#v: dorverold

[futurefind]

[ let go ] after holding onto receiver's hand for a while, sender finally, reluctantly releases their grip ( for sa from cyrillo bc obviously i wanna bite my fist and cry ASDFGH )

PROMPTS FOR HANDS & TOUCH / accepting // @tvrningout

Silence has long since been as familiar as a second skin — even if, nowadays, it's not near as solitary as it once was. She can't remember the last time she had to try and find work, whether it was for coin or helping out the free army with training or first aid or labor. And with that network comes familiarity, and she pretends none of them know her beyond nameless muscle brought in by Sir Cyrillo de Bortoli.

Which. If that isn't a whole other can of worms she avoids thinking about. For gods-knows way too many reasons. Sooner or later, she's sure, the free army will no longer have any purpose (for better or for worse), disband, and Cyrillo will see her off with a Thanks for everything, have a good rest-of-your-life, see you never.

But for now, it's... something. Something nice, she dare say, to have something to come back to that's not drifting endlessly between jobs and the latest inn room she's left all-but-abandoned.

(Oh fucking hell, she actually uses Cyrillo's room more than her own, doesn't she? Eugh. Here's hoping she never actually says that to him or else he'll sic Kaiya on her. Possibly indefinitely. Eugh.)

She pretends idling away near him with books is for nothing more than the combined practicality of having better literacy (technically true), resting between jobs (utter bullshit), and being on-call for anything he may need her for (actually true).

So she doesn't even comment when he ushers her over and does little more than take her hand. Not with a fever or a passion, or to pull her into such things, just... to linger. Silently.

His hands are warm, even through their gloves, because he always is. (Maybe she should notice it, more, that he runs cooler than her, or maybe she runs so cold and lonely his vampirism makes little difference.)

And then someone's in the door asking after her. She doesn't remember exactly what, just that it's something casual enough she could ignore if she wanted to— or at least readily put off. It goes in one ear and out the other, because—

"Cyrillo?" she asks, frowning at him. Doesn't even think to be embarrassed about using his first name as casually as this, as unfamiliar as it is, watching his face carefully. He seems worried, but not in the active, nipping-at-the-heels anxiety kind of army logistics or unknown enemy plots.

Instead he seems... forlorn, and a more-than-small part of her wishes she could know why.

She brushes his bangs to the side with her fingertips, presses the backs of her fingers to his forehead. Can vampires fall ill? She isn't sure, doesn't even think that's what this is, but it gives her an excuse for this sort of contact all the same.

"What's wrong?" and before he can dismiss her, "Something's bothering you."

[tvrningout]

staring at my hands and wondering if i haven't just been burned out for ages actually

[futurefind]

" at least i have you to look after me, eh? " from cyrillo for sa :’ ))

“𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥” 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘴. / accepting // @tvrningout

She sees red— literally— and her mind goes white. She focuses on what's important— what actually matters— and squashes everything else— the worry, the panic, the terror, the urge to cry and scream and throw up, the ghosts suddenly suffocating her— into a far off corner of her mind so she can get to work.

She doesn't remember much after that, but also remembers every breath with an eye-seering clarity. The reek of blood. How he was colder than he should've been. Crimson embedding itself in the cracks of her skin, under her nails. Every single stitch and plaster and bruise and scrape.

How she can't close her eyes, for even a blink, lest she see the life drain from his. Keeps checking and double checking and triple checking his face to make sure it isn't so, no matter how briefly.

After an eternity, after a blink of an eye, she's done.

She excuses herself to the bathroom (she thinks she says to clean up), and regrets it immediately. It hits her like a horsekick to the chest, she can't breathe she can't breathe she can't breathe— and she barely keeps herself from sending her fist through the mirror (and, changes are, into the wall behind it). She hates looking at herself, on a good day, and now—

Now she'd failed. Again. There's blood on her hands and it's not hers, because it's never hers. It's all for her but it's not hers, and it should be hers, it should've always been hers, the blood on her clothes and the eyes going lifeless. Why isn't it hers?!

