Where the River Bends // Darsidian

[Darsidian]

Darsidian waited a moment before nodding. “I suppose that’s as close to a promise of honor I’m going to get from a thief,” he said. It came out a lot harsher than he meant it to, but his mind was torn in so many different directions simply by having to remain on his feet. He watched as she pulled the dagger from her hair where she had hidden it and placed it in her belt. The beast in him was assuaged by this, and Darsidian felt himself falling, one knee scraping against the ground as he hit. His whole body shook with the resulting force and he groaned softly.

“Why don’t I fear you?” He laughed. “I’m sorry if my laughter hurts your pride, my lady, but you’ve seen what I turn into. I live with that monster inside of me, always lurking just below the surface. You think that you are any more terrifying than that?” He shook his head. “There was a time that I would rather have taken death than face that monster every night.” He shook his head. “No longer.”

“As for being intoxicated by your looks, I won’t say you aren’t an attractive girl, but I had more on my mind than women last night,” he said. “I’ve lost a month’s worth of pay on those damn wares that escaped with my horse. And after that I was more concerned with survival.” That part was muttered under his breath. He looked up at her. “I don’t act like other men because I am /not/ like other men.” With a grunt, he tried to raise himself to his feet again, but the effort gained him nothing. His body was protesting the use it was under in this state. He knew he wasn’t going to find his horse in this state.

[Malice MacArran]

Malice's eyes cut sharply to his face. Did he just say that? With a malice in her pretty face, she answered equally as sharply, "A what? What do you think I am?" she was angry. Malice couldn't handle being told the truth about herself, mostly because she knew it all too well. She hated who she was, but she lived with it because it was the only thing that made her strong. Holding on was all she could do. She stared with something between hate and deep despair at him, before she realized how awful she must look. She softened her face and drew a breath.

She watched him, a fascinated jealousy in her sparkling eyes. Yes, jealousy. Malice wasn't able to incite the fear in men's eyes that he could. She couldn't scare them as they deserved--she was but a woman and all she could do was steal from men who chanced to pass along her way and kill them if she were intent enough. But that didn't scare them. That just angered them. "My pride..." she staggered, "my pride was stripped from me already. I--I want to be like--I don't understand why some people--Dammit, I just want my revenge." She couldn't explain all of what she'd been through to him. Because she could never hurt someone like that man had hurt her. She was but a woman.

What the hell was he doing to her? Being faced with a visual of who she thought she was, and then being torn apart by only words, Malice hated to think about who she was. She was so easily manipulated. She was weak, and jealous, and so broken that she could only hold herself together by being someone altogether different. She hated looking at herself in the mirror. Malice was... pitiful.

She was about to cry. No one had been so forward with her. The little girl that had been transformed into who she was now was dead, though. She'd never be that girl. "Just--stop." she said. She was pretty only because she was the bait in her own trap. And she realized that now. She knew just how pitiful she was and it hurt. A tear fell from Malice's eye and she covered up brushing it away by coughing gently. She hated herself. "I would like to apologize, then... If you'd have me, I'll help you find your horse." Malice's words were soft, untrusting. She'd never been able to trust a man before.

"No, you're not." she said bitterly, offering her hand to help him up.

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[Darsidian]

Darsidian quirked an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, did I touch a nerve? If you’re not a thief, what are you?” he asked. He locked eyes with her. “Certainly not a killer. If you were a killer, you would have slit my throat and been done with it. You may have killed in the past, but you don’t like it.” He was stabbing in the dark here, hoping to get information out of her. He was good at bluffing, but he had an extremely unfortunate hand. He was naked, horseless, and trying to bluff a woman that he had no ideas about. However, the beast had scented fear on her. It meant that he at least had the upper hand. A brief flicker of regret flashed in his eyes, gone as quickly as it had come. “The beast is a killer, and like would recognize like.”

Darsidian regarded her just as coolly as she regarded him. “Your pride wasn’t stripped from you, princess. You wear it like armor.” He could see that, simply because he used the beast in the same way. Though no one knew about the beast, and those that did usually didn’t live to tell tales, he used that as his armor, knowing that the beast would promise retribution if Darsidian could not take care of something himself. “I’m going to take a stab in the dark and say that your pride was wounded in some manner. By a man I’m guessing since you seem to have a dislike of the sturdier sex. When it was wounded, you made it into your own sword and shield. Now you use it as an excuse to justify your revenge. Am I close?” he asked.

To his own surprise, Darsidian felt the words stop before he could continue. The two words, spoken simply, but Darsidian heard the small note of desperation in her voice. He couldn’t push any farther. While Darsidian was more than willing to shed a little blood to save his own hide, he would not wish to make a woman cry. And it appeared that he had done just that. “Forgive me, princess. I spoke boldly. I am ill-tempered from my return transformation and beg your pardon. It was no excuse to speak as such to you.”

