muertarte

[muertarte]

Ireland is pretty but there are no giraffes.

Why no giraffes? Not even a sanctuary? I want giraffes There is not I miss home

Can someone go to the Wicked’s Rest zoo and send me pictures?

#wickedstarter

[muertarte]

TIMING: February 24, 2024, (the evening of this) LOCATION: Inge's House PARTIES: Anita (@gossipsnake), Metzli (@muertarte) Inge (@nightmaretist), and Cass (@magmahearts) SUMMARY: After learning about what had happened to Anita and that she had been brought to Inge's house to warm up with Cass, Metzli comes over to make sure Anita is okay. CONTENT WARNINGS: None

It wasn’t right. Anita had been hurt, and any reasonable individual would’ve been motivated by panic and stress, guided toward their loved one with such a force that everything stormed out of their path. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case for Metzli, who had to usually rely on logic above all else to mimic love. They didn’t know how to feel or what to do or how to process, but they had a location and a place to be, so they drove. And somehow, they’d done so calmly, even if they were going twenty over the speed limit. 

By the time Metzli arrived, there was not much they could recall from between their walk from the car and their knock at the door. Nothing else mattered except getting to Anita. They just wished they could have made the moment sweeter with a warm drink or a filling pastry, but that was something they could do another time. Their focus diverted completely to their sister. 

“Where was she found?” They rushed inside with a curt nod at whatever invitation they were given, not paying much mind to Inge so they could lay their eyes on proof that Anita was alive. It wasn’t as if she or Inge had any reason to lie. As far as Metzli was concerned, they both had their trust, and had given no grounds for them to not take her at her word. But between someone who thought themself a sibling, and the person they saw as their family, nothing else mattered more than reaching them. 

With utmost care, Metzli opened the door and reached Anita in a blink, hovering a hand over her hair. She looked tired and worse for wear, but she was warm and breathing, resting soundly in clothing that looked much too big now. Metzli thought perhaps their mind was playing tricks on them, which would be no surprise. Panic had a way of altering a mind.

Metzli retracted their hand and backed away slowly. “I am here.” They kept their voice quiet, waiting for Anita’s approval to get closer. Their touch would do her no good, considering their lack of body heat, but they still held onto hope that they could offer some sort of physical affection she usually claimed she didn’t need. It wasn’t uncommon for Metzli to find her cuddling up with Fluffy or leaning into their touch. As much as Metzli wanted to, they never picked on her for it, and they especially wouldn’t right then. Not in front of Cass or Inge. 

It was important that Metzli find out what was going on as soon as possible. Cass could only imagine the worry they must have felt when Anita didn’t come home. Were they looking for her? Were they scouring the woods, were they searching? She couldn’t imagine they’d be doing anything else, not if they had any inkling that something was wrong. Metzli was proactive, was dedicated, was loyal. And they loved Anita, Cass had seen it. If they knew Anita was hurt, they’d be worried. So they needed to find out right away.

She figured it would be better for Anita to text them, maintained her position practically curled around the lamia as she did so. She kept up that warm-but-not-too-hot temperature, gradually warming herself a little more to make sure Anita got the heat she needed without being too hot. She tried making awkward small talk with Inge at first, but she got the feeling neither of them really wanted that, so she gave it up after a few minutes. 

And, when Metzli finally arrived and entered the room, she let the relief wash over her all at once. 

She wondered, somewhat absently, if Metzli would display the same desperation if it were her in Anita’s position. She felt guilty for wondering it — Anita was hurt, and this should be about her — but her mind went there all the same. Cass was so used to being an afterthought and, in this moment, Anita was clearly anything but. She thought back to Alex, after she was hurt, to the way she would have done anything to get her out of Rhett’s cruel grasp. Hadn’t it been intoxicating, being the center of someone’s world? Even if only for a moment, even when it was over now? Hadn’t it felt good?

“She’s getting warmer,” she spoke up almost tentatively, like she was no longer sure of her place in this room. Neither Inge nor Metzli had the body heat to warm Anita, so Cass was necessary. She liked being necessary. It meant no one could make her go. “I think it’ll be a while longer before she’s… back to full strength.”

—

They had been at Inge’s place for a little while before Anita had the strength to even send Metzli a message about what had happened. And of course since she didn’t even have her own phone with her she had to rely on using someone else’s to even send the message. It felt like this was becoming a habit, needing help from others, and it made her feel uneasy. As much as she wanted to tell everyone to leave, not because she didn’t want them there but because she felt that her debt to them was growing with each passing second. Debt she didn’t know how to repay. 

Just before Metzli arrived, Anita had finally felt warm enough to shift back. While most things in life were aided by being an incredibly large rattlesnake, trying to get warm was certainly not on that list. “I’m gonna get smaller,” she said to Cass so as not to startle the woman wielding that much heat near her skin, “It’ll make it quicker. Warmer blood and whatever.” It took more effort than she was used to but the scales that spread across her body were slowly replaced with soft pink flesh, allowing her to curl up into herself and get herself under the aluminum blanket that the tall stranger had given her. 

When she heard Metzli’s voice there was a simultaneous relief and guilt that panged through Anita. She didn’t want to worry anyone… she didn’t mean to worry anyone. There had been nights, plenty of nights, that she didn’t make it home. She usually let them know that was going to be the case though, when she remembered to. “I didn’t mean to worry you,” she offered up. Normally the lamia adored being the center of attention - she thrived on it - but this type of attention, this type of care, felt so foreign to her. She didn’t know how to handle it all. 

“I just need to get warm. I already healed the wound.” Nodding towards Cass, Anita agreed, “Will be a while, for sure.” Even if her body got warmed up Anita wondered how long the exhaustion she was feeling would last. “I’ve never… I don’t know anyone who’s ever… guess this is why my father wanted me to stay in the desert.” 

_ 

She couldn’t recall the last time she’d turned on the heating in her cold apartment, but she had it blasting now. Inge could host, at the very least — it was one of the skills she’d taken with her from her former life. She could fret a little, offer whatever comforts Anita needed while waiting for her to warm up again. In a way, it was good to be on the other side of this: to help rather than to need to be helped. 

And though her body ached from all the walking, she got up and moved towards the door all the same when the doorbell rang. Her eyes locked with Metzli, she offered the, “Come in,” required for a vampire and let them burst in. She followed, pushing through as she tried to keep up their pace. “In the Pines. I was astral hopping and I saw her and got help.” This was the second time in a long time where Inge was confronted with the fact that she was limited, that in some cases she was powerless. She had none of the superior healing her vampire brethren had, nor the strength. Not even the bodily warmth to assist Anita. And even though she’d manage to help Anita, she despised the feeling.

She followed Metzli, no longer bothering to keep up with their vampiric speed and leaned on a chair in the living room. What a strange combination of people, two of whom she’d only met rather recently and in very different settings. Inge didn’t question it. Life was spontaneous. And pain connected, that too she knew. 

A small smile for Cass. Ariadne’s friend, she assumed. The one she’d asked her not to give nightmares. “Good.” She moved around the chair, sat on its edge, close to the gathering of people in her living room. So filled with life. She found it confusing. “You can stay as long as you need to, you know that.” Not often did she open her doors like that for people, and it wasn’t like Anita and her were as tightly entwined as she perhaps was with Metzli or even Cass — but still. Inge wasn’t going to kick her friend out. She wasn’t quite sure what to say. “It’s … you’re here now, hm? Just focus on getting warmer.” 

“Ay, mi hermosa.” Metzli leaned forward and planted an affectionate kiss to Cass’s head, fully trusting that if she was in contact with Anita, then it was safe to do so. Besides, they couldn’t help themself when the person they saw like kin was making them proud. She truly was a hero, and Metzli wholeheartedly believed that’s what she was meant to be. They smiled, “Thank you for helping her.” They didn’t care if Cass would bind them, and some part of them knew she wouldn’t. Regardless, it felt important to express their gratitude, and they turned to regard Inge, who they could see through the doorway to the living room. “And thank you as well, Inge. I…” Tears brimmed their eyes, a few daring to streak down their cheeks as they returned to Anita’s side and sat.

Metzli sniffled and cleared their throat immediately, trying not to feel too embarrassed. Anita likely didn’t have the energy to tease them, but they hoped she might. Anything to further cement that she was still there, and what Metzli was seeing wasn’t just a figment. It was asinine, really. They knew that. So, carefully, they reached forward, placing a gentle hand on Anita’s head for a few moments. They smiled warmly and retracted it before they could undo any of Cass’s hard work. Anita was real. Anita was real and even if Metzli had failed in finding her, she was alive and able to recover. 

“I looked for you. Was very scared you were hurt and I am very sorry I could not find you.” The possibility (and really, the inevitability) of Anita dying became far too real, and it choked them. It formed  a ball of some sort and it lodged itself in Metzli’s throat. Their leg began to bounce as discomfort overtook them, but they took a grounding breath to keep their emotions at bay as best they could. Some emotion was okay, but they didn’t want to overwhelm Anita or overtake the attention she needed. Instead, they breathed once more, offering Anita their hand, palm facing up. 

“I will be here until you can come home then. Whatever you need, hermana. Like Inge say, focus on getting warmer. We will help.”

A warmth that had nothing to do with the magma flowing through her veins filled her chest as Metzli addressed her, and she offered them the smallest of smiles. When they’d first found Anita in the woods, trailing behind Otis and Inge like a lost dog, there had been so much desperation. She’d been so afraid, so uneasy. If anything happened to Anita, she’d thought, and Cass didn’t prevent it from doing so, she was sure Metzli wouldn’t forgive her for it. She was good so long as she was useful, and she’d been useful tonight. She’d used the destructive force of her volcanic nature for something decent, for warmth instead of ruination. 

Metzli thanked her, and Cass disregarded it with a shrug. “You don’t have to thank me. I’m happy I could help.” She looked down at Anita with a small smile. “Everybody deserves somebody to help them, right?” It was something Cass desperately wanted, needed to be true. If Anita deserved salvation, if everyone did, didn’t she get to be included in that, too? 

She flashed Inge a grateful smile as the mare said they could all stay as long as they needed to. It was funny — she hadn’t liked Inge much at the beginning of all this, but she was grateful for her now. Offering her home not just to Anita, but also to Cass, who she probably still hated, was a pretty heroic thing to do. And Cass would know; she was a superhero.

“So, um…” She shifted her weight a little, repositioning Anita slightly so that they both could be a little more comfortable. “Anybody have any Uno cards?”

—

As much as Anita adored being the center of attention in normal circumstances, these were not normal circumstances. This collection of people surrounding her, from different aspects of her life, all coming together to help her out was not a dynamic she knew how to navigate. But they didn’t seem upset or annoyed, at least not visibly, at needing to tend to the weakened lamia. That felt surprising to her, mostly. Metzli’s reaction, their support, was expected. But the other two, that felt surprising. Not because of who they are or because of anything they had done but simply because having people around to support her was such a foreign feeling at this stage in her life. 

The idea of her absence causing Metzli to go out and search for her, knowing that she caused them any amount of fear, only added to the guilt that was cursing her. How many nights had she not come home in the past without letting them know? Did it always spark such a reaction? That wasn’t a question she really wanted an answer to. “Don’t apologize. I shouldn’t have … been out there like that.” She reached out and placed her hand in theirs, keeping it there despite the cold. 

