know everyone else is out of here.”

“That’s stupid,” Azveja said, standing. He was still almost to her chin sitting down. What a silly, silly angle people looked like from underneath, he thought. “You should have gone first. With the young.”

“Funny, I was about to say the same about you.”

Azveja pressed her lips together, turning away from him.

“I cannot fight with them. My primary purpose is to tend the wounded,” she said. “That’s you.” Kerath smiled, standing to his full height. It was one of the rare moments that this small action didn’t make Azveja flinch. Kerath, however, winced at the motion his shoulder made.

“I understand,” he said, taking in the room of his church, seemingly for the last time. Red illuminated the walls of the small building, bright enough that the rainbows of stained glass were nothing to it. The empire carapaced drones above, the blazing sun just beginning to dip under the ocean waves. Red. It was all so red. Azveja sighed and pulled the mask from her head, looking up to him.

She was like a stranger to him, for how little he saw of her face. One thing he could never forget, and never truly bring himself to fully describe were her eyes. That color she couldn’t stand to see, those teardrop pupils. He once thought it poetic in a way, given her melancholic disposition.

Right now she just looked sad.

“Kerath, I-”

Her ears twitched, and in that split second she barrelled into him with all the weight her body had, throwing him to the ground with enough force to split his shoulder again. In that same instant, the church roof fell directly where they had been standing. The whirring of drones was distant above, nearly impossible to hear over the beating of the dragon wings directly outside that newly gaping hole. 

The long, serpentine thing snarled, smoke at its nostrils, more debris in its claws as it found purchase to land. More roof shattered until the two could see its rider, masked and severe but unmistakably from the church. The old church. Le Corps.

The shape of her horns told Azveja it was her old ex lover. The pounding on the barricaded church door told her this was not a coincidence.

Kerath’s groaning told her neither of them would make it out of here alive.

“Vennen!” Azveja coughed, attempting to pull up a man nearly two feet her superior. 

“Don’t you dare address me, salope!” the rider shouted. The Firebringer’s lusus snarled underneath her. The door snapped all the way off the hinges. Kerath and Azveja scrambled back to the podium as a quartet of familiar faces from their old church poured in. The final purple stopped Azveja in her tracks. With Kerath’s arms around her, she felt fear shoot through him like lightning.

“Père Jortis,” Azveja breathed, shaking now that Kerath’s calm was gone. He silently stalked through the broken pews, scowl on his painted face, cane in hand. 

“A travesty I find only two and not the six who left me,” he said in their home tongue, the disappointment in his voice enough to make Azveja feel nauseous. Kerath straightened himself, wincing as he attempted to put himself between the much smaller troll and the array of enormous purplebloods. Jortis scoffed. All three other clowns and the jade above looked to him for instruction. He ignored all of them in his approach, stopping just at the rubble Vennen had made.

“Where are the rest?”

Azveja gripped Kerath’s robes, bullying herself out from behind him.

“Fuck you!” she spat, eyes wide and wild. Jortis regarded her with a disgust more intense than could possibly be put to words. It made her shrink, even with Kerath’s hand on her shoulder.

“My my, lost your obedience and your arms then, duckling? Fine. I don’t have time for this. Seize them both and kill anyone you can find before our twenty is up. Heiress Halosa has granted us that right.” He rolled his head around his shoulders, casting his gaze to Kerath. “I want Baclef’s head. Do with her what you will.” 

The speed with which his clowns moved was astonishing. Nauseating. Kerath, in what new adrenaline he’d been able to muster, he shoved Azveja toward the side door, the one to the basement. It was a sweet thought, but the laughsassins of La Corps du Serpent Mourant were better than that. Faster.

One caught Azveja before she fell, throwing her unguarded face into the back wall of the church.

“Kerath!” she shouted through the blood in her mouth, dizzy but more resilient than one of her stature should be. The other two had caught him by the arms, the taller of the two forcing him to his knees. Jortis drummed his fingers against his cane, ascending the rubble and the stairs to meet him. 