Why is she—

She shoves the wind back into her lungs like gathering broken glass with naked hands, and pulls herself back outside. She doesn't think she actually got to cleaning. She just knows seeing Cyrillo again, like this, rips her heart out of her chest. But him still being here, gaze alive, lets it continue to beat — no matter how atrocious and gorey of a thing it is. That she is.

Sasume feels about as old as Cyrillo presumably is, maybe older, but without any immortality or undeath to keep her going. Like a puppet with its strings cut and joints rotted and clogged still trying to drag itself through its cues as if there's any audience left.

She sits at his bedside again, silently. Doesn't remember doing it. Can only stare at the spark in his eyes until she's seeing through them, seeing nothing at all, as if pretending to keep him out of her nightmares could ever keep him from joining the graveyard at her feet, pumping through her veins. Keeping her alive, no matter what she says or wishes or wills otherwise — because she's never had a choice.

" — at least i have you to look after me, eh? "

And she wheezes, chest crushing in on her ribs and heart and soul so suddenly and so fiercely once more that the world starts to spin. Heat floods her skin even as her blood runs ice cold, and acid creeps up her chest. Her vision blurs, and she isn't sure if the world is shaking or if her bones are.

"Don't—" she chokes on a sob, wetness leaking out of her eyes, and presses the hand she'd been gripping tight against her forehead instead of her own. She gasps, a keening, pathetic thing, and sees more than feels the tears pouring out.

It's not fair, she thinks, both distantly and as deafening as a thunderclap. She's not sure if she means this, or all the bodies piled up in her heart. If it's his being hurt, or that she's not hurt, or that taking all the gods damned blades and bites and bruises in the world can't spare those closest to her even a single one— no matter how much she wants otherwise.

"Don't—" she can't get anything else out. Doesn't even think there'd be a point. Even if, already, it feels like she's begging. For him to not play light, maybe, but also for the gods to maybe— maybe— show her even the slightest of favor and make it so this wasn't so. That maybe—

"I should've been there," she chokes out, nonsensically, world blurring again, pressing the back of his hand even harder against her own skin. If she gives even the slightest inch, even now, who's to say he won't slip through her fingers a final time?

"I should've...—" and finally, curled over herself like that, at Cyrillo's bedside as he warms her own damned bed, she weeps.

[futurefind]

I'll check in on you in an hour. You'd better not have moved. for sa from kaiya!! she's stern when she needs to be and it's very cute until it's not :' )

Lack of Sleep Starters / Accepting // @tvrningout

"I can't—" her (continued, futile) protests are cut off by the shut of the door. Pressure starts to build behind her eyes before she forces it back, and she isn't sure what from. Lack of sleep? Fear of nightmares? Or just the fact she feels like a scolded child?

Sasume groans and settles in bed... after turning her back to the door and pushing her eyes wide open. Maybe if she keeps calm enough, she can leave Kaiya to presume she's napped (and is unable to sleep more) before she slips back out.

Besides, if she stays in bed for the hour, that's still technically resting...

If nothing else, if needed, Sasume can (maybe) be a little more honest if Kaiya keeps insisting after that.

But now? Now she just needs to stay awake for an hour. Doing absolutely nothing.

Eugh.

[futurefind]

" duties can wait, " murmurs the vampire, gently pressing his lips against sa's shoulder before nestling his chin in the crook of her neck. they still lay beneath the covers of his bed, legs tangled and curled around one another; cyrillo refuses to allow the swordswoman to rise despite her squirming. " sleep a little more, cuore mio. the world will not end if you aren't there to protect it for a few more hours. "

unprompted / always accepting // @tvrningout

A vague noise rumbles out the back of her throat, and she pretends it's in protest at his words rather than contentment at the kiss and their sustained closeness.

She knows, by all rights, what she should do—pry herself away from him, maybe with an excuse about an urgent assignment she failed to mention. Or, at the very least, protest his protesting, say something about her not being a god's chosen doesn't mean she can't try anyway, as if he isn't keenly aware how little she sleeps.

And it had been a long trip, this last carousel of jobs. Longer, still, without being able to see any familiar faces, nevermind without him to bicker with or fuss over— or to lull her to sleep and stave off the nightmares.

Traveling through her nights may shave untold days off her longer journeys, but they make her feel no less alone.