She turned her attention towards Cass, who was doing the work of a dozen heat lamps all by herself. “Is this tiring for you?” For all that Anita knew, whatever Cass was, and whatever powers she had, were foreign to her. “Don’t think I’ve played Uno since… college, maybe?” She didn’t wanna make presumptions but it seemed unlikely that Inge had a deck of Uno cards lying around. But Cass was onto something. If they had something to do to pass the time, maybe Anita would feel less guilt, or at least be distracted enough to not think about it for a short while. “Wouldn’t be opposed to playing a game or something, though.”  

__ 

The scene was a strange one. Inge had people over at her house aplenty, but it was never this kind of combination. Anita in her living room made sense, had occurred before, but Metzli she only knew professionally and then there was Cass, the thief who’d melted her things. Put together the fact that someone was being offered aid and she wasn’t entirely sure if she’d encounter this kind of thing again soon. She gave Metzli a serious look, nodded. “Of course.” It wasn’t like she’d done it for Metzli, but still. She didn’t mind a little appreciation.

Inge remained leaning on the chair until Cass said something about Uno. Now the scene was really becoming something completely foreign. It wasn’t a bad thing, though. She raised up, jaws tight at the movement. “I can find us something. I’ve got a deck of cards, so we can just play crazy eights.” She could host. Though the days of serving guests pickled eggs and vruchtenbowl were over, she hadn’t quite lost that. 

She moved away from the three others, feeling strangely out of place. She cared for Anita, certainly, and enjoyed her company deeply — but she and her had never felt this proximity she seemed to share with Cass and Metzli. No matter. It was hardly like she was jealous. Inge opened one of the many cabinets in the living room, most of them filled with various items. Old games from back at home, books and collections, dried flowers and trinkets she intended to do something with, one day. A deck of cards was produced and she returned, pulling an ottoman close to the small gathering. “If anyone wants something to drink, you can help yourself. There’s wine and other things in the kitchen.” No blood, that she only got when she had planned vampire visits. “But for now, I’ve got the deck. Shall I deal?”

Metzli shook their head at Anita and shushed her. “You are strong and your confidence is big. Maybe you make mistake, but you are alive. That is what matters.” They paused for a moment, offering Anita an intimate gesture by pressing their lips to the back of her hand. For someone not normally too keen on touch, it meant a great deal. It was something that required trust and comfort that they had only just begun to understand. “You matter to me. Worry will happen and that is okay. Just shut up and accept.”

There were various options that everyone presented for entertainment, nourishment, and comfort. Uno sounded interesting enough. If there were only a single item in a game, Metzli figured it couldn’t possibly be overstimulating or incredibly complex. It sounded quiet. Perfect, even. That was probably why Cass suggested it, and they offered a small and gentle smile to her as they gave Anita’s hand one final squeeze. She didn’t need her temperature lowered again. 

“Let us play this Uno game and I can pay for pizza if someone will like to order.” They turned their head just in time to watch Inge’s hair bounce around the corner as she mentioned a much more chaotic game. Crazy eights? That is bigger than one. Not by much, but enough. And the numbers were crazy? Metzli couldn’t make sense of it, but before they knew it, Inge provided the group with a deck of cards. They stared at it as if it were as atypical as themself, their back stiffening as they shook their head and responded. “I will watch. I do not want to gamble in your deal.”

Anita asked about her, about her well-being, and it was enough to make Cass’s chest feel warm in the metaphorical sense as well as the physical. She offered the lamia a small smile, shaking her head. “It’s not tiring. This is just… being, for me.” Without the need to maintain her glamour, this was actually less tiring than her day-to-day, even if the glamour only took a very small amount of energy to keep up. Regardless, even if it had been exhausting, she would have done it. Anita was cold, and Cass could warm her. That was all there was to it. It was a simple thing.

She hummed, disappointed but not surprised that Inge didn’t have any Uno cards lying around. It had been something of a long shot, given Inge’s whole ‘fancy lady’ aesthetic. Fancy ladies probably didn’t play Uno, which was stupid. Uno was fun. But, regardless, Cass knew how to work with what was given to her. Metzli wasn’t interested in Crazy 8s, though Anita didn’t seem to mind the idea. Cass considered it for a moment.

“Maybe we can do a round or two of that, then Go Fish?” She looked to Metzli as she said it, brows drawing together in a pleading look. It was an expression perfected from years of making sure everyone felt included enough to stay. If there was nothing for a person to do, they were more likely to walk away. And Cass didn’t want Metzli to leave.

She didn’t want anyone to leave, but Metzli was the only one who really could right now. Anita was frozen in place (though not quite literally anymore), and this was Inge’s house. If she could keep Metzli here, they could stay as they were right now. And Cass liked how they were right now. It felt kind of perfect… or as perfect as anything could be, under the circumstances. “Maybe we could have hot chocolate, too?”

—

It would have been too overwhelming for Anita to take the time to fully process and internalize the amount of care that was being given to her. So she was glad to have a distraction in the way of a card game, no matter what game that ended up being. Something to do other than talk about the situation she got herself in. “Crazy 8’s isn’t all that crazy,” she offered to Metzli in Spanish when they seemed uninterested in playing. She wanted them to have a good time if they were going to be stuck here waiting for her to defrost, but also knew that watching the others play might as well be as enjoyable as playing for them. 

Anita was feeling well enough to move her arms a bit, being able to do the absolute bare minimum action for a game of cards. As the cards were delt she reached out to grab her hand, fully accepting that it would be near impossible to keep her cards fully concealed from Cass.  “Hot chocolate would be amazing. Especially if you’ve maybe got some tequila lying around to throw in there?” She asked, looking over at Inge. She should have asked Metzli to bring some from home. Even though she knew the science behind it was flawed, there was no denying that a bit of tequila was known to warm just about anyone up. “I think after a few rounds of the game I should be warm enough to head home. I don’t wanna put y’all out all night.” 

_ 

She looked between the strange range of people and folded down the cards so they could be shuffled and dealt at a later time, “Maybe you can explain the rules to Metzli? It is not so different from Uno.” Inge got up, sure to not touch Cass and her searing skin again. She remembered how she’d burned her once and thought it some kind of metaphor — how warmth could be healing yet also dangerous. 

“Anyway — hot chocolate I can do. With tequila. I’ll also order a pizza.” And she’d pay for it. She was a gracious host, after all. It was a fundamental skill for women of her once-caliber. It was one she didn’t mind not having unlearned — though plenty of the other submissive housewife traits had luckily left her. “What kind of toppings do you like?”

Her eyes flicked to Anita, then. “Don’t worry. Neither Metzli nor I need sleep. You are hardly putting me out. You’ve —” Slept over before, she almost added, before remembering herself. Inge smirked vaguely and then gave Cass another one over. She was okay. Even if she’d stolen her bag and burned her hand. “And if you doze off, that’s alright.” She moved to the kitchen to heat up some milk on the stove, feeling a distant sense of a feeling she couldn’t quite describe. Perhaps it was as simple as contentment, but maybe something more rare — a feeling of safety and unity. 

They knew what Cass was doing when she made that face. They also knew she was scared that they’d leave, even if that was far from the truth. More than once, she had used it to get her way, ensuring abandonment of any kind wasn’t any option. It was how she operated, experiencing dismissal and loneliness far too long. If given the chance to live those moments again, Metzli surely would’ve given Cass what she wanted without any sort of plea. 

They just enjoyed her face far too much to give in immediately. They enjoyed the way she knew a certain look would sway any decision they made. As if Metzli was truly her guardian. “I am staying, mihijita. And I will beat you at this crazy game.” Gently, they reached over and patted her head, ruffling her slightly and playfully with a small but genuine smile on their face. “I will also beat Anita.” They chuckled, rising to their feet to help Inge out in the kitchen. A room they were comfortable and navigated well in. Never mind the fact that they had no need to eat actual food anymore.

“If you have chocolate that I can melt with the mix, I can help you make it very tasty.”

 “Pineapple!” Cass cut in immediately, eager to make her preferred pizza topping known. Normally, she might have let someone else respond first, might have pretended to like whatever the popular answer was, but… she felt comfortable, in this moment. She felt comfortable enough to be a little more of herself, to stop pretending even if it was only for a heartbeat. Later, the mask would slip back on as easily as breathing. She’d cut herself into smaller pieces, something easier to digest. But right here, right now… Cass felt good. And that was good. Wasn’t it?

She grinned a little as Metzli agreed to stay, feeling as though some invisible weight had been lifted. The teasing, too, felt good, felt like something she’d never thought she’d have. “There’s no way you’re beating me,” she shot back, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m totally gonna win. You’ll probably beat Anita, though.” She flashed Anita a grin — a quiet confirmation that she was only kidding, with a question underneath it: is this okay, are we here yet, can we do this? 

As Metzli and Inge went into the kitchen, Cass remained with Anita. This was good, she thought. However terrifyingly the night had started out, this ending was good. She wanted more nights like this. She wanted them forever. 

—

It was not very often that Anita found herself alone, physically. She usually had some body nearby to keep her company - either a meal or a tryst. Even when she spent time with people she cared about, the people in this room, it was almost always one-on-one. Genuinely, she did not know if that was an intentional doing on her part or if it was coincidental. Laying there, wrapped up in physical and emotional warmth felt so foreign to her. It made her think back to Mexico, before she left home. But even as she let her mind wander back there, as she shuffled through her cards and listened to discussions about pineapple on pizza, Anita was faced with the reality that home had never actually felt quite this warm. 

Back then she may have been constantly surrounded by a sea of family but they were all so preoccupied with themselves that moments like this - simple evenings - were scarce. Anita smiled up at Metzli when they returned with cups of cocoa and nodded at the indication from Inge that pizza was just a few minutes away. As she took that first sip of the spiked beverage, for a moment the guilt she had been feeling slipped away. For a moment she was just in a living room, playing cards with people who cared about her.

#writings #bloody ink #wild cards #c: anita #c: inge #c: cass #anita and metzli #inge and metzli #cass and metzli

[muertarte]

TIMING: Current LOCATION: Siobhan’s great-great-grandmother’s shack; Ireland PARTIES: Anita (@gossipsnake), Metzli (@muertarte), Xóchitl (@vanishingreyes), Siobhan (@banisheed) SUMMARY: Anita, Metzli and Xóchitl finally land in Ireland! Siobhan greets them, though she has an odd request to make.

Love existed here, once: between the hand-cut fences, the worn spines of yellowing books, and the pathways carved into the ground by the instrument of feet. Siobhan’s great-great-grandmother built the little teachín herself, insisting that Saol Eile was too loud for her, too busy. For all the time Siobhan had known her, she’d never seen the woman come back to the aos sí; as she often said, if anyone was worth her time, they would visit her in her home. Life bent to her terms, and the people in her life either agreed or stayed very far away. As Siobhan’s mother lamented to her own grandmother, she believed the worst of her daughter’s habits had been learned at the feet of that stubborn hag. As Siobhan had always seen it, the things she could point to within herself that weren’t reflections of someone else, began here: between the fields, under the bookshelves, in the arms of her great-great-grandmother. She loved her, but love hadn’t come back to this shack in years. 