He cocked his head from where he knelt on the ground. “You…wish to help me find my horse? I won’t say that I would be averse to the company and two pairs of eyes are better than one. If you wish to help me, then I’ll accept, but I don’t want you doing it out of some sense of obligation. I have your word that you won’t kill me or the beast, that you’ll tell no one…that is enough for me. The choice is yours. I’ll not force you to stay in my presence any longer if I’ve so offended.” He did, however, accept the hand she offered and allowed her to help him to his feet. The dizziness and the searing pain in his head was just beginning to subside. Now if only he had thought to bring a change of clothes. Not that it would have made a difference. It would have been on his horse, which was still missing in action.

[Malice MacArran]

Malice was no stranger to hypocrisy, clearly. She knew. She knew that she was a terrible person. But to be read so clearly, to be told so blatantly--it was the worst of all tortures. She knew how awful she was, even though she hated to show or admit it. But something about his words clawed at her heart, and told her just how bad she really was. It wasn't the typical speak of her victims, the God will punish you for all you've done and you witch! You heartless, terrible witch!... Now, she was being told who she really was.

"I--I..." Malice couldn't find the words, "I am the MacArran. I inherit my tribe upon my father's death. If I were a.... then..." her words failed her, miserably. She continued to hear him describe her flawlessly, unable to do the same of him and helpless to the force of his words. She was trying so hard not to cry, but her face was contorting and she could feel the salt in her eyes.

She coughed to hold in a sob as he called her princess. She was everything but, and that had been what the man who had ruined her had called her. But this man... He was right, about everything. How did he know? Was it all that obivous? That plain in her face? The truth hurt... and they said words didn't hurt. Malice shook her head and bit her lip, staring desperately into the man's eyes. To be told by someone she didn't know that she was a monster... hurt. She looked at him and let one more tear fall. She was trying to be strong. "You're not wrong at all," she admitted, and something in her heart felt just a little better when she said it. Malice felt that he deserved at least the explanation, so that perhaps he'd not hate her so much. "I was... raped... by a highwayman. How do you read me so well?"

But he apologized... a new look came over his eyes and Malice could tell he genuinely felt bad. Good. He deserved to feel bad after all that he'd said to her. Malice's heart hardened a little bit, especially as he called her princess again. "Don't call me that." she ordered shortly. She couldn't have that. But her face was written all to clearly with forgiveness. She knew that she had already forgiven him, as uncharacteristic as that was of her. He was so right, and she had, for a long time, been wrong.

"Yes," said she. "I want to help you... if you don't mind me. I'm... a bit of a stranger to kindness. Especially to men." She almost smiled. She was so close. But then she remembered who she'd carved herself out to be and she had to cling to it--it was all she had, after all. She sent him a pointed look to remind him that she had at least four daggers still on her person--very uncalled for, certainly. "I'm sorry," she added, "but I don't believe I ever caught your name. Mine is... Malice. Fitting, I know."

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[Darsidian]

Darsidian nodded as she explained who she was. “I see.” He shook his head. “I’m afraid the title doesn’t mean much to me. I don’t really have a tribe, or a family for that matter. So I don’t really get that whole thing.” He shrugged. “Though it does sound important. I’m not trying to trivialize you, but where I came from, it was a small village that didn’t see much change.” He rubbed at the dirt that had embedded itself in his knee. He thanked the gods that he didn’t have to deal with the injuries that he usually sustained this time around. He hadn’t done anything to warrant injuries.

“Ah,” he said as she confirmed his suspicions. It was a man that had hurt her. That was why she was so distrustful of men. And rape? Well that made this situation all the more delicate. He wasn’t naked by choice, but he was sure that it wasn’t a welcome reminder. Despite the brutality of the beast, Darsidian had never mistreated a woman. He didn’t find a reason to treat them any differently. Their gold bought him food to fill his stomach as easily as a man’s gold did. And Darsidian knew that more flies are attracted with honey than with vinegar. He shrugged, waving the question away. “I’m not like other men. You agree with me on that. I watch, and I learn. Most of what people are is in what they don’t say.”

He gave her a flat look as she reprimanded him for calling her princess, though that look was changed into one of vague amusement when he sensed the forgiveness in her expression. “Well then, what should I call you? It’s not exactly as though we’ve introduced ourselves to each other. I may read you well, but I am no mind reader.” She was zigzagging between two extremes, keeping his mind alert. He never knew what he was getting from the slight woman in front of him and that intrigued the beast within him. “Alright then, I’ll call you Malice, though I think it ill-suited to a girl like you. What if I just called you Mal?”

He shrugged. “I don’t believe I dropped my name. But I am called Darsidian.” He looked down the path and then back at her. “Then I’ll not deny you the chance to help me. Everyone has to learn sometime after all.” He locked his eyes with hers. “You have my word I’ll not make any advances on you to make you uncomfortable. At least not to my knowledge.”