Azveja jabbed her metal elbows wherever they would find purchase, her struggle nearly useless against the clown who held her face. The purple reared back her head again, but this time Azveja twisted her head just right to rip the hood off of her horns, losing her cloak as she escaped her grip. In the split second between realizing that worked and having to decide where she would go, that clown caught her around the middle. She crushed the wind out of her, blood still spilling down her face. She had a perfect view of the horror about to take place in front of her. 

Kerath did not fight back. He couldn’t. He was weak for his caste. Nothing against three well trained purplebloods- especially not the patriarch of Le Corps.

Azveja may have been strong for her caste once, before her arms fell to disrepair. Powerful. A touch that could calm or cause pain as she felt like, just from skin contact-

Her upper arms were free. Real. In contact with that purple’s cold clammy arms. Azveja struggled, digging her fingers into her skin, loosing whatever pain she felt through her shoulders, through the nerves of her captor’s hands. The clown shouted, distracting her companions, but only loosened her grip. Azveja’s teeth in her arm did the rest. 

She dropped to the floor, her desperate struggle to reach Kerath brought her close, but her body was not made for fighting, not like this. Not gushing blood from her head the way she was.

“Kerath!” she shouted again, hoarse and miserably dragging herself along the stone. The sickle Jortis had around his throat was close to drawing blood. Tears ran freely down his face, but he was otherwise silent. Kerath made a brief eye contact with Azveja, but only to offer her one final reassuring smile. The monster. The idiot. The only person who never gave up on her, who’s reverence for life extended even to the lowest, unworthy caste. 

The Reverent, Kerath Baclef.

The corpse.

Jortis pulled Kerath’s horn and his sickle in opposite directions. Funny how such a clean cut causes so much blood. Funny if you are perhaps a subjugulator, to which that type of horrific violence is entertaining. Not so much if you are a miserable, abused healer watching your best friend be beheaded. Your best friend who you’ve been a miserable wretch to your entire life, who most certainly did not deserve your pessimism or your agony, but received it anyway because he chose to stay close. Because he cared. Cared enough to smile at you before his execution, when all you could do was cry.

To spare you- no you are not the Slitbinder in her final breaths. A cruel, cruel thing to put on you, that would be. 

Jortis called his clowns to him, wingbeats from above growing loud and impatient. Azveja could hardly hear them. She could hardly hear what he shouted upward as he and his trio fled, Kerath’s head in hand. She was left unable to move, his body the only thing in her sight, that body she had tried so hard to fix mere moments ago. So they could leave. Be safe.

In those last few moments there was more shouting from above: her name, her caste, the misery she had put Vennen through. Another thunderous growl from her lusus before everything went hot. Bright. Suffocating.

Red.

[zillyeh]

olded people...

[zillyeh]

Azveja what do you think of you descendant ? What are you doing with your life?

"Zipper Anthem" is certainly quite the name to take for yourself if you'd like to be taken as seriously as you hold yourself. Understandable, wanting to cover our bloodline's name especially, but it sounds fucking stupid.

I do like her though. I was never one for religion, but as it stands, hers compels me. She makes me wonder if I'd been able to do anything half as worthwhile with my own voice, were I not committed to being a reclusive wretch in Kerath's infirmary.

Zipper has quite the heart in her, more openly giving than mine ever was. Her bitter hurt has made her a far better, stronger person than I ever was. To say I am proud of her feels... inappropriate given the negative amount of influence of her life, but I... suppose it's the only descriptor I have for how I feel. Hm.

Also, I would be remiss to not acknowledge that I find her a brazen little harlot. "Settled" as she seems to be now, I've had the displeasure of being privy to a number of her companions. The church is technically hers now, but... Ech.

To answer your second question, I am dead. I wander the city parts my spirit remembers, but I take "home" in the "Old North" as it's referred to. It is uncomfortable that I seem to be the only ghost about, given the history of the area. Lonely as well. I bother the weird, living spikey masked one. She seems to be able to see me.

[zillyeh]

Hey I never did one of these for Slitbinder!! rb with one troll (per rb, multiple reblogs fine after i do your first one) and She’ll say something weird about ‘em probably. Judgebacks fine if ur troll can see ghosts also! she is one

[zillyeh]

someone come get their weird ghost mom

[zillyeh]

🤡🥀 zippies ancestor

🤡: Tell us your opinions on Clowns.