Nature claimed what was once dutifully tended to; thick vines wove through cracked stone and the grass sprouted wild and lush in the old farmland. Wildflowers now adorned the landscape, home to a micro-ecosystem of insects and mice. Despite Siobhan’s best efforts, it was impossible to remove all the dust that had settled in sheets over everything. Every so often a thick silverfish would slither out from the tattered books and a new mouse—or perhaps the same over-eager one—would scurry to a new hiding spot. She’d cleaned up, sweeping away the decades of neglect, but the little shack’s age—and its new inhabitants—were undeniable. If Anita, Metzli and Xóchitl were expecting high-class accommodations, they would be disappointed. Siobhan might’ve argued that it wasn’t that bad—it was clean, just a little ancient and maybe one bad storm away from collapsing—but she wasn’t in the mood to argue for much of anything. 

Spotting her ‘acquaintances’ over the horizon, she propped the wooden door open with a brick and gestured for them to follow the old, winding path down and join her inside. “I invite you all inside, come.” Yes, it was small, Siobhan wanted to say. Once, her great-great-grandmother, a small woman herself, had made the space expansive with her presence; she couldn’t explain how it felt the walls had been pushed out and the roof lifted to the sky and that she hadn’t noticed how tiny it all was. Instead, she offered: “the plumbing still works and there’s electricity; the generator back there runs on gas, I filled it up. The signal here isn’t too bad.” In case they wanted to call for help, she thought. In case they wanted to write a review of the trip: shitty shack, zero stars. She wanted to tell them that this wasn’t what she had planned. When she’d invited them here, it was with the idea that they’d join her in Saol Eile; it was with the idea that she was wanted. In hindsight, it was incredibly idiotic to invite a human and a vampire to a banshee community (they would have liked Anita) but hindsight was worth nothing to her now. 

It would have been easy to tell them to go, take their bags to Dublin and find a way to have a good trip. She wanted to do it; her mouth opened and her tongue formed the words but nothing but her shallow breathing escaped. The list Putrecia had given her was long and despite how ridiculous fae court systems were, she couldn’t represent herself: she needed a lawyer and character witnesses. Siobhan needed them, her acquaintances (Metzli could be called a friend, Siobhan had already allowed that). She wrung her hands. “I know this is not—I know I didn’t explain much—I know…” She swallowed. “I need your help,” Siobhan said, “I didn’t invite you here to help me, I promise. I invited you here to show you my home, but my home is—I need your help.” She paced from one end of the shack to the other. “This is serious. There’s going to be a trial—I’m on trial—in the…” She waved her hands around, creating shapes that meant nothing. “...the community that I grew up in. It’s a little—it’s very—it has its own rules and I’m going to court and I need help. I need your help, I need…” Siobhan stopped pacing, suddenly remembering the bare minimum of hospitality. “H-how was the flight? Did you eat peanuts? They…have those sometimes, right?” 

—

The cab driver had managed to take the three travelers from the airport to the edge of a long path that led down to a distinctly Irish-looking cottage. The trip down the path, however, would have to be made on foot. After hauling her suitcases out of the trunk, Anita spotted Siobhan down near the cottage. There was slightly overgrown greenery all around them, trees that peaked out from behind the roof, and rolling hills in the distance. Despite how distinctly Irish the landscape around them seemed there were parts of it all, and particularly the weather, that reminded her of Maine. 

As she made the journey down the path Anita was surprised by how reserved Siobhan seemed. Even once they made it to the cottage, there was something distinctly out of the ordinary about her disposition. “Plumbing, electricity, and a signal - sounds like all the basic necessities accounted for,” she said with a grin, trying to set a positive tone. “I’d personally be fine without a signal, in all honesty.” She was admittedly very much looking forward to being out here in all of this nature - maybe she’d even do Ireland a favor and give it its first snake in a few centuries. 

After setting her bags down near the front door, Anita looked over at Metzli trying to gauge how they were doing with an unspoken check in. Her attention quickly turned back to Siobahn, however, who was suddenly asking them for help. It was a lot to take in, that she was on trial and that this rag-tag group was who she was seeking help from. “Uh… no, they had those tiny pretzels instead.” Anita responded, still working out how to respond to the rest of the information that Siobhan had relayed. “But, sorry, what’s going on? Is this a criminal trial? Do you need us for, like, moral support or…” she trailed off, partly wondering if any of the outfits she had packed would be court appropriate. 

__ 

It was a good thing Metzli didn’t need to sleep. Not even the medicine Anita had given them any sort of respite from the climbing anxiety of such an experience. For whatever reason, they felt it imperative to keep watch on their friends in the metallic machine flying through the sky. Ensure that if anything were to go wrong, they could move and protect. It was what Metzli felt they were meant to do now, and they didn’t mind that responsibility. That was what love was about. That was why they got on such a strange contraption in the first place to loosen the taut tether that connected Metzli and Siobhan. It was with great relief (and a broken arm rest) that they had landed with very few complications, finally reaching the path that led to their loved one. 

And when they laid eyes on her in the distance, a breathless, “Siobhan…!” tumbling past their lips as the tension finally released. Without another word, Metzli all but bolted into a sprint. Their backpack bounced against their back and their carry-on tossed about on their side, but in a matter of seconds (thanks to their long legs and not their unnatural speed), Metzli arrived in front of Siobhan’s cottage with a wide-eyed but incredibly small smile. They didn’t say much more, too overstimulated by the course of events, but they managed to catch everything Siobhan said. Even the way her voice was drowning in uncertainty and her body behaved similarly to their last visit together. It gave Metzli pause, and they almost missed Anita and Xóchitl arriving next to them and entering the cottage as they grew lost in their mind. They hesitated to step past the threshold for a beat before their concern won out. 

“Siobhan—”

Clang!

Metzli’s head hit a hanging pan, and they blinked with surprise before shaking it away. They hunched further to accommodate for the hanging kitchen supplies, grumbling something about their confusion and how Leila would have prospered in that small environment. “What is this trial? What do we—” Clink! That time, Metzli’s head hit a metal ladle, and they took a deep breath to keep their irritation from boiling over. Focus. A beat, and they calmed, wringing their fingers together as they searched for a chair and watched out for more hanging utensils while they spoke. 

“What do we do here and why do you have everything hanging in here?”

—

The flight had been good, all things considered. Not that there was terribly much to consider, not really, but she had been left with the slightest of knots in her stomach, which was terribly unlike her, but Xóchitl figured the more she focused on the knot, the tighter it would become, and she didn’t want that, and so she chose not to focus. Siobhan had wanted her to come to Ireland for some reason, even though the two of them weren’t friends (right? Except Xóchitl wouldn’t fly to Ireland for just anyone, just someone who she’d hooked up with a few times. Still. It wasn’t productive to focus in on that right now.

Siobhan’s family’s house was pretty. Even though it was way more in the country than Xóchitl had first imagined, but being away from a city could be good. Not that she’d been in any sort of real city in forever, but this was even more country than the country-est parts of Wicked’s Rest. “I could use having no signal, honestly. Or minimal signal.” She’d told Mateo she was going away and had taken time off of work, and it might do her some sort of good to take a no-internet retreat. 

“Are you okay?” She said, arriving half-breathless with Anita to the home, only in time to see Metzli hit themselves with a pan. “Thank you for having us,” she gave a small nod to Siobhan, “yeah, they had pretzels, and they were just okay. The wine was good though.” It took her a beat to process Siobhan’s words, and Anita’s reaction. “You’re on trial?” Xóchitl’s expression fell into one of concern. “I – uh. Do you need me to declare you mentally sound? Or – why – are you okay?” Which seemed like a stupid sort of question, because the answer was obviously no, even if Siobhan faked things. “What – can I do?”

—

The tiny pretzels were superior to peanuts, Siobhan could admit that. It felt like one of those universal facts: worms are beautiful, murder is fun, the tiny pretzels on airplanes are better than the peanuts (which haven’t been served on planes for a while, she remembered). Though, not that she would really know. Her middle seat economy class flight had been so dreadful, all she could remember was Baby’s Day Out in nightmarish flashes. And, anyway, none of this was the point. “It—watch the pans!” But it was too late, the clangs of Metzli’s skull rang out around them, sending more silverfish out of the old bookcase. People walking into them was part of the reason her great-great-grandmother had decided to hang everything up. She was so short, she passed under everything; back when the pans and ladles still had their color, only the tips of her wild red hair reached them. “My great-great…” Siobhan glanced at Xóchitl, who may have suspected she was weird but didn’t understand the scope of her non-humanness. “...grandmother,” she continued, “liked to keep things where she could grab them. That’s why the shelves are all…” Siobhan gestured at the low-hanging shelves. This also wasn’t the point. 

Siobhan had expected protests. She thought Anita would turn around, Xóchitl would huff, Metzli would…probably stay because they were nice but that also, also, wasn’t the point. The point was that these people were here and they were willing to help and Siobhan didn’t know what to do about that. “I…no, not a criminal trial, per se. And no, I don’t need to be declared mentally sound. I don’t think—No, I know that they don’t exactly believe in…psychology.” Logic wouldn’t be winning her case. The list Putrecia gave her was burning a hole in her pocket. “It’s a…” How to describe it? What to call it? “...character trial. To see if I’m worthy enough to reenter the community.” But that didn’t make it sound right; that made it sound worse than it was. They were missing the nuance, she reasoned. And just in case their faces betrayed any disgust, Siobhan turned away from them. 

“I think…Anita, if you’d like to…If you could…” Why was the disapproval of these people—these inferior beings—suddenly so terrifying? It was the banshees in Saol Eile she should have been scared of. The thought of facing another one of Putrecia’s scowls crushed her insides to a paste but the idea that Anita could say no, set the rest of her body ablaze. Forty-two years away from her community had twisted her up into the wrong shape; she needed to go back. When Siobhan finally met the gazes of her fr—acquaintances, it was with a rare blush and even more rare watery eyes. If they asked, it was allergies. “Would you be my lawyer, Anita? Would you represent me? You don’t have to do anything, really. But I just need…” Siobhan’s mouth was suddenly dry. “It has to be you because you’re…” Not human. Not an affront against Death and Fate. “...sexy.” 

She shook her head, looking between Xóchitl and Metzli. “If you two could…act as character witnesses. It’s unlikely you’ll be called to talk.” Most of the trial was decided at random—no, sorry, by Fate. “But if you are…if you’re needed…just in case…” Who else in Saol Eile would have a good word to say about her? Any advantage was worth it. “And Xóchitl, I don’t accept that thank you. Don’t thank me for this; I should be thanking all of you. I should…” And that was it, whatever thin shred of pride held Siobhan’s tears back snapped. She sniffled, wiping at her red cheeks with the back of her hand. “I’m okay. Or, I will be okay, once the trial is over.” She paused, closing her eyes. “If you want to leave, you can; I suppose I’m offering a choice here. I just hope that…” She couldn’t say it.