[Malice MacArran]

Malice felt a slight pang in her stomach at his response. Yes, she knew what it was like to be without a family. It'd been too long. She'd lived so much of her life surrounded by a band of gypsies who took good care of eachother, despite their strange rituals. But now she was... alone. Nothing. Worthless. "I'm afraid... my father doesn't know me yet. One day, I hope to claim my kinship but... Mother always said I was his first child. I've always believed it. But I suppose I understand your plight. It has been my own for three years." That was a long time to go it alone, but she did. And she imagined he'd been doing it even longer.

As he pondered her confession, she looked away. She couldn't look at him for shame, for knowing how absolutely pitiful she was. A highwayman, and for no good reason. She was no Robin Hood; she didn't give her treasures away. She sold them, to keep herself safe and fed and hidden. Some she kept as adornments, but those were few and far between. After all, neither a gypsy nor a highwayman can carry a lot on their person without a horse. She coughed out a lump in her throat. She didn't understand. She watched, too. That was all she ever did. But she had no hold on people. Especially not herself. Forever, she was on the outside looking in. With a reluctant breath, she drew her head up and nodded. No, he was certainly different. "I wish I understood," she confessed lightly. "I thought I could read anyone until I met you." He frustrated her. He made her wish she'd not run away and caused herself so much grief. She almost wanted to own up to the whole thing and move on. But she couldn't.

She saw his slight smirk of pleasure and cocked her head at him, an eyebrow raised in saucy condescendence (though she knew all the while that he would never be intimidated by her). She almost smiled herself, but she couldn't. She didn't want to. Because she believed that people never changed, so neither would she. "No one's ever called me else." she said shortly, defiantly. She never had understood her mother's foreseeing system of naming, but then again, she'd been a gypsy. But after a moment of wrenching silence, Malice relented. "But I don't think I'd mind." She smiled ever so slightly, for once in her days feeling the slightest bit of real respect. She'd always had to work to get respect before.

"Darsidian," she repeated quietly. It was a nice name. If only she'd caught the name of that highwayman... But she quickly turned her attention back to him. "I suppose I should thank you then." She didn't know what a rightful apology was like. She seldom made them. When his eyes locked with her own cold blues, something inside of her told her he wasn't lying. She didn't know of men that didn't want to take advantage of women. All the gypsies had. The highwayman had. Every man she stopped along the way had. Why shouldn't he? But she believed him, despite her doubts. She had her weapons on her still, anyhow. "Alright," she nearly whispered, and felt something lift from her. Looking down the path that had earlier caught Darsidian's eye, she murmured, "We ought to go look now," her eyes sparkling with something that was no longer malice.

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[Darsidian]

Darsidian shook his head. “No, my dear. I don’t think you understand my plight at all. You have a family to return to eventually.” He said it matter-of-factly. He had had a good ten or so years to forget the family that he had so brutally destroyed. His heart no longer ached for the people that he had been so eager to please. He had become used to being alone in a world of people. And he would not let her empathy get in the way of the walls he had carefully constructed against what sorrow had remained. He looked at her, a hint of regret in his eyes. “I do hope it goes well with your father when you do decide to take up your birthright.”

He took a deep breath and, with a soft grunt of exertion, pushed himself to his feet. The world no longer spun with the movement, and he could feel the ache in his body beginning to subside. With the transformation complete, his body had begun adjusting to his humanity once more. He looked at her a moment when she admitted that she couldn’t do what he did. He wasn’t about to remind her that he had his advantage with the heightened senses that the beast gave him. It was definitely one of the better things about being connected to nature in the way that he was.

“I pride myself on not being able to be read, my lady. It’s easier to defeat someone who underestimates you,” he said. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, a playful smirk appearing at the corner of his lips. “After all, a thief who suspects an easy mark because a man is alone with his valuables is easier to fool than one who knows that they face someone with power. I’m surprised that your experiences have not led you to more caution in dealing with men as your targets.” He shrugged. “Then again, there’s only one beast that roams these hills. Isn’t it just your luck that you found him.” He

“Well then, Mal it is,” he said. He moved toward the tree line and looked over his shoulder at her. “If we keep to the trees, eventually we’ll find one of my packs. And before you think I’m trusting you with some valuable information on where my stuff is stashed, I’m not. I own nothing of value. It’s just an extra set of clothes for just such an occasion. You’re welcome to join me or you can take the path. The choice is yours.”

[Darsidian]

Darsidian shook his head. “No, my dear. I don’t think you understand my plight at all. You have a family to return to eventually.” He said it matter-of-factly. He had had a good ten or so years to forget the family that he had so brutally destroyed. His heart no longer ached for the people that he had been so eager to please. He had become used to being alone in a world of people. And he would not let her empathy get in the way of the walls he had carefully constructed against what sorrow had remained. He looked at her, a hint of regret in his eyes. “I do hope it goes well with your father when you do decide to take up your birthright.”