It is a complex opinion if one ever had one, however I did not like to think of them much when I escaped the church. Escaped one church. Horrid habit, keeping religious friends.

The ones who raised me were not nice. Perhaps to me in specific moreso. The tenuous participation I was allowed in song and ceremony was meant only to keep me obedient, so I have no kind words for the particulars of their religion, either.

🥀: What’s something you regret not doing and can never possibly do again?

Apologizing for being such a wretch for, ah... my entire life, I believe it was. Difficult to do when when so many still live, or have moved on past the purgatory I've come accustomed to.

[zillyeh]

Faith What difference does it Make? We forgot it away

[zillyeh]

What's that on Slitbinders necklace?

Beads. Many of them, in fact.

... The symbol of a... I hesitate to call Kerath a friend, though in the end he was dear to me. I treated him like shit nearly the full time I was under his care. Undeservedly so, might I add. Perhaps my inability to apologize to him is why I am unable to move on. Sigh. (I must say it out loud because I have no lungs.)

As far as I've heard through the undead grapevine, he is very well remembered by those who dare to read his teachings.

[zillyeh]

thinking abt slitbinder today

[zillyeh]

slitbinder what's with the fancy getup? 🤔

I wore robes such as these since I was small. They are far more comfortable than all else I saw on my peers. Plus, they are more appropriate for a religious setting, no? I did work for a church.

I stole the mask from my ex matesprit. Well. She gave it to me. Then requested it back when she broke up with me. I did not return it. She did not take it back when they came to kill us.

I kept it for my own safety because, to quote my descendant, my face is "all sorts of fucked to shit."

I suppose I could take it off in death, but for the sake of her privacy I would prefer not to.

[zillyeh]

👵🐻✔️🃏 ms slitbinder?

👵: How long have you been alive? Or, alternatively, how old were you when you died?

I was... Hm... It is hard to remember now. I never was one much for celebrating my wriggling day. Somewhere between three... four hundred sweeps, I believe.

🐻: What is/was your lusus? Are they still around?

I was not permitted to have a lusus as a wriggler. I did take a liking to some of the waterfowl lusii when I was permitted outside, however. I would have liked one of them.

✔️: Best thing about Alternia in your time, and the best thing now?

Very little was good about Alt*rnia in my time, child. I suppose I liked the clothes. There is still very little I like now as an apparition observer, but the more lax... approach I shall say when it comes to things that would have been executable offences in my time is nice.

🃏: How many solid quadrants did you have in your lifetime? Do you miss any of them in particular? Which had the most profound influence on your life, do you think?

Oh... A few... I had a few... Arthur was moirail to damn near everyone in the church, the pale whore, but I do miss him. He was very funny. How unfortunate the ones I was closest to are bound to their mortal coil until someone undoes it.

I miss Vennen as well, but she and I were too far gone long before I died. Her spirit is either avoiding me or remains in the glowing corpse she had become before I left. For the sake of my own descendant I’d pray it’s the former. Though she looks nothing like me anymore, aside from the eyes.

I suppose above all Bridal impacted me the most. And I her. For a fleeting moment we made each other feel... free. Freer than either of us had ever been, at least. I haven’t found her either. If she has returned to the Messiahs I hope they treat her well.

[zillyeh]

👀yo is that... zippie's mom...

I suppose that’s what she calls herself, isn’t it?

Yes, though the title ‘mom’ makes me somewhat... uncomfortable.

[zillyeh]

sigh slitbinder and reverent... makes me sad that Azveja is still around as a ghost but Kerath moved on... shes got too much guilt to not be around and all emo... Kerath knew how he was gonna die and that shed be present for it and tried to be So Nice to her her entire life despite how she Was ans never gave up on trying to bring her some amount of peace/love/comfort, but she was too traumatized and crochety to accept it and died too miserable to let go of him and everyone else who tried with her... hrighthfhbff

[zillyeh]

you fail the Gozjam vibe check you have to climb mountains with your teeth to gain their trust even a little bit. miles' vibes are rancid

[zillyeh]

azveja thought miles was an untrustworthy little bitch from go and she was never more miserably correct about someone in her life

[zillyeh]

Something is attempting to manifest me in some sort of way that makes me uncomfortable.