—

It was nice to see that the other two visitors seemed as unaware of what was happening as Anita did. What was less nice to see was Siobhan on the precipice of some sort of emotional breaking point. Only recently had Anita learned how to help Metzli with emotional moments, and even then her help was really quite minimal. As their host began to explain the strange trial and intricacies of her unique community, Anita felt quite confident of one thing: Xóchitl was the only human around. Even not knowing all of the details about who or what Siobhan was there were parts of this story that Anita could understand. Not that she would be subject to a character trial if she tried to return to her own community, but she knew that she would be met with resistance. 

In all of her interactions with her fellow professor, Anita had never seen Siobhan this … vulnerable. There was a time she would have associated such vulnerability with weakness but not anymore. A sign of immense personal growth, Anita rationalized to herself. In thinking about herself, Anita seemingly missed a small portion of what was happening because the next thing she heard was Siobhan asking her to be her lawyer. Her lips separated as an expression of surprise and slight discomfort washed over her face. But as she stood there, trying to think of ways to get out of this imposition, she felt another set of emotions come over her. It wasn’t pity, but perhaps it was sympathy? 

“I mean, if that’s all the criteria you’re looking for… I guess I am the perfect candidate.” Her words felt lackluster, missing their usual playful spark of sarcasm. Something wasn’t right. Whatever Siobhan was, she wasn’t lamia but she also wasn’t a human. Emotional complexity was never something that Anita fared well with - not when it came to her own emotions and certainly not with the emotions of others. She looked towards Metzli, searching for some guidance. She then turned to Xóchitl, trying to figure out what she made of all of this. If they were willing to help out, then she would be willing, too. It didn’t seem as though they were being asked to do as much as she was, however. Even if Siobhan claimed that representing her wouldn’t require much, if she knew anything about trials from TV shows, being someone's lawyer was a lot of work. 

She swallowed, hard, when the tears finally fell from Siobhan’s beautiful doe-y brown eyes. Anita longed for the days when they were just committing arson together. That was less complicated than this, she knew how to navigate those kinds of circumstances. “Don’t know much about lawyering, but if you need me to be, I’ll be your sexy lawyer, okay? Now, let’s get you a drink, mami.” It was her best attempt at offering up any comfort, even if it was quite a poor attempt. 

_

Metzli’s face contorted into something like a cocktail of anger and disappointment. It had played out just as it always had for Siobhan. What she wanted dangled in front of her, just out of reach. It wasn’t fair, and she couldn’t see that. No, she wouldn’t see that. Time after time, Siobhan was promised a family and love, but only after several conditions. Each time, she was given a sliver, the inkling serving as a flint set to spark a pitiful excuse for a fire. 

A small bit of hope that was enough to keep her hanging on. It always would be. At least until something or someone lit her heart ablaze from a source far more powerful. One that would grant her warmth instead of a meager, dim light that only led her towards dead ends. 

No matter what they said, Siobhan was determined to believe a lie because it was far preferable than accepting the truth. She wanted to change the answer, make the story finish the way she had always been promised, but happy endings were scarce and in too high demand in their world. But if Metzli had any say, they’d pay whatever price to ensure Siobhan got the family she desperately wanted. Even if it meant they’d never see her again. Even if it meant feeding into an illusion, which was just a fancy word for a lie. Because sometimes it mattered more to give your friends what they thought they needed instead of pushing your own wishes onto them. Because hope was a wish, and Siobhan was a star with far too much pressure choking her out. 

“I…” Something of a choke managed to surface to the vampire’s tongue, but they knew there wasn’t much to say. Instead, they walked carefully forward, ignoring the way a pot collided with their forehead. The sound echoed and thrummed along the inside of the metal, only ending when there was no place for the clang to bounce from. Not that Metzli paid it any mind. They were too busy wrapping their arm around Siobhan’s waist and placing their chin on her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her. “Will help you.” It sounded like a promise. 

—

She still had no idea why Siobhan was on trial, and off in Ireland, of all places. Xóchitl wasn’t stupid, she did know that Siobhan was Irish (it was pretty sexy at the time, not that now was even sort of remotely the time to think about that.)

Xóchitl also wasn’t especially keen on how any of this was turning out, but a vacation was a vacation and so she needed to do something about that blah-blah-blah. She wasn’t very good at taking time off (and even she could manage to admit that), and Ireland was supposed to be beautiful (though very very white, so far, but maybe that was partially to do with the fact that they were straight up in the middle of nowhere). But Anita and Metzli and Siobhan were all here, and that was something special (not that she got sentimental or whatever about things), and Mackenzie probably would’ve loved this. The two of them had made so many plans to travel to so many countries together – Mackenzie would’ve loved the idea of being a travel influencer, and Xóchitl knew she would’ve gone with her anywhere.

She supposed that was something to what friendship was, and maybe that was what things meant with the other three who were here, now. They weren’t Mackenzie, and nobody ever would be, but they were here and she loved them. The thought immediately made her stomach clench tighter than she ever could’ve wished for. Which was not a response Xóchitl was looking for right now, but she’d learned far too many times that she didn’t have control over things like that. 

She was just damn good at faking it.

“Let’s drink, and we’ll figure things out. We’re here for you, Siobhan. We’re not letting anything happen to you.” If she said it like it was impossible, then maybe it would be.

—

The amount of times Siobhan had ever felt loved—that dammed word again—she could count on two fingers. It wasn’t the amount of times that she knew she was cared for: her mother cared for her, she supposed; her grandmother and her great-grandmother; the other banshees did as well, insofar as any banshee would care for another. It wasn’t care in the saccharine sense—not the overly familiar way that the humans used it—it was survival. It was the way one bird would know not to peck another death. The banshees cared for her proved by the fact they hadn’t pecked her to a pulp and offered a second chance at all—yes, she was cared for. But loved? 

Was it love that bloomed with warmth inside her chest? That made her bite the inside of her cheek to stop a smile? That spurred a wet, bubbling laugh from her dry throat? Siobhan had two finger’s worth of experience on love; what did she know? She could recognize happiness well enough and she was happy Anita was here, and that Anita had agreed, and that she suggested a drink—and yes, she wanted one and she was so thankful Anita understood well enough to offer an escape from her pathetic display of emotion. Did Anita know how smart she was? How astute? How, despite her own self-proclaimed lack of care, she could so delicately thread any situation offered to her? Of course she did, she was Anita—there couldn’t have been a compliment in existence that she hadn’t heard before. Was that love that she felt then for her fr–co-worker? 

And if there were no original words to capture Anita, there was less Siobhan could offer to Metzli. She knew they didn’t know how remarkable they were; she had tried to explain it before, but like everything else about her, it was too over-wrought. Metzli was the only person she could call a friend, and the only person she had said she loved—and the only person who made her feel like she understood the word, just a little. Though, she hoped Metzli forgot she said it—and anyway it was over the internet so did it count?—if only so she might be offered the chance to say it again, and say it better. Metzli’s weight around her felt like love, she was so sure of it, but she couldn’t assign any words. Instead, she leaned into them and lightly wrapped one arm around them too, mindful of their discomfort with physical touch—and that felt like care, that felt like love. Was this it? Was she loved? Was she cared for? 

Finally, her gaze settled on Xóchitl, who she expected would’ve run at the first spark of strangeness. Yet, she wasn’t surprised when she didn’t; Xóchitl had been ruining her expectations since they first met. So much of her was so human: all of her grief, her fears, her memories and tastes. But, it was in that humanness that there existed a swirling cosmos of identity that formed her. It was that humanness that Siobhan liked in her and it was that humanness that tightened in her throat. Did fear exist on the other side of love? Was it that she cared for Xóchitl that she worried this place would test her humanity? Was it love for her fr—woman that she slept with one time? It was, at least, gratitude for her presence and compassion. 

She was nothing like a banshee, soft and vulnerable like a creature showing its stomach, but whatever she felt now, it carried into her an inch of hope—just enough to convince her that everything would be okay. Did love exist here? Between them? Maybe just enough, maybe just an inch. 

“Now, would it be inappropriate if I assume you all want Mezcal? Because I did go through the trouble of buying up all the nice imports for us. Metzli, there’s wine from the, uh, wine butcher, for you.” 

Anything for her friends. 

#writings #bloody ink #c: anita #c: xochitl #c: siobhan #inch of hope #siobhan and metzli #anita and metzli #xochitl and metzli

[muertarte]

[delivered to Metzli; a note is scrawled on the back:] Dear Metzli, I would be honored if you came and saw them. Your friend, Siobhan

#submission

[muertarte]

[pm] When can I come over then? I will bring new comic books I like. Deadpool is very fun and I have also enjoyed this one called Resident Alien. I like the alien a lot. He makes a lot of sense.

Can you bring those spicy candies that have gooey center? I like that I can taste those. I will put Fluffy in a matching outfit with you.

It is not very big but I think you will like it. And you will match Fluffy so that is even better. Leila thinks it will be cute.

[pm] Yeah! There's nothing wrong with that. There's nothing wrong with any of it. And it'll make more sense soon, it will.

At your house! I want to hang out with Fluffy. And I like your TV. I can bring some candy or something.

That's how it works, yeah. And I love you guys, too. I'm excited to see it! Whatever it is. This is, like, super mysterious.

#dash #c: cass #pm: cass

[muertarte]

Mutt Pup! || Mona & Metzli

TIMING: current. LOCATION: downtown. PARTIES: @muertarte & @thunderstroked SUMMARY: mona is downtown after the situation with monty! she finds fluffy first, metzli second. things are looking up until they aren't. CONTENT: none.

Wandering around town, the fox decided, might be more dangerous than wandering around the woods. She felt the need to avoid all eyes, and it was a little harder to do when she didn’t look like a typical fox. Lucky enough for her, the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, and all that were left in the nooks and crannies of alleyways were shadows. It would be easier to maneuver around town this way, she thought. Safer, she hoped. 

Except, the sound of a bark– loud, piercing. It made her ears hurt, far more than the yelling from the children. She recoiled, backing up into a dumpster, half-way slipping beneath it. The barking was incessant, and soon enough, the dog’s scent curled around the fox’s nose. Was she going to die to some mutt? After everything she’d been through so far, she was going to die to a MUTT? Desperate, the fox darted from beneath the dumpster, distracted by the dog at her heels as she ran face first into the shins of a human– no, undead individual. The pain of the impact cascaded through her head to her shoulders and the fox veered around, finding a box to hide behind. She was so fucked, and this was the end. Either the mutt would eat her, or the undead would eat her, drain her blood, or make her wish she were dead with visions. 

The world was loud. Constantly, incessantly loud. Most days, at least as of late, Metzli wondered if being free to experience their environment fully was truly worth all the trouble. They found that the answer was always yes. In the way anger sparked introspection and learning; the blooming of a pleasant buzz in their chest when they saw their loved ones, and everything in between. Though, if Metzli were honest, they thought they could do without the ability to be startled. They jumped and grew confused when Fluffy sniffed at the air, bursting into a sprint as he barked toward an alleyway. Metzli gave chase, skidding to a halt when they reached the irritated canine. 