But now? Now she's warm, in a way she'd thought she'd never be able to feel nor allowed to be (even ignoring the quality of his bed and plushness of his covers).

So instead of pulling away, she cuddles closer, wrapping an arm around him to tug him closer (as if that were even possible), to keep him there.

"You spoil me," she mumbles, shuffling down to bury her face in his chest. Presses a kiss there before she fully melts back into bed. "Keep it up and I'll never want to leave."

As if she didn't, already.

[futurefind]

🩹 - to trace your muse’s scars . ( for sa from cyrillo or vice versa bc i'm gonna weep no matter who's doing the tracing :' ))) )

Prompts / Always Accepting // @tvrningout

Cyrillo doesn't talk about himself. At least, as she picks up on, not really. (Because like recognizes like and she's more than familiar with obfuscation.)

But scars don't lie, as much as she wished they could, and he... well. He has far more scars than she'd've ever guessed, even if it's a while before she has the time and brain space to focus on them. She shouldn't be surprised, she knows she shouldn't — after all, being a vampire requires dying, and for him to appear so young means his end was far more likely to be violent than not.

It hurts, even if once upon a time, when they'd first met, it would've been reassuring and relieving to know they shared such things.

But they were strangers, then.

And now? Now...

It must've been centuries since he'd lived, since he'd been hurt, and still she wants to reach through time and keep him safe. It's not an usual wish of hers, that she could take the scars of others for herself so they wouldn't need to suffer them. But...

Her left hand trails a feather-light touch across his abdomen, tracing along and across every scar there. Her other hand is tucked against his chest, bracing her upright, but even there her fingers ghost along the edges of the wounds gouging into his flesh above his heart.

She sighs to herself, quietly, before pressing a warm kiss to its center, lingering until she feels his magically-revived heart pulse beneath her lips.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, pulling back just enough to continue her ministrations. "You deserved better."

.

She wouldn't consider herself ticklish by any stretch of the word. Jumpy or tense, maybe, but never ticklish.

And yet, tickles is her first thought. A shiver rushes down her spine and back up into her skull, stirring her from from her half-sleep. She blinks once, trice, thrice, and shifts to look at the source.

It's Cyrillo (to be expected), focusing on her scars (not too surprising), with a touch like a ghost, as if she'd fall apart at the seems with anything firmer (baffling).

She watches as her fingertips skims along the rim of one of the gashes across her side, traces along the stretched and aged scarring of ribbed flesh at its inside, before finally following along the deep tear at its center.

Sasume makes a vague grumble in the back of her throat, confused. They're her biggest scars, sure, but it's hardly the first time he's seen them (to say the least)— to say nothing of all those or all the times they've been on display from simple sparring.

"What?" is her oh-so-clever question, barely coherent and half-asleep, dragging her own gaze up from his hand at her side to the man himself and—

Her chest squeezes like she'd been kicked in the sternum. He looks—

He looks—

Not just somber, but mournful, like he's never seen such a thing before. Like he can't imagine a world where she's been injured in such a way, even though he's never known anything less than that.

Like they're days old wounds and not over a decade.

Like it's a tragedy.

She wheezes, heart shuddering and crumbling in on itself like a house of a cards.

"What—" her voice breaks, too, and she hides her face back against his chest. She tries to laugh, tries to force one, but that, too, is pathetic and shuddering.

"What's that look for, huh...?"

It's not like anyone— not like she'd— died or anything.

[futurefind]

🤚 - to offer your muse a hand in dance . ( for rea from cyrillo perhaps!! maybe she's at one of his social functions in one of her attempts to learn more about rin and his magic? and he's just :' ) " alright lemme put on a lil razzle dazzle and keep her out of rin's hair for a while " asdfg )

Prompts / Always Accepting // @tvrningout

She knows it's rude, of course she does, but— if the gods have returned— or worse, have never left— then that blows all her working theories on the Decay right out of the water! Hell, even if they didn't, that'd still make all this lightbringer nonsense deserving of even more investigation...!

(And, besides. At least she's only badgering the poor woman when she's at a public-ish event! Plus, isn't it better to be annoyed by genuine and academic pursuits rather than political sleazebags like her aunt trying to brown-nose for personal gain?)