He took a deep breath and, with a soft grunt of exertion, pushed himself to his feet. The world no longer spun with the movement, and he could feel the ache in his body beginning to subside. With the transformation complete, his body had begun adjusting to his humanity once more. He looked at her a moment when she admitted that she couldn’t do what he did. He wasn’t about to remind her that he had his advantage with the heightened senses that the beast gave him. It was definitely one of the better things about being connected to nature in the way that he was.

“I pride myself on not being able to be read, my lady. It’s easier to defeat someone who underestimates you,” he said. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, a playful smirk appearing at the corner of his lips. “After all, a thief who suspects an easy mark because a man is alone with his valuables is easier to fool than one who knows that they face someone with power. I’m surprised that your experiences have not led you to more caution in dealing with men as your targets.” He shrugged. “Then again, there’s only one beast that roams these hills. Isn’t it just your luck that you found him.” He

“Well then, Mal it is,” he said. He moved toward the tree line and looked over his shoulder at her. “If we keep to the trees, eventually we’ll find one of my packs. And before you think I’m trusting you with some valuable information on where my stuff is stashed, I’m not. I own nothing of value. It’s just an extra set of clothes for just such an occasion. You’re welcome to join me or you can take the path. The choice is yours.”

[Malice MacArran]

Darsidian was bitter about something, and clearly she'd said something that was too prideful or too naive. But she dare not ask into his past, for it was nothing that should have mattered to her. The simple problem was that she did care. She wanted to know what she'd said that had made him suddenly defensive—well, really, they both were. They were two opponents at the battle, trying to feel each other out, because neither knew if he could trust the other. They were not comfortable enough to speak without dancing around some invisible line yet.

But that made something in Malice's chest burn. She ached with something that she did not recognize, and realized finally that empathy and sympathy had made their way back from the recesses of her mind. She said something simple in response to all his words, though, dropping the subject of anything selfish and focusing on making sure Darsidian was not angry with her. "I mean no foul in my words, Darsidian. Pardon my tongue." she said it softly, honestly. If she didn't do anything else right in her life, she would at least apologize for this. She was a bad, bad woman and she knew so. But maybe there was some sort of lot that the future had cast. The dice only knew.

Nearly face-to-face, though she was a bit below his stature, Malice wished she could read Darsidian’s eyes, those eyes belonging to both man and beast. She felt guilty for the first time in a while—or at least, this was the first time she was willing to admit the feeling in the pit of her stomach. But she steeled her face, for fear of crying again, and answered coolly, ”You’re impossible.” And she meant it. She could not, for the life of her, understand how he could shift from cool sarcasm to cold truth and still be so charming, or how he could make her cross, intolerable, and hopeful all at once. She wanted, for once, to understand someone and she couldn’t. Was she really this blind? That would mean that she had always been so, and her pride would not dare let her own up to something that horrible. ”I guess,” she admitted quietly, almost not wanting him to hear her, ”I guess that I should know how awful I am, in morals and actions. And I guess I should know that I cannot do all that my pride wants me to do.”

That was cold truth, and it was the first time she’d heard such words on her lips. Quickly, she picked up on his changed tone—now more playful, now warmer—and smiled a bit herself. She was quick to respond to the change in topic. ”My luck has always been bad—my mother named me for my destiny.” She almost laughed at how accurate that was. ”Then I may call you… Darcy?” she asked timidly, yet playfully. She had to establish her pride again, for it was too quickly being shed from her, and it was her only shroud.

She did not answer him but hung behind for a moment. But the choice was inevitable; she did not, for all the strength left in her, want to go back to being such a bad person if she didn’t have to yet. She followed Darsidian carefully, almost as though stalking him—but not for his life. For his truth. She hoped he wouldn’t try and be rid of her.

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LYRICS Where the River Bends; Matthew Barber NOTES no notes yet
COPYRIGHT Flik of Roleplaying Extras

[Darsidian]

Darsidian looked over his shoulder as he ducked under a branch, a bit surprised that she had caught on to his bitterness. He shrugged as he held the branch out of the way for her. “No blood was spilt, no foul committed,” he said simply, trying to compose himself behind the walls he had constructed so that no one would be able to get too close. This girl, much like the fair lady Aislynn, had come too close in such a short amount of time. He supposed it was the measure of empathy, however small or large that appealed to the little boy who lost his family so young.

Darsidian laughed, a self-deprecating sound. “It doesn’t seem that your fortunes have improved much.” He gave her a small smile. “Though at least you know that you’re walking with the scariest thing in the teeth.” He moved forward. “Call me anything you’d like. Though Darcy suggests a familiarity and a desire for companionship.” Of course, calling her Mal did the same thing if he thought about it. He couldn’t help that he yearned for the companionship he could never have.