“¿Qué te pasa? ¡Fluffy! ¡Ven para aca!” They reprimanded, voice firm enough to cause Fluffy to sit in place just as something ran into them. Fluffy still continued to bark loudly until the vampire snapped their fingers, training returning to his mind. It gave Metzli the space to check the source of Fluffy’s distress, and their eyes grew worried and soft. With another snap, Fluffy returned to their side, giving them the opportunity to latch the leash to the collar and dock him to a nearby pole. The dog whined and paced, finally dwindling into a huff when he laid down. 

Metzli relaxed then, attention returning to the small fox that trembled and hid. It wasn’t an ideal spot for hiding, but with so little to work with, the vampire understood. They felt bad for the scared creature, and knowing how domineering they may look, Metzli crouched down and made themself as small as they could. “Esta bien.” They whispered, showing their open palm and half-limb in an attempt to look friendly. Whether or not the fox would understand though, Metzli wasn’t sure, but they still wanted to try. 

 The fox cowered against the brick facing of the opposite wall, nose twitching in response to the way they crouched down to greet her. Immediately, the fox’s gaze traveled over their features, picking up the immediate understanding that maybe they did not mean her harm. She could hear her father’s voice in the back of her head, never trust anything on two feet. But they had reprimanded the dog, had even restrained it, despite its high pitched whines. 

She could either run now and risk being caught in the jaws of the mutt, or she could put faith into the undead individual ahead of her. The sound of cars and footsteps at the other end of the alley told her she had little time to decide. A fox of her kind wasn’t found in most places, and she was sure to garner a few stares– especially because in certain circles, her photos had already been spread. It was unfortunate, but she knew she had no other choice. Putting faith into people wasn’t exactly her thing, but she tried to remain calm as she pushed out from beneath the dumpster. If the people previously had been any indication of how she could trust people, then maybe this would be the same.

The fox sniffed at the individual’s hand, looking up at them with round golden eyes. Her two tails twitched behind her in response to the sound of the mutt’s whine, and she looked him over as if to reprimand it– a little too human like, she realized. Then again, maybe this person would realize they were in semi-like company and be more inclined to help her rather than for the sake of a good samaritan helping a wild animal. God forbid they call animal control. She began to paw at the ground, scratching claws through the dirt there, attempting to spell out something– Help. The p was lopsided, but she hoped it’d be enough. She looked up at them with unblinking eyes, small heart battering in her chest rapidly. This would either go well or terribly, but at least she could light this alleyway aflame if it were the latter. 

The sight of a second tail on the fox caused pause. Never before had Metzli seen that sort of mutation, or if it was a cause of that for that matter. A town like Wicked’s Rest was like a beacon for all things strange, all kinds of supernatural beings. They wondered then if that’s what the fox was. And just when Metzli was going to silently theorize to themself, they noticed how the fox sneered at Fluffy. Almost as if they were irritated and making a face. Just like a human would. 

Metzli’s brows raised in surprise and they looked around to make sure no one else was around to cause the fox any harm. When it began spelling though, that’s when the vampire jumped and frantically removed their suit jacket in a hurry, placing it over the creature. The fox needed help, and it no longer mattered whether it was a shapeshifter or a sentient animal. They needed help, and Metzli wasn’t going to hesitate to do so. 

“Can carry you to my business. It is three blocks away. Have loft there with bed you can use. Is this okay? Can I carry you there?” It felt important to ask, especially after such an ordeal with Fluffy. Even more so because the fox had to make the big decision of trusting Metzli, a complete stranger. “I will not hurt you.” They paused, adjusting the jacket a bit to keep the tails covered. “This is my promise.”

It worked, somehow, and the fox was being draped over with the stranger’s jacket. The wriggled, surprised by the sudden movement. The urge to bite or claw died instantly at their words. She had to trust that they had good intentions, even if everything in her screamed to run. She nodded carefully in an attempt to make sure that her movements couldn’t be misconstrued– or that the undead individual might think she was simply too smart for her own good. 

The promise they gave meant something to her even if she couldn’t hold onto it like a fae could. 

There were too many people she would need to find after this was set straight. 

After she braced herself for the way the stranger scooped her up, she peeked through a small opening within their jacket, immediately taking in her surroundings. This, at least, was familiar. She was getting closer to Felix, she thought– or at least, Inge. 

There was no biting, or scratching, or even a loud warning call to prevent Metzli from picking up the fox. Much to their relief, the creature all but sank into their embrace and settled against the vampire’s chest with a relief of its own. “It will take ten minute walk for us to arrive.” They notified, watching as a muzzle barely peeked out of the jacket. 

The sight was adorable enough to make a small smile form on Metzli’s face, and it continued to grow as they grabbed hold of Fluffy’s leash. It was a slight struggle with only one arm, but after some finagling, they managed to wrap the loop around their wrist without tossing around the fox too much. Meanwhile, Fluffy spun in a circle a few times, barking once more before Metzli made a disapproving noise. “Be good.” He responded with silence, which Metzli approved of, and they began their trek toward the gallery.

“Once we are at the loft, I will leave with Fluffy to get you food. You will be comfortable in there.” A few people rounded a corner and Metzli immediately quieted down and held the fox closer to their chest. They passed by with no issue, but Metzli thought it best to no longer look like they were speaking to no one after some final reassurances. “Have many blankets and a couch and a bed.” They whispered, “You will be safe.” 

She was closer now to Felix than she had been previously. She recognized the area they were in, and as she poked her head out of the undead being’s jacket, she could also see faces of those who might mean her harm if she were to unveil herself. She’d need to bide her time, she decided. The fox sank against the individual’s chest, ears twitching in response to the way the dog yapped, but was immediately quieted down by his owner. 

The walk truly only took ten minutes, and eventually a door was being closed behind them. Slight panic rose in the fox as she popped her head out of the jacket, ears swiveling to take in noises from every direction– to make sure she was not about to be ambushed. Luckily, it seemed to be only the three of them. 

She settled down slightly as she was put down, the dog put away in a different room. The fox looked down at her muddied paws, suddenly feeling guilty for tracking anything in. She looked up at her temporary savior with a blank stare. How was she supposed to give her thanks like this? She hated the idea that she’d need to make rounds, but she’d feel guilt if she didn’t. With a too-human sigh, the fox sat down, gold eyes narrowed in on the subject, waiting for what came next. 

The idea that she might die here came to mind– that she’d been too quick in believing the words they had to say, but she had very little choices out here, and besides, weren’t most undead afraid of fire? If something did happen… 

The fox’s mind wandered as she looked around the loft that, in her opinion, looked like it’d come straight out of a magazine. 

The fox focused on its paws, and while the mess did bother Metzli, they knew it couldn’t be helped. Whoever the fox was, they had been struggling and needed a break. They didn’t need someone reprimanding them for making a mess where they were placed. “Do not worry. Can wash it when you are gone.” Metzli smiled as soothingly as they could, though it appeared too toothy and childlike as it always did. 

“I will leave you now and get food for you.” Stiffly and far too rigidly, they stood upright and headed toward the door. They stopped midway, recalling a promise of clothes. “Oh.” Heading quickly inside the closet, they grabbed some sweatpants and a t-shirt for the person to wear once they were human again. “Now I will leave.” Metzli quietly placed the clothes on the bed, and headed out, bowing their head before closing the door. 

The fox’s ears twitched as they spoke. She knew that to be true, but there was still some guilt regarding the situation. She felt helpless, and though she knew not how to get back to how she’d been before whatever had happened to her thanks to the pollen, she figured that at least one of these people had to of run into her type of situation before and know how to help. Only thing was, how many more people would she see and how many more would either be kind or try and kill her? It seemed 50/50 at this point, and the fox wasn’t willing to sway further onto the opposite end. She quite liked living. 

They spoke of food, and the fox’s stomach growled involuntarily. She could absolutely go for a burger right now, though she didn’t figure that’s what they would bring back. They left clothes, too – far too long for anything that’d actually fit her, but even so, she knew that she wouldn’t be shifting back anytime soon. She stayed put, waiting for them to return. 

Within the ten minutes they were gone, something shuffled at the other side of the door. Four paws instead of two feet. Her head swiveled around, gold eyes boring down on the doggy door she hadn’t immediately noticed. The dog from before– Fluffy, as they had called it, shot through. She knew she shouldn’t be afraid of the mutt, but god forbid she accidentally hurt it should it try and actually hurt her. The fox jumped onto a nearby shelf that was next to an open window, and unfortunately for her, the fabric that’d been laid overtop of the shelf slipped beneath her paws, sending her falling out of the window with a yelp. 

The fox hit a branch on the way down, which in turn helped to break her fall, but the crack in her shoulder sent vibrations of pain through her frame as she attempted to stand, another low whine pulling from her snout. She shook her head, staggering to her feet. The pain was bearable, though troublesome. The fox looked up towards the window knowing well enough that in this state, there’d be no climbing back up in the way she would do so if able. 

Before she could even consider going to the front door and scratching at it incessantly, the sound of something behind her– a voice, loud and booming– accusatory but afraid, caused her to run. Who was she if not a coward?

#wickedswriting #writings #bloody ink #c: mona #mona and metzli

[muertarte]

TIMING: A little bit after December

PARTIES: @ohwynne @muertarte

SUMMARY: Still learning how to handle their emotions, Metzli has an outburst with a client. Wynne overhears and checks in.

WARNINGS: References to emotional abuse and domestic abuse

Metzli struggled to keep their breath from speeding up, the sensation of crushed velvet sending unpleasant shivers down their entire body. They rubbed their fingers against themselves, the friction warm and rough enough to keep the vampire from having an outburst. Everyone had been skeptical about their return to work, only a week after they had been set free and allowed to experience the full spectrum of their emotions. The collective continued to overwhelm Metzli at a considerable rate, and despite Leila’s urging to continue to rest, they felt as if they had something to prove. 

What the curator hadn’t expected though, was for an artist to come in and demand for frame changes. It was bad enough that he had an attitude and brought in examples of what he wanted to use, but then he forced Metzli’s hand onto the texture that sent alarm bell’s ringing in the vampire’s ear. They supposed he’d wanted them to enjoy it with him, see exactly why he absolutely needed the changes done immediately. The smell of his cologne just added insult to injury, and Metzli ripped their hand away with a bit too much force. The piece of velvet went flying, smacking the artist square in the face. 

“I…I-I…” An embarrassing moment was taking place, a few swear words even tossed around at them, though Metzli thought it reasonable for him to react such a way. That’s why instead of giving the same energy back, they had the forethought to force their stiff body to move out of the room and into their office. That’s where things were allowed to implode and fall apart, and they slammed the door before anyone could follow inside and see them begin to pace. 

Something was different about Metzli. Wynne wasn’t sure what to make of it — sometimes they weren’t sure what to think about the older vampire. They were elusive at times, mysterious at best and though they had shown them nothing but kindness and patience, they also still remembered how Metzli had ripped off heads and locked themself away afterwards. If there was any proof that there were good people who could do bad things out there, they were it.

They didn’t fully understand what was happening until the commotion between Metzli and the customer was reaching a louder volume. Wynne winced at the ugly words, peered quietly from their own workstation to see what was happening. The customer was huffing loudly, face a little red where Metzli had hit them and they bit their lip. He muttered something about going for a ‘fucking cigarette’ and stalked away, leaving them with two people having stormed off. They considered just staying where they were, but in stead quietly moved to Metzli’s office.