"Well—!" Rea laughs, more at herself than anything, flashing him a smile as she takes his hand. "If it's you of all people asking, I'd have to be even madder to refuse...! You'll have to pardon my two left feet, but at least it's not a dance you're looking for, hm?"

Another giggle leaves her as they come together, and she's careful as she can to avoid stepping on his feet. Unfortunately, her wind magic bumpers are hardly the skill she's prioritized working on, so they'd either make her clumsiness worse or make any foot-stomps even more unpleasant. So, she'll have to be light-footed the old fashioned way.

"Are you at least going to offer me any fun magic lore instead?" she teases, shameless as ever. "Doesn't even have to be anything personal! Not about you, or the army, or your fancy-shmancy spellsword-sellsword— though I'd hardly complain if you did!— since I'm sure you of all people have a bunch of miscellaneous magic lore to share...!"

"So, de Bortoli, tell me: What's your theory on the 'Decay' of magic?" if he even had one, that is.

[futurefind]

" don't be stupid. you're not going anywhere. come on, back into bed… " ( from cyrillo for sa! maybe she's got quick healing but that doesn't mean she doesn't need rest uvu )

Prompts / Always Accepting // @tvrningout

"I've been in bed plenty," Sasume snipes back, (mostly) redressed and scowling at the handsome-bastard roadblock filling the doorway as she yanks her hair out from under her shirt. She knows what he means, of course, but quite simply she doesn't care.

Shoving herself to her feet makes her legs reignite with pain and tenderness, to say nothing of the ever-familiar sensation of the now-healed wounds which are all-but trying to rake in on pain debt. Most is fine, like her legs, but the worst of it (that'd always prompt her into around-the-clock use of Third in the first place) hardly feels healed at all.

(Of course, as proven when she was a kid, actually taking it easy— and not exploiting Third whenever necessary to fight off sleep— minimized the rebound. But—)

Still, she crosses her arms and glowers up at him.

"Now are you going to move or am I going to have to make you." As if she can do much of anything to intimidate him with how he's seen her in the last hour.

[futurefind]

i never thought i'd be part of something like this. from chiyo for mara!

PAST LIVES (2023) PROMPTS / @quietlyblooms

Mara stares, briefly, and then a rough, barking laugh rips out of her throat. Less like a sound of joy and more like a hyena in a drought of entertainment. Times like this Chiyo seems less like a potential threat or harbinger of hope, and more like an overstimulated mouse that can't tell the difference between cheese and traps.

"Yeah?" a grin cuts across her face, all teeth, as she tips her chair back and kicks her feet onto the table, one ankle crossed across the other. Shoves a fresh cigarette into her mouth.

"And what, exactly, did you'd think be a part of, princess?" Another laugh, more hollow than before. She sweeps an arm out as a vague gesture towards the all of this they find themselves in. "'Cuz, let me tell ya: No one thinks they'll wind up where they actually do."

[futurefind]

i just wanted to see you one more time. from cyrillo to sa as well bc i'm soft okay!!

PAST LIVES (2023) PROMPTS / @tvrningout

'Her' quarters are something that, even now, maybe especially now, could barely be called that. She uses them to store her scant belongings, change, and maybe sleep once or twice a week (less, usually, if Cyrillo's around). She's barely redressed when there's a knock on her door, and she doesn't wait to yank it open. After all, now of all times, there's a million emergencies that could crop up and—

"...Cyrillo," she says, usual scowl softening with a mix of fondness and surprise. Her heart jerks, mind racing ahead to tomorrow and a million battle plans. "What's wrong—?"

"I just wanted to see you one more time."

She blinks. Once. Twice. Thrice. Panic flees in place of awe and warmth and her expression melts along with her bones, despite everything. Slips her hand out and grabs his by the wrist, and tugs him inside far enough to shut the door behind him.

"...Well," she ignores how she's already, certainly, as red as the first time they kissed. Ignores how this should be the least of his behavior to get to her. Pretends the importance of tomorrow and the nerves makes her more liable to do so. Turns her hand around to lace her fingers through his, and uses her other to smooth out nonexistent wrinkles in his shirt. Slides it back up his chest to fiddle with his collar— it's only the desire to see him that keeps her from folding herself against his chest, instead.