He turned away again, sliding behind a dense overgrowth for a moment before emerging with a weathered bag that looked like it had seen better days. He knelt on the ground, drawing out a simple tunic, pants, and soft leather shoes. They would have to do for the trip home, since they were all he had. “I’m sorry if you find me impossible,” he said, though it was really more a formality than a sincere apology. Darsidian had given himself the tools he needed to defend himself from a world that would kill him if they knew what he was, and he wasn’t about to let that go.”

Darsidian looked at her as he pulled on his pants. “Morals are a luxury for those who can afford them. I don’t exactly pride myself on being a moral man by society’s standards. I live by the rules of nature, and my moral compass is set by those standards.” He reached to grab his tunic and then straightened, not yet donning the garment. “Just because your moral compass doesn’t match with society’s doesn’t mean it’s wrong. You just have to know what drives you.” He saw a glimmer of himself in her plight and though he had tried to convince himself that he didn’t care what happened to this female that tried to rob him, he didn’t want her to think herself wicked.

“Though you may not see it,” he said softly. “I think you are more moral than you give yourself credit for.” He reached out and took her wrist in his hand, taking a step closer to her and laying her hand on his chest over his heart so she could feel the steady beat. It was a strangely intimate gesture for two people who had barely met, barely spoken. Yet despite the intimacy, there was a distance in the gesture, as if he were afraid to get too attached, afraid to come too close. He looked into her eyes, holding her gaze with eyes that were slowly losing their gold color and returning to his natural eye color.

“You fear men because you have been hurt by them. You wear that fear like you would wear armor and you are driven by a desire to survive,” he said. That much he knew about this girl, and though he didn’t want to admit it to himself, he was curious as to why she had hesitated at killing him. He wanted to know more of her, and he told himself it was to satisfy his curiosity. “That your quest is for survival does not make you any less moral than the noblemen and women of the upper classes.” He dropped the tunic and used that hand to guide her closer to him, resting his hand in the small of her back. He wanted to push her. He wanted her to face her fears, as he had done with the beast. He knew it was a gamble, but Darsidian was a betting man, and he would put his money down on the odds that she couldn’t bring herself to kill him, even if he pushed her.

“But for all you say that your morals are not up to par, I think you’re lying to yourself.” He let his hand trace to her hip, his fingertips sliding over the hilt of her dagger. “I think that you have rules. An immoral woman doesn’t.” He pulled the dagger from its place on her belt. “You have me here, alone. No one would think evil of you if you killed a man who was trying to hurt you.” Here he reached for her other hand, putting the dagger in it and closing her fingers around it. “And your hand is over my heart. You can’t miss.” He let go of her wrist and let his hands fall to his sides. Despite the relaxed posture, he was ready to retaliate if she attacked. But he had to know the truth, just as she had to discover it for herself. “So what kind of woman are you, Mal?”

[Malice MacArran]

Malice followed Darsidian with a sort of disquieted timidness. Honestly, she hadn't the slightest idea why she was still here at his side, but she did not object to the company. Malice was always and never alone. No one walked with her but her dead conscience and her guarded heart, but that was the path she had chosen. She could have had a family--a gypsy family with unsettlingly intimate rituals perhaps, but a family all the same. Now she would never go back to that time or that place. She would walk the straight and narrow all the way to Hell.

Darsidian seemed exceptionally calm about her response, and she questioned his forgiveness. Clearly, she'd said something wrong. But if she asked further, she would only be hurting herself. She almost smiled at his words. "I don't think you're the scariest thing here. Fortune, maybe, but not you." She said it with a forthright innocence, something that had never settled well onto her features. She nearly choked at his next comment, realizing how right he was. But she owed it to him for what he had done to whatever was inside of her. Maybe she wanted companionship. Maybe that was what she really had been looking for this time. But that seemed a silly thing to look for, and Malice wondered if she was perhaps too tired right now to handle sane thoughts.

As her companion disappeared for a second, she bit her lip. Such nerve. She wished that she had the boldness to be as he was, and was slightly jealous of it. But more than that, she was in awe of him—and she would never admit it. Malice gave no notice to the fact that he was dressing in front of her, but commanded her face to keep a stark appearance of poise. She didn’t understand how Darcy could be so truthful and so unapologetic, and how he could at the same time be a charming and honest man. ”You can’t help it,” she retorted with a bit of an envious snarl.

She searched his eyes as he spoke, trying to understand how he could tell her something like this when it was obvious she did all she did out of spite. Malice could've had a reasonable life, but she chose to go her own way. And he was one to talk--at least he had a reason to be the way he was. Darcy was man and beast together, Malice was but a woman. "I know what drives me," she muttered, and then clarified, "At least your morals are justified." She neither believed him nor wanted to, and now she was beginning to feel that familiar sensation of bitterness creeping back in. It wasn't exactly comforting, but at least it was a feeling she knew well.