Their knock was tentative and soft, as far as a knock could be those things. “Metzli?” They remained, not wanting to open the door. They knew how bad it could be if someone opened a door when you wanted to be by yourself. “It’s me. Wynne. Are you alright?” 

The knock at the door pulled the vampire out of their panic for just a moment, the pacing abruptly coming to a stop by the door. Metzli swallowed, shutting their eyes tightly to force the stress back into themself. It was no use. “Wynne.” They strained to say, tugging at their hair in hopes of that working instead. Still, the panic remained, and the silence that lay between Wynne and Metzli began to gain weight with every beat. They decided to break the silence, voice unable to keep steady and their morals keeping them from lying.

“No.” They laid their head against the door, the coolness of it helping just slightly. “Much…stress. Much, much stress.” The worst part of it all was that now it felt like Wynne was being burdened with a struggle that Metzli felt was a lone one. They were supposed to learn to keep their composure and manage their emotions, like any other person in the world, and yet, they had an overreaction that was now costing a friend. That alone was unfair, but the two of them were also in the workplace, which felt even worse, somehow. Still, with a sigh, Metzli opened the door just slightly, if only to offer Wynne some sort of reassurance. 

“I give apology, Wynne. I, um…I am sorry.”

Two instincts were at war within them. One told them to not stick their nose in the business of their seniors and not prod Metzli in a time like this. It was disrespectful and they were overstepping. Another, stronger instinct was one born out of care. Wynne seemed incapable of just letting someone be upset, especially if they felt a connection to that person. It was that instinct that won out now, which is why they were carefully eyeing the vampire.

“Oh.” They frowned at the answers that Metzli gave, and it was still on their face as they opened the door. “Is it okay if I come in? You don’t have to apologize to me.” Maybe to the customer, but that would come later. Wynne figured that they could kind of understand the other’s predicament. They’d burst out into tears at their previous job aplenty — their emotions hardly ever exploded into anger, after all. But it was similar, wasn’t it? A spilling over of emotion. Sometimes it was all too much. It almost always seemed to be too much. 

“Maybe you can talk about it? Sometimes talking about it helps? Puts things into perspective.” They gave a reassuring smile. “Or so I’ve heard.”

A small, stressed sigh trembled out of Metzli when they saw the frown displayed on Wynne’s lips. Every marker pointed toward displeasure for what the vampire had done, but they were telling Metzli otherwise. They swallowed, quietly tugging at their hair while they attempted to decipher everything from all the reading they’d been doing. People often said one thing, meaning something else. Or sometimes they hide their feelings and lie to themselves so as to not hurt others, subsequently lying to others. Which was bad. Very bad. Metzli hated lying, and Wynne knew this. It wouldn’t make sense for them to do so, even to spare their feelings. This, and they looked to be genuine in their suggestion. 

Metzli paused, opening the door further to let their friend into the office. They could trust Wynne, knowing they would do what they thought was right, and having seen firsthand that they were similar in more ways than one. “Um…” Words escaped Metzli once again, and they tightly shut their eyes to shroud their vision in darkness. The thing most familiar and quiet, a place they could escape to for a sense of calm, if only for a moment. “Perspective,” They parroted once their mind seemed to finally settle. “You are maybe right. Always…” With a deep inhale, Metzli took a few steps back and shuffled awkwardly to their chair. 

“So wise.” They offered a crooked smile, fidgeting in their seat and wringing their fingers together. “And you are so young. I have heard this means there was forced growth in childhood.” That in itself was a quiet tragedy to realize, a cold and shaky sensation filling Metzli’s chest as sorrow grew with understanding. They knew what that was like, better than most, but there was a stark difference between them and Wynne. While they had become a beast that bristled with excitement at times with blood on their hands, Wynne was a lamb set to slaughter when they were casted out into the world where their kind heart would be exposed. Metzli’s growth ended with a monster, and Wynne’s with a person. What right did they have to relinquish their worries onto them? With another breath, Metzli avoided Wynne’s gaze and stiffly adjusted their seat. 

“Did you…have to grow with force?”

They were relieved when Metzli let them into their office, glad that this bit of trust was granted them. Wynne thought for a moment about the place where Metzli had locked themself away. While they understood a wish to be alone, that sometimes it was just easier to choose purposeful solitude — they also knew there was nothing to gain in it. And so they were glad Metzli was letting them in, even if it was just in their office. They moved in, closed the door behind them softly and eyed the other’s unease. Their lips pushed together in an awkward yet sad smile.

As the other called them wise they frowned, not wanting to disagree and start some kind of debate and yet feeling like they should at some point address the fact that Metzli was wrong to think that. For now, Wynne sat down in one of the free chairs, figuring it best if they were at the same eye-height. “I try.” They bit on the inside of their cheek as the vampire said something about forced growth. They wanted to pivot the conversation back to Metzli, to the overflow of information, on what Wynne could do to make it all more okay, but it seemed their wanting was futile.

They blinked at Metzli for a moment, quiet and wide-eyed. Their question was forward and direct, lacked any beating around the bush. Wynne did prefer it like that — they just weren’t sure what the answer was. But they gave it some thought and nodded. “I guess so. I had a lot of responsibility from a young age.” Ten years old, being told by Padrig that they’d have to die in a decade to serve their community. Sanctified from that day on. “I don’t think I was given what I needed when I grew up. It wasn’t good at home.” They shrugged. “That made me think about stuff a lot. About death and dying and other things.” That was a vague answer. “And because I had a lot of responsibility people often asked me for advice, back home. I think I had to act older than I was, I guess.” They were quiet for a moment. “What about you?”

Metzli didn’t like that Wynne had to grow quickly, and they especially didn’t like that they didn’t have what they needed to prosper properly. Children were strong but also so fragile, absorbing too much too quickly about who they should be and what treatment they should accept. Thus teaching others how to treat them, even if it was to their detriment, maybe especially to their detriment. 

By the sounds of it, Wynne was taught to care for others and not themself. Be seen and not heard. Metzli didn’t like that, and hoped that they could provide an environment where Wynne felt comfortable and like they were being listened to. They couldn’t tell if that was the case though, considering how Wynne tried to take back the role of listener. But perhaps, Metzli thought, if they really wanted to ask and were given the same treatment, it was really about the give and take. Love’s currency being one of reversal, a never ending cycle of reciprocation. Metzli could do that. It was the selfless option that helped them both.

“I do not remember being happy. In trouble much. I…I feel a lot back then. Like-like right now.” Emotions seemed much more intense right then, though. Metzli wasn’t sure if the difference was because their memory was fuzzy or because they were feeling it all at that moment, but they didn’t think that mattered. They chose to focus on the present. “Parents did not like when I behave like,” Metzli gestured vaguely to themself, “This.” They breathed shakily, moving on. “Did work. Father was carpenter and my mother work with bone to make things to sell. Emotions are better when I work. When my hands…” With an awkward smile, they swallowed and attempted to joke. “Hand is busy.” Metzli sighed, a frown replacing the poor excuse for a smile. “They like it better like that and would enjoy it when I was locked in my room. Um…” Their voice cracked. “Did you have a room?”

They understood by now that parents didn’t always do what was best for their children. Wynne had thought all of their struggles were to blame were because of them. That maybe because of their unusual situation, they had felt an ugly distance and lack of safety with their parents. But since they’d ran, they’d talked to others. Alex with her parents who would’ve hated her for what she was. Emilio, whose mother sounded so cruel. Teddy and their demon worshiping parents. And now Metzli, revealing that their past had also lacked the kind of parents they all deserved.

They felt heavy with it, the reality of it. And as Metzli explained how their parents hadn’t liked it when they got emotional, they felt a hint of ugly recognition. These weren’t the kinds of things they wanted to have in common with people. How many times had they been reprimanded if not punished for the same? “That’s not fair. That we – that you got in trouble for things like that. It’s okay to feel things, I think.” Was it? No matter how soft and malleable they were, they still tended to hold their emotions tight to their chest where they grew heavy until they cried in solitude.

“I understand. I think. I also like it when my hands are busy. It’s why I knit a lot. It makes me fret less.” They were quiet for a moment. Metzli locking themself in a room made a little more sense now. It was what they’d known before. They nodded. “I had a bedroom. There were also other rooms. Rooms for contemplation by yourself.” Wynne looked at their hands. They wished they were knitting. “Home wasn’t a good place. I don’t think yours was either.” They looked up again, gave a sad look to the vampire. “It’s okay, though. To be upset. I tried not to be upset for a long time and in the end that just made the emotions worse.”

It was supposed to be good to have things in common, wasn’t it? Connections were built on that, and similarities were meant to help them thrive. So, why, Metzli wondered, did the tethers feel so frayed and worn? Why did it feel like the strings were made of some cruel material? It felt so weighty and beaten, but holding steady as its root was tied to the core of their beings? For a while, Metzli pondered on that in silence, managing to nod along with Wynne’s statements. But they were wrong about one thing, and they were sure it wasn’t due to Wynne’s knowledge being lacking. They were led astray. All of them were. Cass, Leila, Nora, Siobhan, and so many more. 

Their childhood dwellings weren’t home. Wicked’s Rest was, though. Metzli smiled at that realization, a tear surprising them as it glided down their cheek. They didn’t even bother to wipe it away, cementing that what Wynne said is true. It was okay to be upset, to let yourself feel things even if you didn’t understand them. So much younger than them, and yet Wynne had given them more wisdom than they could’ve found within themself, a mind over a century old. That was to be expected given Metzli’s newborn freedom, a birthing of their true self. They’d have to be a little kinder to their process and to themself if they were going to acclimate to everything, and it was thanks to Wynne that they were able to calm down and come to the realization. 

Sometimes the kindest hearts truly did come from the cruelest places.

“Thank you, Wynne. You are…” A sniffle snuck up on the vampire, and they cleared their throat quickly to continue. “A good person.” Out of respect, Metzli  bowed their head for a moment before finally making brief eye contact with Wynne. Their eyes were watery, but much more calm as the fog faded away. “Would you like to take your break with me? We can go to the room I keep locked for myself when I feel like sketching or painting. We can…” They took a steadying breath, clenching and unclenching their fist below the desk. Anxiety was a hard feeling for Metzli to process. The most difficult one, in fact. But they had a feeling it would be good for both them and Wynne to connect while they busied themself with a task. “Make art together. Next to each other. If you will like. We can both talk and have music. Leila has shown me good music.”

There was something so bittersweet about the quiet understanding that hung in the room. Wynne found it was good to speak to people who could understand to a certain extent, but it also made them feel exhausted. A kind of bone tired, as if their limbs were somehow made of a heavier material than simple bone, making every step harder to make. Sometimes it would feel like they’d sink through their mattress with the weight of it, the knowledge that people had suffered and would suffer, that for every inch of understanding they felt and were given someone else had also been in pain.

And now Metzli was crying and they weren’t sure what to do with that. They looked at the vampire who had years and years on them, who must have learned so much in those centuries and who called them good. “So are you,” they said, and they meant it. They had called Metzli a good monster once, but they were more than that. They had learned that over the months working with them, where they were no longer just the silhouette of the person they had been before. That gallery guide who’d come for their rescue, who’d ripped off heads of vampires while doing so and had locked themself away after. 