"Just because it's just one more time, doesn't mean it has to be short," she hums, finally leaning up to give him a warm kiss, if one buzzing around the edges with nerves. "Not between how little we like sleep and how long we've got between when we're getting up and setting out."

She huffs an almost-laugh. "Not like I'm going anywhere, you know?"

[futurefind]

starter call // @tvrningout

"No," she says, not for the first time. Certainly not the last. Probably not the last time for this hour, knowing her luck. This time, grabs Hisakawa by the back of the neck and picks her up off the ground like a misbehaving kitten. Twists her around and lifts her higher to glare at her eye-to-eye, crimson eyes flame-bright and yet dull with deadpan, brow twitching.

She shakes her back and forth (with, despite her attitude, actual care given the grip and its location), as if she's a mere sock monkey with even less will.

"You wanna learn how to walk the walk and how to blend in with something other than your damned books, you can't just walk in, make a fool of yourself, and hope no one fucking remembers!" Mara heaves a sigh and drops her back onto her own feet, offhand fishing out a cigarette and shoving it between her lips. "Not unless you want elite assassins and petty thieves to spot you from leagues away."

"First things first, princess," a jab at her thoughts on royalty, or the world's best/worst situation this... interloper has found herself in? Yes. "Even before getting an actual cover story straight— Observation."

Mara shoulders past her, keenly attentive toward Hisakawa's position even as she puts her behind. Cuts her gaze backward, lighting her smoke with a flash of fire magic between her fingertips.

"You got people watching where you're from, don't you?"

[futurefind]

he waits until cyrillo and kaiya walk away, waits even longer until he's sure they probably won't hear him over the chatter of all the people roaming outside. then ciaran turns to the mercenary, eyes narrowed. he almost doesn't want to ask. he knows cyrillo, and he knows how charming the grand vampire can be. he's pretty sure he's been " charming " sasume, if their behavior is anything to go off of ( gross gross gross -- that's his... not dad, but gross!! ). " ...what's going on with you and cyrillo? you two're acting different. " weird, he'd like to say, but he's got better manners than that.

unprompted / always accepting! // @tvrningout

Fuck, she thinks distantly.

Then: Fuck.

And then: Wait, that's how she got into this mess, isn't it—

For what she thinks is the first time in her entire life, Sasume's glad for her acquired coldness. It's much easier to hide shock and surprise when she's scarcely expressive at best, after all.

Which means when her heart goes from stable and silently soft (as it's wont to do with her ever-increasingly familiarity with Cyrillo and his lot, and not at all hurt by Ciaran's age) to slamming into a brick wall and careening off of a cliff's edge, she knows the sudden flood of raw and hysteric panic is nowhere near displayed on her face.

Nonetheless the muscles in her face go taught all the same, and her eyes widen at the only overt sign of surprise.

"Ah," is all she says at first, banking on her icy reputation for it to come off as aloof rather than anything but. She's knows it's not her place to get too involved with Ciaran, but for as much as she may be aware of Cyrillo and Kaiya's proverbial toes about him, she also knows he'd waited for them to leave, first.

Which. Fucking gods is she glad she's not smart enough to unpack everything going on here immediately.

"...Bonding," she offers blandly, more of a statement than a question— but not completely so. She knows she can't fire back too much (like his behaving even less than Kaiya in staying home as they went to the free army), lest she give him even more ammunition to go on the offensive himself, but—

"Or were you expecting me to only know him as 'that rich vampire who helps me find jobs' forever?"

She can deflect to hell and back, if nothing else.

Sasume can only hope that that, her general privacy, and the (far briefer than anticipated) time away from the others from Cyrillo's estate will be enough to sate the kid's curiosity. After all, when one's as about as emotive as a brick and also about as social, perhaps just friendship alone would serve as the perfect cover...?

(Distantly, she has an even more horrifying realization: Thank gods... whatever they have is casual, or else she'd have to tell Shida—)

[futurefind]

“You don't love someone because they're a dream of perfection. You love them because of the way they meet their challenges, how they struggle to overcome." from kaiya for sa!