Then suddenly everything shifted. Darcy had her by the wrist and though she could feel the panic pulsating through every drop of blood in her veins, she didn't scream. She froze. She locked her eyes on him as he moved her other hand to where his heart was beating steadily. He wouldn't hurt her, would he? Surely not, not when she had the weapons and he had made a promise. Yes, those were breakable things, but she had trusted him to--Malice frowned. Why was he telling her this? Survival. Yes, it was her greatest friend these days. Her foes were all around her and she emcompassed herself in darkness, shrouded herself in the branches of the trees. She did not speak to him; she was still paralyzed by something between fear and fascination. That he would do this amazed her, in two different ways. She didn't know what to say to that. "No," she was able to mouth in denial. He was lying.

And it got worse. Or better. Something--he moved his hand to her back. He was so close to her, and she should be used to this and she had killed so many people this way and she didn't know what to think and everything was just racing... it was blurring. Malice felt a tear burning her eye. It was anger or hate or jealousy that he could do such things. Just by being this close to her, Darsidian was violating every rule she'd laid so carefully. Not even the king of Tyrian had made it this close to her. And then he made it to her dagger, and she was ready to pull the other from her hair. "Darcy..." she said, in an angry, confused whisper. But he spoke and his words clarified his actions. Why was he doing this?

Tears stung her eyes but she could still see. The dagger somehow made it to her own hand, and she clenched it too tightly with her trembling hand. Darsidian could not do this. She knew by the look in those golden eyes; either he would die or her pride would. This was terrible.

He looked so innocent now. So comfortable in who he was, so shameless. Malice shook her head. That was who she wanted to be; she wanted freedom from this monster that she'd created. But she did not want to sacrifice her pride. She lifted the blade, his words resounding, thumping in her head. What kind of woman? She rested the blade on his throat, running it gently up toward his neck--more like a razor than a weapon--and closed her eyes. Malice said a prayer to a god she didn't believe in, and dropped her dagger.

She also dropped her pride, even though it was all she had left.

And as she watched it fall to the forest floor, she didn't know what to do or say. She just wanted someone to love her, to be her friend.

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LYRICS Where the River Bends; Matthew Barber NOTES no notes yet
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[Darsidian]

Darsidian chuckled lightly as she demoted him from the scariest thing in the forest to the second scariest thing. “You’re a lot braver than many women would be in your position. If I were a different sort of man I would say that you hurt my feelings.” He smiled to let her know that he wasn’t at all offended by the comment, that this was his way of teasing her. “I have a reputation to uphold and everything.” If he could admit it to himself, he would have noted that he was jealous of the innocence in her response. That kind of innocence had been long since ripped from him. That she, even after she had been so violated, had been able to retain any of that innocence was something that he envied.

“No, I suppose I can’t help being impossible,” he said. “Just as you can’t help the fact that you’re a beautiful woman.” The words rolled off his tongue easily. He had had years of practice flattering noblewomen and common women alike that came into his workshop. However, this time it was different. There was more than a kernel of truth in his words. He shrugged. “I suppose I could make a concerted effort to be less impossible, but I doubt it’ll change anything.”

“You’re telling me your morals aren’t justified?” he asked softly. “You have to be able to justify it to yourself.” Darsidian wasn’t going to give up on this that easily. His flashed the gold of his wolf. “They hurt you. Now you hurt them. It’s the law of the wild. You live by it just like I do.” He leaned in close to her. “Nothing in this world is gained without something given in return. Protecting yourself comes with a cost in blood. Your life for theirs. It is as simple as that. The gods demand blood because they themselves do not bleed.”

He saw the tears rising to her eyes and his heart twinged painfully, remembering the tears that had remained in his mother’s eyes after the beast had destroyed everything he held dear. His resolve hardened. He wouldn’t let Malice manipulate him the way he was manipulating her. She knew nothing about his past and he would not let her use what she didn’t know against him. She whispered his name and he felt the anger and confusion in the word. He kept her close to him, not allowing her to leave. “No Malice. This ends here. I won’t let you lose yourself.”

Darsidian felt her fingers tighten around the dagger as he let go. He saw how her hand trembled as she held it. His whole body tensed as the dagger touched his neck, a reaction from the beast. He held back the instinct to attack her. She wouldn’t kill him. He knew she wouldn’t. Or perhaps he had underestimated her, just as she had, at first, underestimated him.

The next few moments happened in slow motion. He saw her close her eyes and he prepared for the feel of the blade cutting at his throat. Instead, she opened her hand and the dagger dropped to the forest floor. The dull thud it made as it hit the soft dirt was soon lost in the sounds surrounding them. Now she stared at the dagger she had dropped. Darsidian had proved his point. She couldn’t kill a man in cold blood. She wasn’t a monster, like him.