Wynne nodded at their suggestion, patiently waiting for Metzli to finish speaking. There was a tenseness in their breathing they knew all too well. “I would like that very much.” It would be intimidating, to make art next to Metzli, as they weren’t anything of an artist. Wynne put their creativity in their cooking and crafts, sometimes in the notebooks they filled with scraps of thought. “It would be nice.” They tried to catch the other’s eye. “You know what I do? When I feel – when my chest feels like it’s becoming too small to hold my lungs?” They lifted their hand, placed it flat against their own chest. Over their heart, pressed against their ribcage. “I try to breathe to my hand. To just … feed it slowly, small breaths. Sometimes someone else will put their hand there.” They’d do that at home. Breathe in tandem. Grow calm in tandem. And though there might have been crude reasons for such exercise, Wynne found they still worked for them.

The compliment made them stiff, a slight tremble trickling down their arm and straight into their hand. “I…” A breath hitched in Metzli’s throat and they closed their eyes tightly as they remained quiet and listened to Wynne. Seemed as though they understood what their idiosyncrasies meant, even if Metzli didn’t most of the time. “Okay,” They replied with a nod, eyes relaxing but still closed while they moved their hand over their chest. It helped, more than they thought. 

Each breath loosened their shoulders, the coiled and sharpened weight lifting away as well. With a stuttered inhale, Metzli opened their eyes and smiled ever so slightly. “Thank…you.” They blinked slowly, communicating their gratitude and affection further. Much like a cat would, having no ability to use words. Just as they couldn’t, not anymore. 

Rising silently from their seat, Metzli took a final breath before rounding their desk to meet Wynne at their seat. After a few brushes of their thumb against their palm, they extended their hand to Wynne. It was an offering of trust and acceptance. Not only was Wynne an employee, but they were a friend, too. Now more than ever, it seemed. Metzli hoped Wynne would understand the sentiment and take their hand so they could lead them both to the painting room. It felt like it could be a new beginning. One they both needed.

One they both had hoped for.

Something about it felt wrong, teaching Metzli a tactic they had used back at home. But it had worked, this way of breathing, both in the commune and outside of it. Wynne watched Metzli focus on their breathing and they hoped it worked. A small bit of relief seemed to wash over them and then over Wynne, too, who didn’t want their friend to be in any kind of stress.

“Of course,” they said. “I’m glad it worked.” Maybe one day they’d reach out and place their hand on Metzli’s, should this kind of thing happen again. It would be nice if it didn’t, but experience learned that these kinds of moods came again and again. Sometimes it seemed the best thing to do was to just find ways to deal with it, rather than get angry about the existence. It was what they were trying. 

They watched Metzli get up and then extend their hand. Wynne didn’t hesitate before taking it, fingers wrapping around the other’s and getting up with them. United they moved to the painting room and they were relieved and glad, once more faced with the proof that they had made the right decision by leaving. That they had made the right decision by visiting Metzli when they had locked themself away. It was nice, to work somewhere where there were friends. Where they felt seen and not watched. To be able to simply coexist with someone, without expectation or demand.

#wickedswriting #writings #bloody ink #c: wynne #wynne and metzli #overreactions #domestic abuse tw #emotional abuse tw

[muertarte]

[pm] She was just dumb. Am not a good person yet Have to keep trying What if I will never beAm not a hero. I do not even have a cape. And capes are silly anyway.

You do not have to close your store for me. I can wait quietly in the back. Am okay waiting for you to be done with work.

[pm] You fought a hunter to save another vampire and got hurt twice in the process. If anyone deserves a massage after you're patched up, it's you. Going around saving people like a superhero... Superheroes deserve relaxation.

I think I'm always going to worry about you a little I'll close up shop anyway. Patch you up and have quiet.

#dash #c: leila #pm: leila

[muertarte]

[pm] Thank you. It will be nice to have another vampire friend. Hopefully she will not [...] betray me like master [...] Chuy.

I will help you relax more. I know you like your shoulders massaged. After my injuries are cleaned I will do this.

Will be by the store soon. Head inside through back door. Am fine. No injuries hurt very bad. You do not have to worry a lot.

[pm] If I run into her, I'll get her contact information...

[user laughs to herself because metzli has a good point]

[pm] I'm learning how to relax. Slowly... but learning. [...]

[user takes a VERY DEEP BREATH at the addition of injury information]

[pm] M'amour... if you're still out, come to the store, I'll close up and clean you up, get those wounds to healing. If you're already home, I'll head over now. How bad are they?

#dash #c: leila #pm: leila

[muertarte]

[user verifies timeline with Google]

[pm] She is very old then. Maybe I can help her with english since am learning too. But I do not know how to find her. Maybe she will post in her strange english and I will find her that way.

You overthink very much. Makes me wonder how you are able to relax at all. But I understand. Many things are in my head all the time.

Oh. Almost forget. Can you help me? Need to clean wounds. One from arrow on shoulder and one in my leg from knife.

@muertarte replied to your post “[pm] I hate being nice. Can we have quiet tonight?”:

[pm] Help this other vampire from getting killed by slayer. She was strange. Did not understand her English. Called me art and used the word thow for something. I will like this. Anita knows good tequila so it will be very smooth. If she gave you this present that must mean she likes you as well.

​[pm] Art? Thow [...] [user says these aloud until it clicks] That's... early modern English, that's Shakespearian English, that's older than me. [...] She's lucky you were around to help. Speaking old versions of a language not in a Renaissance fair or Shakespeare play setting is like having a neon 'I am undead' sign on your back.

I think Anita loves you, and is growing to get used to me. Though I didn't bother her too much after she stole a wedding dress from the shop, once, and she hasn't judged me too harshly for eating sugar straight from the bag in the kitchen, so maybe she does like me. [...] Maybe you're right and maybe I overthink things too much.

#dash #c: leila #pm: leila

[muertarte]

[pm] Am not a gas either. Am just old.

Thank you for clarifying that word. But it makes me wonder if you should just use the original words instead of smushi I like paying attention to her. She is smart. I do not think she believes this all the times but she has different kinds of smarts. She teaches me a lot. She is the reason I try very hard to be who I am now. Always want to pay attention to her. She deserves to Not enough people do.

A book with all your information?

You miss her. I do too. But I know it is different for you. If Leila had to go I would have just as many emotions. Will you like to have emotions with company? The deer has decayed very beautifully.

[pm] It is pretty cool. Plus you get tons of docs about stuff like that these days. I'm in my scholar era. I'm not saying you're dumb, I'm calling you an old fart, that's different.

Pretty much everything gets a name. It makes life more fun. [user thinks about this, feels uncomfy, then thinks about Regan, and feels sad, then realizes she's overreacting and that's not cool and chill like she is] I mean, I'm already doing this for like, half the town, what's one more person, amirite? (am I right?) There's nothing wrong with nodding though, it's better than not paying attention.

Wait, what book?

It's fine. You just reminded me of her. But like, the other day I teared up over a glass of Sprite, it doesn't take much.

#dash #c: jade #pm: jade

[muertarte]

[pm] [...] Are you saying you want to go to bed with me?

No it does not. Why would it be sexual? Am not being sexual right now. Those words are just synonyms.

[pm] You should focus more on me.

Wet feelings caused by a significant other has a... sexual implication. Do you not hear that? So I am definitely not lying. Did you mean to say like sappy, sentimental, warm, or literally anything other than wet?

#dash #c: anita #pm: anita #wrspice

[muertarte]

@ohwynne replied to your post “[pm] Hi Metzli. I need to take some days off work...”:

[pm] I always try to be safe about things. That is very nice. I forgot about pto! I will let you know. I hope she is too. She's not very good at acknowledging there's danger so I'm a little stressed!

​[pm] This sounds like someone I know. Denial is very common in Wicked's Rest. Do you think the water is causing this?

I wish you luck.

#dash #c: wynne #pm: wynne

[muertarte]

[pm] I am nothing like him. For one. I am real and he is not. and Two. I am not a man. And three. I think my plot would interest people for more than ten minutes.

I do not think that is how training is supposed to work. If your brain is broken then there must be a fix. Broken things can be fixed even if you do not have all the pieces.

Anatomy is interesting to me and I have dealt with many injuries. You squirm too much though. Almost did not set it right.

[pm] Fictional guy who only murdered bad people, or something like that. Never got past the first ten minutes of the pilot.

Plenty of times, never seems to stick. Brain's a bit broken, what's there to do about it? Shoulder's way less broken, though. You really know your stuff.

#dash #c: finn #pm: finn

[muertarte]

[pm] Okay. I understand this. I also like when things are done certain way.

We are also having movie night. Will you want use to do this in your cave or at my house? I will bring you the good popped corn.

You will see! It has been made with love. Well. Not actually. I made it with my hand and with Leila’s machine. But we love you. Is that how the saying works?

[pm] Can I help?

I will give it to you when we go for ice cream. But here is a hint: it is something you can wear.

#dash #c: cass #pm: cass #mobile

[muertarte]

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @disengagedspirit @muertarte

SUMMARY: Mercy experiences her first slayer, and Metzli is around in time to help.

WARNINGS: None

Anytime Mercy could get out of the town and into nature was a relief. The sound of cars flying by and constant chatter of people around town seemed to be enough to drive anyone with a long history of silence mad. So when Mercy had pulled up directions via Magistra Google on how to get to Wicked’s Rest State Park, she gladly followed them out of the house and down the street despite the fact that it was night outside. Though she had greatly missed spending time in the sunshine and hadn’t quite figured that one out yet without being heavily cloaked by clothing that weighed her down uncomfortably.

As Magistra Google told her which way to turn, she had found herself walking down an empty sidewalk that was hardly a place to be desired. There weren’t any cars around, and though it was quieter than before, she could hear the sounds of chaos off in the distance. Did this mean she was getting closer to her destination? She wanted to believe so with all of her heart, but according to her phone, there was still quite a ways to go. But there was something else that felt off. It was as if eyes had been following her for quite some time, and though she had chosen to try and push past the discomfort, she was starting to question whether or not she should return.

Looking up to the stars with a sad sigh, Mercy had opted for the latter. Maybe Caleb could take her via his metal carriage, but tonight was no longer starting to feel safe, and as she put her phone into her pocket and began to turn around, she had been met with someone much larger than her. Someone with a nefarious look in their eyes and their fists clenched and ready for a fight.

—

Metzli wiped the sticky blood from their face, licking at the remnants staining their fingers. The kill wasn’t too messy, considering that their meal had been a lowly raccoon. An animal so small was not nearly enough to keep the vampire sated, but seeing as their hunger pangs began at the end of the work day, Metzli thought it best to have some sort of snack before venturing into town for a few evening errands.

“Hm…” Humming to themself, they mulled over the idea of taking the carcass with them. Surely eyes would be locked on them, and even if Metzli rarely met anyone’s gaze, they felt it might be possible for a concerned citizen to call authorities on them. “Hm…” They hummed again, retrieving their handkerchief from their jacket and wiping the rest of the blood away before grabbing the raccoon by its scruff and walking out of the treeline. Metzli looked left and right, and left again, pleased to find that no one was around. 