Fantasy Magic & Romance / Always Accepting // @tvrningout

Her frown deepens, lips pressing into a thin line. She knows what Kaiya means — that love and care are not conditional, that having flaws doesn't make them impossible. Hell, she'd love it if she could see her father again.

But Kaiya— Kaiya doesn't know. It's not just about— fucking up, or struggling with the base concept of life itself.

She's not the same anymore, isn't right. Hasn't been anything close to it since she was a little girl, and probably won't ever be again— if she's not going to keep getting ever and ever farther from it.

"...It's not that simple, Kaiya," she forces out, and it's like pulling teeth. Everything is. Her hands tighten where they're laced together, elbows braced on her knees, knuckles going white and trembling with the force.

"Everyone's here because they need to be," whether it was those in the free army fighting for what was right or even just the vampires who took shelter under Cyrillo— regardless of the choices they may have had, they felt they couldn't actually do anything else.

"And I— have to be here." Sasume doesn't know how else to describe it. Everyone— everyone— else was here for the cause, and the violence and bloodshed was just incidental towards progressing it.

And she was here for the bloodshed. Because she doesn't know anything else, can't do anything else, can't be anything else.

When this ends, even if the memories won't, everyone will put up their weapons and go back home or back to managing logistics and clean up instead of battlefronts.

And she?

She'll just keep getting elbow-deep in blood and violence somewhere else.

Violence isn't incidental, for her. It is her, she's born and raised and living it like it's a second skin so familiar it's replaced her first. To say she's just flawed or struggling wouldn't do it justice, would be infinitely too kind.

She's not flawed or bloodied; she's made of it. There's nothing else left. There's nothing soft or good left, just fuck ups and broken edges.

"It doesn't matter... why," she says, slowly. "That I'm..." she doesn't want to admit it, as if admitting it makes it real, and make everyone see it, but she knows they're not going to get anywhere if she doesn't.

"Ugly. Unloveable. I just am."

And the sooner they got that straight, the sooner Kaiya would stop feeding her pipe dreams of happy endings and adoration.

[futurefind]

i can't believe even mortal peril will not prevent you from being the way you are. from rin for sa asdgj

PROMPTS FROM RED, WHITE & ROYAL BLUE / Accepting / @tvrningout

"Was it supposed to?!" Sasume snaps back, throwing the other woman a bewildered look as she cracks her sword against the towering barrier of ice to send it exploding down on the thinning hoard of undead in a rain of of frozen spears.

She freezes shut a gnarled tear on her arm and bolts to the side of mindless hands, dragging Shinrei's tip against the ground to send fresh barriers of ice erupting from the ground and penning the undead in place.

Steals a glance over the rim to double check its stability just in time for Rin to start putting the scorched in scorched earth and rolls back to the ground with a hiss, keeping a hand planted on the ice to keep it frozen against Sunna's heat.

When it's finally over she lets all the ice splatter against the ground and evaporate, doing her damnedest to ignore the smell of smoke as she rolls her bad shoulder.

"I really don't know what you expect," she huffs, cleaning Shinrei off before sheathing it. Doesn't even blink as she pats herself down and freezes any deeper gashes closed. "At least when Kaiya or Cyrillo start nagging they're rarely if ever in the field with me."

[futurefind]

“  who  did  this  to  you  ?  ”  ( wanna see cyrillo become that kinda quiet-angry that's scary :) wanna see him eerily calm as he gets to work helping with her wounds, so very gentle but gaze so dark and foreboding :) i do :) )

send  “  who  did  this  to  you  ?  ”  for  the  sender  to  find  the  receiver  injured  and  demand  to  know  who  did  it. / accepting // @tvrningout

It's ironic, a small part of her thinks, one that wants to laugh hysterically at it all. At herself.

Here's a gods-know how old— gods-knows how powerful— vampire with words like ice and eyes that promise a fiery hell, and— and she trusts him. Because she always trusts him, so of course she still does now, but—

She still feels safe with him, someone and something who couldn't be more dangerous right now if he tried. Maybe it's because she hasn't seen his rage actualized, yet, and so she can pretend it won't ever be so. That he'll do what she always does and drag himself back, keep himself from doing, until it dims into a simmer and from a simmer into nothing.