After a moment of letting what just happened sink in, Darsidian reached out to her and put his hand on the small of her back, once more guiding her close to him. He enfolded her in his arms, resting her head against his chest. “It’s alright now. You are safe.” He held her close to him, knowing how hard that one gesture had been. But she knew the truth about herself now.

That was all that mattered.

[Malice MacArran]

Malice nervously pulled all her hair over one shoulder and parted her lips to speak. But she didn't think her sarcasm would be well used anymore today, as she had made her way, somehow, as Darsidian's companion. Instead, she answered him simply. "I'm glad you're how you are, then." She showed signs of smiling, though her expression was distant and slightly forced. For some reason, she felt a little bit lighter than usual, like something that had been so long on her shoulders was lifted. Playfully, she answered, "Of course you do."

His next words were rather unexpected. She had been told so, yes, but she had not expected it from Darcy, after he'd been so uncomplimentary of her. She raised an eyebrow, both questioning and warning him, and replied with caution, "You're very kind, Darcy... and I can't deny that you're not unattractive yourself." She smiled with blatent sincerety, to make clear that she was not saying this to obtain a physical response. She had steered clear of men for a long time, and whenever she told them things to make them feel better about themselves, she was lying. However, this was different. She was not lying to Darcy, and she knew that she had no reason to. She was for whatever reason trusting of him, and though she would not say that to his face, it was hard for her to deny. "No," she said quietly, "I like puzzles."

Her eyes flickered in pain. The way he said it made everything sound more gentle, and less like murder. Like a story. Like she hadn't left countless men laying in pools of their own blood, their hearts nearly cut out, on the side of the paths. She was a monster, she thought. She knew. No, that was not something she could justify. "It sounds like poetry when you say it," she whispered with a hurt hint of accusing in her tone. But it was true. Their lives for hers. But was hers worth so many others? "I'm not worth a hundred men. Not even twenty."

The mist in her eyes resolved into that tear, and as it ran down her face, she let out a heavy sigh. Her strength seemed to be leaving her and she did not know how she could fare without that wall around her heart, now crumbling before a man that was part beast.

He wasn't going to let her go, it was clear. She heard him again and she wanted to scream back at him, but she was mute. She wanted to tell him that she wasn't any more lost than she'd always been, and that she'd even been lost in the family that she'd grown up with. Malice was a bad fit for the gypsy culture. But she was less lost as a highwayman: she was stealthy and cunning and bloodthirsty. And she wanted to tell Darcy that there was nothing he could do to "bring her back," because she had nowhere to go back to. She didn't consider her clan or her gypsy gang her family. She had no family now. She was on her own and would always be lost.

But she could not say anything.

She watched through the tears of Hercules while, for just a moment, she had him all to herself. He was hers to control and for that brief time his life was in her hands. She knew the power; she had felt it before. But this time, it was different. She had reasons not to kill him but more to go through with it. And she almost wanted to prove him wrong, to go ahead and draw blood, but she could not bring herself to do it. Darcy had been too trusting of her and she had to understand. To do that, she had to lose.

What was he thinking? Was he even afraid? Malice bit her lip as more tears began welling in her eyes. She watched the blade tumble and felt like either running away or kneeling in defeat in front of this man who had done her in. She would not hurt him, and Darsidian had been right. She hated him for it, but she could not hate him. And just as she was about to sink to her knees, Malice felt his arms encircle her. She should have felt like pulling away but something held her there in his embrace. No man had been this close to her since that highwayman, but she trusted Darcy because he trusted her.

At least for a moment, she was not a bad woman. And knowing that much, she let herself embrace him back, with a simple whisper. "Don't leave me."

She wanted this to last forever, this feeling of purity.

STATUS complete TAG Darsidian ATTIRE click meh
LYRICS Where the River Bends; Matthew Barber NOTES no notes yet
COPYRIGHT Flik of Roleplaying Extras

[Darsidian]

Darsidian watched the movements of her fingers pulling her hair over her shoulder. He could sense the nervousness she was trying to hide. And what reason did she have not to be nervous. Darsidian was a monster, through and through. She had seen the physical appearance of the beast and she was currently in the company of the form that held the cunning mind of a calculating beast. But she didn’t seem to be afraid of him. He wasn’t sure what fueled her nervousness if it wasn’t fear. He allowed himself to smile at her.

“You certainly are a strange one,” he said. “Not that I am any less strange.” He gently chucked her under the chin. “Don’t go forgetting about my reputation. It’s all I have left now.” Though the sentence itself was spoken as if joking, Darsidian couldn’t help but realize how very true that statement was. Aside from his business, Darsidian didn’t have much to his name. He hoped that she wouldn’t recognize the kernel of truth in that statement. It wasn’t as if he wanted to be tied down to anything or anyone. Not after what had happened to the people he had loved as a child.