With a small smile, they sighed contentedly as they cut through an alleyway to get back to their car. They had only just spotted their black sedan when they saw what looked to be a couple getting intimate in the cover of darkness. Strange, really, but Metzli stared a bit longer with a curious tilt of their head, wondering how anyone could be so openly affectionate. Leila always held their hand and kissed them while out and about, but that was hardly—oh. Oh. Metzli was wrong. Cocking an arm back was not affection, and the scream the woman let out was most definitely distress.

“Hey!” They exclaimed, sprinting forward and throwing the dead raccoon at the back of the assailant’s head while closing the distance. It felt wrong to do so, but Metzli had little to work with. “Run!” They instructed the woman, watching as the raccoon fell to the ground and rolled only once before it landed on its side. “Run now!” The man stumbled, shaking away the ambush as he turned around just in time to see a fist meet his face. It caused minimal damage, somehow. Metzli grumbled and reached for their knife, grabbing ahold of its hilt, but only for a moment. A body collided with theirs with great force, sending the two rolling and fighting for dominance. Much to Metzli’s dismay, they were overpowered, and it was their turn for their face to meet a fist. 

As she watched as the man drew his hand back ready to strike her down, the centuries old vampire cowered, until she heard the loud exclamation in the distance. Looking over, Mercy noticed as someone had come barreling towards them, and on the instruction to run, the small woman found herself stumbling backwards out of the way as she watched the two people rumble. But when she noticed the large man once again getting the upper hand, Mercy knew she couldn’t run.

She wasn’t just going to take off and leave a complete stranger, one who had saved her, fend for themself, and without much hesitation, she found herself launching onto his back like a wild boar attacking a man mounted on a horse; fearless and ready for a fight. But it was the feral side that had managed to get the better of her, and without the strength to control it, Mercy sank her teeth into his shoulder and bared down ripping out a chunk and spitting it on the ground.

With red eyes, blood smeared across her pale face, and teeth bared, she let her crimson hues drift down to meet with the person laying underneath the man. It was a look of ravenous hunger and need to dominate, until suddenly a burning took over her entire face and mouth. Dropping down from the man’s back, Mercy stumbled backwards and began to frantically try and wipe the remaining blood off of her face all while trying to spit out the rank liquid. It had been her first taste of hunter blood and definitely her last.

Metzli’s eyes widened with surprise, watching as blood spilled from the hunter’s back. “No!” They exclaimed, worried at how bad the burn would be. It seemed to hit her almost instantly, and despite how Metzli wished she wasn’t hurt, her ignorance gave them both the edge they needed. The slayer screamed and staggered just a breath away as his blood ran down and painted their face, allowing Metzli to ram their foot into his stomach. He flew away with a wheeze, landing on his back with another hitch of his breath. 

There was a slight burn to their skin, the wind causing it to heighten and spread like a real fire. It was followed by a rush within them, as if to ignite a ferocious blaze in Metzli. “Take this,” They offered the woman a handkerchief to help with the blood, taking advantage of the moment of reprieve. What else would the hunter do anyway while he was struggling to breathe? 

Red eyes trailed away from the woman’s, landing on the slayer. Their pupils dilated at the sight. He was helpless and unable to do more than gasp like a fish out of water, and Metzli was the bear ready to play with its food. That was the instinct, at least. But a more humane nature muddied that sensation, softening their disposition. They wanted to be better, so they would be. “I will not kill you if you leave. Please lea—mrph!” A knife plunged into Metzli’s calf, and they lurched forward from the sudden pain. 

The force of it nearly ended everything, but they managed to throw themself to the right to avoid the stake the slayer had readied in anticipation of their reaction. “Leave!” It sounded like a plea, but it went unheard as the hunter rose from the ground. Metzli scooted away, removing the blade from their calf and swiftly throwing it toward the hunter’s chest. He moved just enough to avoid a fatal blow, but still fell back as it landed deeply into his shoulder. They used the interruption to run back toward the fellow undead woman, picking her up and urging her to run with them. Away from the danger. It was the only option left if they wanted to avoid more death on their hands. 

Mercy stumbled around in pain, finally laying eyes on the handkerchief being offered. Taking it without any reservation, she began to feverishly wipe at her mouth trying to ease the pain. Anything at this point had to be better than the way this felt on her face. And as she tugged the cloth down her skin, she couldn’t help, but let her eyes follow the direction of the scuffle happening between…another person like her and the brutish man that was at least getting his arse handed to him.

However, it didn’t last long. And as soon as Mercy laid eyes on the man digging a knife into the other vampire, she immediately felt regret for the actions she had caused. She would apologize in depth when they were both safe, but until then the welcome arms at her side, sent Mercy scurrying forward with the handkerchief still in her grip.

It was as if safety was just over the horizon, and Mercy ran as fast as she could with the other vampire without any hesitation, until they had finally found a place to stop with the brute out of sight, “Art thou okay? Doth thee need help?” She looked towards the other vampire with concern in her eyes that were starting to fade back into their natural bright blue.

The slayer didn’t want to let go of his would-be victims, and with each step the vampires took to escape, Metzli could hear him struggling to keep up. An arrow or two flew past the duo, but they didn’t look back, although the urge was there. They kept their focus on their getaway, maneuvering around the alleyways they had grown to know so well. They only wished they could be traversing up on the rooftops. 

Utilizing the high ground was always the best strategy, and it was the way Metzli was taught. Having lived in a place like Mexico, where most roofs were flat, it was just the way they traveled for maximum discretion, and they had kept that habit into the states. It was just unfortunate that most others didn’t share that particular skillset, especially when it would have taken far less running for an escape. 

“You are using strange words.” Metzli’s brows scrunched together as they attempted to decipher the words spoken as they kept watch around the corner. “Help? I do not need help. Art does not need help either.” What did art have to do with that situation? Was it that  obvious that they owned a gallery? Or did this vampire somehow read minds like that one strange vampire in those movies about an eclipse? Or was it a dawn? They couldn’t be bothered to remember, not when they leaned back into the wall to find that there was something sticking out of it. 

“Oh.”

Mercy couldn’t understand what the other vampire was rambling on about when it came to art, but when they mentioned not needing help, it gave her some relief. The 21st century was tricky to navigate, and while she could fire back about how the other person was using strange words, she opted not to. It was the expression and the single word that left Mercy narrowing her eyes in confusion and concern.

“Why doth thee proclaim oh?” Mercy looked the vampire over curiously, until she made her way around the side and noticed the arrow sticking out of their back, “Thou hath been shot!” The 16th century vampire moved closer to examine the arrow sticking jutting outwards, “I must find thee shelter and someone to help!” Mercy wracked her brain, until she thought about Caleb. “Goodman Caleb! He can assist thee! He is wise in many ways!” And he was the only person she had really trusted, besides Allistair.

Again, their brows furrowed with confusion, and they shook their head. “What are you saying? I cannot understand you.” Their was an underlying tone of frustration in Metzli’s voice, and they had to take a breath to keep it from turning into anger. They didn’t like when they couldn’t understand things, and it was made worse by the fact that they couldn’t understand someone in need. But apparently her safety didn’t really matter to her at that moment. 

“Yes. I have been shot.” A statement made lackluster with their bland tone and stoic face. While she blabbered on in her strange English, Metzli turned in circles, trying to reach the arrow on their own. They understood the words ‘shelter’ and ‘help’ at least, but they stopped their spinning to shake their head in disagreement. With a few more attempts to reach the arrow. “Do not need shelter. Just pull it out.”

Mercy growled in frustration of her own. Not at the person in front of her, but more so out of not being able to speak perfect 21st century modern English. When she got back to Caleb’s she was going to do so many green owl lessons that the stupid owl would be begging her to quit pestering him.

How could this vampire be so nonchalant about being shot with an arrow? Mercy couldn’t understand it, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was getting the arrow out, which apparently she noticed the person trying to do as they spun around in circles like a dog chasing its tail. If it wasn’t such a serious situation, Mercy might have found humor in the action, “I am not a doctor, but if this is what thou requests of me..then so be it.”

Stepping forward, Mercy reluctantly put her hands on the shaft of the arrow, “Do not move.” Her voice was firm, but there was a slight tremble in her hands. However, the longer she waited, the more she was less inclined to do this, and with a deep breath, the vampire yanked as fast and as hard as she could, pulling the arrow from the person who had saved her life.

Metzli groaned as the bolt was ripped out of them, but no real exclamation escaped from their lungs. With a few grounding breaths, they stood fully and rolled their shoulders, winding their half arm over and over again to get the sensation the arrow left out of their nerves. “Thank you.” They hissed, “I think we are safe to leave for home if you are done burning.” Carefully, Metzli leaned forward, almost touching their nose to hers. There was hardly any blood left on her face, but her skin did look irritated. 

Could’ve been worse, and it wasn’t deadly in any way, so Metzli didn’t bother checking on her further. “When I say home, I mean you go to your own home.” It felt important to clarify that. People too often misunderstood even when they were being blunt. “I will leave now. Thank you for taking out the arrow, whoever you are.” Metzli stiffened their posture and extended their arm toward the vampire, offering a handshake.

And just like that, the other vampire was good. Something Mercy was grateful for. She didn’t know what to do if the person who had saved her was worse off from the removal of the arrow. But Mercy still had a lot to learn about being part of the undead, “Wilcuma.” She bowed her head, before looking back up to the other person.

Mercy had forgotten about the burning of her face. All the excitement and rush from the escape and then yanking a bolt from the other vampire’s back had distracted her, and with good reason, “I hath forgotten of such a pain, but thankee for checking on my wellbeing.” Almost nose to nose with the other person, Mercy’s eyes grew wide, but there had been relief when they pulled away. Such odd customs for a new century.

“Aye. Caleb will be waiting for me. Travel safely.” She looked down at the vampire’s hand before clasping it and returning a good firm shake, “Mercy. My name is Mercy. And I shall call thee?” She wanted to know, so if they ever crossed paths again, she could greet them, and if not, at least, she would know of another friend that resided in Wicked’s Rest.

Their expression contorted slightly at the sensation of Mercy’s flesh meeting theirs. It was still odd to touch anyone they didn’t know well, but the custom felt necessary after they had helped one another. “Okay.” A curt nod, “I am Metzli. I own the gallery.” They quickly retracted their hand and pocketed it, wringing their fingers together to trade one sensation for a better one. It grounded them, as it always did, and they let out a sigh of relief. 

“I am going to leave now.” Metzli looked to the sky and turned on their heel, tripping slightly on themself. They winced at how it jostled their shoulder, but they quickly coughed to cover it up before taking a few steps toward freedom. She probably didn’t notice. Probably. 

“Goodbye, Mercy.” 

And goodbye to the raccoon, too.

#wickedswriting #writings #bloody ink #c: mercy #mercy and metzli #take on thee

[muertarte]

[pm] Am more focused on Leila so you are maybe correct.

You are right about this. I do enjoy learning. Hope I never stop.

You are bad liar.

[pm] Maybe you aren't looking hard enough.

There is always going to be more to learn. That's one of the beauties of life.

[...] I may love you and Fluffy, but if that is soggy then neither of you have ever made me soggy.

#dash #c: anita #pm: anita