And yet—

One regular, human man and—

Her mind goes white.

She feels stupid. Useless.

She feels like a little girl again.

She doesn't remember much, but not because she can't recall what happened. It's because she remembers toomucheverythingallatonce, that it all blends together and it's hard to pick apart individual events. Not without focusing. And she'd rather forget it, instead.

Except—

The raw, familiar hate makes her want to crawl out of her skin and disappear just as much as it did all those years ago. That would've been bad enough on it's own, combined with the sheer terror of one of Those faces recognizing her (she thinks he was the baker's son, or something; they'd blamed her whenever their flour reserves had spoiled). Had been bad enough.

Except—

"—hanging around vampires because they're worse than you? Or—"

She didn't think her stomach could drop even further. That her blood could run so cold with fear and so hot with shame she wasn't sure if she'd freeze to death or boil. It'd be better, if she had.

"Are you trying to kill the Grand Vampire, too?"

Suddenly she was dizzy. Or maybe distant. Maybe both. Wanted to make an endless hole for her to disappear into. Disappeared into herself, instead, as blows broke skin. As hands wrapped around her neck and crushed.

The next thing she knew she was hacking up a lung, some soldiers investigating. She didn't hear what excuses he gave. Didn't care. Just appreciated that they were some free army rookies, or else she wouldn't have been able to scare them into shutting up and forgetting about it.

Doesn't even remember how she had, just knows what fear looks like, and that most don't know there's a difference between her eyes being dark gold or a searing yellow— just that both should be avoided.

Like she should be avoided.

(She thinks she'd said something about not wanting to hurt him, since taking a few hits would be easier to handle than literal murder. Isn't sure, since nothing much mattered once someone was afraid of her. It hadn't been a lie, at least.)

So she keeps her gaze on the floor, as the tempered fury roils around Cyrillo like stormclouds. Not avoiding the risk of him or his rage but herself, wishing petulantly that he hadn't found her.

(...Today? Or ever?)

It would've been better for him, if he hadn't.

The cuts sting, and she feels like crying. Isn't sure if it's the shame or the physical hurt or just the forming bruises around her neck.

Maybe it's just the kindness. She doesn't deserve it, after all. Not the tenderness as he treats the cut on her lip, her tender jaw. The care as he pushes up her shirt just-enough. All without aiming any of his vicious anger at her, or as much as shushing her whenever she flinches reflexively. (Then again, he never had, but usually it's much less than this.)

"...Do you think," she whispers, staring at the patterns in the floor and stopping. Ignores the heat and headache budding behind her eyes, and forces herself to continue. Clenches her hands in her lap, irrelevant to his whisper-light touches as he stitches and wraps.

"Do you think this is a bad idea...?" she almost wants him to ignore her, focus on the what and not the why.

But that would be selfish, and her heart aches, and she can't—

She refuses to hurt him. Let him get hurt because of her.

And she's cursed.

She always has been.

[futurefind]

"I thought I'd find you here." from rin for sa!

Prompts / Accepting // @tvrningout

One-two-three, one-two-three.

The motions are so familiar she doesn't need to think. When her muscles burn even through Third she briefly reverts to slower forms and stretches — and then it's back to business. Bark bites against her skin through her gloves and boots and she ignores it.

A twig snaps.

Her hand flies to Shinrei and she whirls, ice ripping from the blade and—

Rin.

She freezes as fast as she starts, letting the ice evaporate and shoving Shinrei back into its sheath.

"What the hell, Rin?" she scowls down at the other woman, letting the don't sneak up on me go unsaid. And then, what she'd actually said sinks in.

Fucking hell, she hopes Rin figured it out herself. The last thing she needs is even more of Cyrillo's fussing— gods, she hopes it wasn't Kaiya. She'd never let her live it down, to say nothing of how it'd work as blackmail to keep it from Cyrillo...

"So?" she says instead, raking a hand through the back of her hair. Was Rin going to leave promptly, or was she going to have to back it up early and get her shirt and jacket back on? "Did you actually have something to say, or were you just trying to give me a heart attack?"