“Kind is not the word I would use to describe myself,” he said, “though when the situation calls for it I can be.” He let out a bit of a barking laugh. “Now that’s just being unkind. I’m sure you can’t find a man that turned into a wolf and nearly killed you attractive, especially one covered with the evidence of the beast doing its best to kill him.” His eyes glittered with self-deprecating humor again. “Well I’m not sure I’m a puzzle you want to solve, Mal.” He looked to the trees for a moment, breaking the eye contact he had held with her. “Just remember that some puzzles are better left alone.” It wasn’t a threat so much as an attempt to discourage her from probing too deeply. He wouldn’t do anything if she did probe, but he wasn’t sure she would like the answers she found.


He let out another short laugh. “Of course it sounds like poetry when I say it.” He ran a hand under her chin. “I make a living putting words onto paper and making things say exactly what I want to. Words are my life. People don’t realize just how much power words can have.” A man could be killed by words, whether spoken or inked, just as easily as a man could die from a blade. He knew this better than anyone. The prayer spoken when he was so young had sealed the fates of his entire family.

He let his eyes flash a dark gold, his voice coming out in a frustrated growl. “You aren’t worth twenty men? You expect me to believe you when you say that?” He moved to crowd her with his body even more. She wasn’t going to get out of this conversation so easily. “I can tell that you lie even to yourself. If you didn’t believe your life was worth it, you wouldn’t have killed to protect yourself. You would have let them have their way with you. But you didn’t. You killed them. If your life wasn’t worth it than why?”

He could see just how much this conversation, this revelation of her character, had taken a toll on her. He held her and let her take comfort from the support he offered. His hearing picked up on the whispered plea for him to stay as she put her arms around him in return. His brow furrowed as he gently buried his face in her hair. Darsidian never made promises. And he was sure that she would be gone after they found the horse. She hadn’t wanted his company when they first met, and he was certain that she would not want him after this whole thing blew over.

“I’m here, Mal.”

[Malice MacArran]

It was with the utmost fear that Malice held up her head. She wasn't afraid of Darsidian; she had long overcome that fear, despite having seen him at what she assumed was his worst. She knew what he could do, but she also hoped that he wouldn't hurt her. The way he was looking at her made her a bit skittish, though. She lifted her lips a bit as he spoke and the action allowed her nerves to flee. "Sometimes it's better to be," she said quietly.

She questioned the sarcasm in his voice, but failed to say anything. Somehow Darsidian put her at a loss for words and she felt a bit belittled; but she did not pay heed to this. Instead, she anticipated his next comment. She laughed very lightly, saying easily, "You've been naught but kind to me, Darcy." Her face had shifted back into her 'natural' seductive one, and her smile could melt the heart of any criminal. But as she was only here with Darcy, her heart was acting for her--clearly, she wanted something. But as her heart was desirous of something, it would not tell her mind what it was. She could not have whatever it was yet.

She looked at him through long lashes. "Don't be unkind to yourself, Darcy. I won't lie to you anymore." But her heart felt weighted down at his next words, and she tried to hear another layer of shrouded meaning in them. Despite his warning, she wanted to know more. She wanted to know more than anything, Malice realized, that she was not the only terrible person that had walked this soil. She wanted to understand that others could sin too. And maybe even that she could be, somehow, redeemed for that. She blinked away a salty mass in the corner of her eye as she said dismissively, "You need only tell me what you perceive to matter." She loved puzzles though. And maybe one day she could get Darcy to--Hell, what was she thinking? One day? Would she stick around that long?

She had her spirits again lifted at his comment, and replied sweetly, with every bit of intended cunning, "Then tell me more words. I like your words." Something felt strange around her. She was not, as she ought to be, in fear for her virtue or her pride any longer, because first of all, Darsidian had just about stripped her of the latter and second, she felt comfortable where she was for once.

She choked on her own thoughts and couldn't find any words to answer what he said. No, she was not worth them, she kept saying. She took their lives and that made her somehow much less of a person. But no, Darcy was telling her otherwise. "It's so easy to," she whispered. She could lie to herself forever, she thought. "I don't have the strength to believe you yet, Darsidian, I'm sorry. I'm too weak." She spoke honestly now, every word from somewhere deep in her heart. And that blatant honesty was what was taking from her every ounce of strength she'd ever had.

His last words killed her. She was done for. There was not really a good excuse to leave Darsidian now, and she would make up whatever she had to so that she could stay at his side. Not even her kinship seemed to matter. Neither did her stolen innocence. She held onto him for what felt like dear life and knew that she could not be the same person for what he'd done. She moved her hands from where they were to his face, and she brought it in front of her own. "Promise? I can stay?" she asked. And something overtook her for which she had absolutely no explanation, and she met his lips gently, quickly, in submission to whatever he had done to her.

Who was she becoming? And who ever had she been before?

STATUS complete TAG Darsidian ATTIRE click meh
LYRICS Where the River Bends; Matthew Barber NOTES no notes yet
COPYRIGHT Flik of Roleplaying Extras