Where the River Bends // Darsidian

[Darsidian]

“Perhaps you are right, Mal,” he reached out and slowly pushed the hair off her shoulder once again, letting his fingertips graze her neck. It was a strangely intimate gesture, considering that when his hands were that close to certain throats, the throat didn’t stay intact for long. But there was no menace in the gesture, just a brush of skin on skin, the contact that Darsidian so craved after he had experienced it with Aislynn. When her hair was pushed behind her shoulder once more, he didn’t make any move to take his hand away, letting it rest on her shoulder instead.

“Naught but kind hmm?” he asked, letting his thumb trace lazy circles on her collar bone. His eyes followed the path he traced on her neck. “If chasing you down like some kind of prey is kindness, I’d hate to see what you’d call unkindness.” He knew he had chased her down like an animal, because that’s what he was. And she needed to remember that. The way she was setting him up like some kind of great man, it made him wary. He knew that he could never accept an honor like that, and to let her continue thinking that he was a good man was a horrible charade, but one he knew he needed to keep playing to protect himself.

He moved closer to her as she smiled at him with a smile that promised something more and looked at him through long lashes. He knew that this rose had its thorns and a smile like that could promise death just as easily as it could promise a bedfellow, and he was more inclined to believe the former considering her past experience with men. Still, it had been a very long time since a woman had looked at him like that. He knew that he could look but couldn’t touch, not with the beast there to sabotage everything. “Well then, thank you. I don’t get complimented on much more than my calligraphy nowadays, it seems.”

Darsidian gave a charming smile. “Alright then. Things that matter…” He looked in thought for a moment. “Tell you what, since you like puzzles so much, I’ll tell you two truths and a lie. You can decide which is which.” He closed his eyes, trying to think of three things he could tell her. “I am an only child. I was raised by monks. And I was supposed to become a healer when I grew to be a man.” The truest sounding statement was the one that was the most false. He was an only child /now/ that he had killed his brother and sister, but he was not born an only child.

He leaned closer to purr in her ear. “What kind of words do you want me to tell you, Mal?” he asked, liking the games she was playing with him. He enjoyed the repartee that she offered him. He never connected with people on a level this deep. He let his hand drop down to her arm. “No one makes you feel inferior without your consent, Mal. You are only weak when you believe yourself to be.” Which meant he was only a monster if he believed himself to be. But this wasn’t about him. This was about her.

Darsidian looked genuinely surprised. “You…want to stay with me?” he asked, as if the words didn’t belong together in the same sentence. So caught off guard by her question that he was not prepared when she leaned forward to kiss him. His whole body tensed at the quick motion, perceiving it as an attack at first. After a moment, his body relaxed to his normal state of ever alertness, his hand moving to her lower back and pulling her closer to him, kissing her.

So this was what it was like to have a first kiss. For all his flirting, Darsidian had never taken a lover. He had never been able to find someone he thought would understand his circumstances and not run screaming when they found out about his past. Was Malice someone who would understand? After a moment, he tilted his head to break the contact with her lips, though he ached for more, for the promise it offered. He closed his eyes, letting his forehead touch hers.

“Malice…you deserve better,” he said. And he meant it with every fiber of his being.

[Malice MacArran]

Malice did not move as he touched her, as he caressed her neck and moved her hair. While something in her body, namely her stomach, remembered the last time a man had done the same to her--in a much harsher, loveless manner--her heart told her she did not have to run away. She did not have to fight this time. Closing her eyes, just for a moment, Malice took it in; the way he touched her so much more gently than she knew. It was certainly different.

She locked her eyes on his own, but his moved to where his hand was and she lowered her gaze to the ground. She laughed lightly, giving him the benefit of knowing he was right, but then answered softly, "After that, you jester. I couldn't say I counted being attacked as a kindness, but you... you are not the beast. At least now. You are simply Darcy." She smiled to give him the best reassurance she had in her arsenal, knowing all the while that it must surely be difficult to ever believe a thief. But she wanted to be forthright with him and she did not want to lie anymore. Not to him, at least. If he was a bad man, then by his own principles it was just natural.

She hadn't thought that he could have been much closer to her, but somehow he was, and still her fight or flight instinct hadn't emerged. Why did she feel so safe with Darsidian? He was a beast. He could take her life as swiftly as she could say the word, and he had little control over what the other side of him did. Who was to say that he wasn't plotting dinner for to-night, looking her up and down as a delectable treat? No. She wouldn't believe such a thing. And, well, that was a chance she was more than willing to take. All her days she had set out to find either proof or redemption, and seeing as she was Hell-bound now, she may as well stay with him. "I would not know yours from any other," she muttered. Damn gypsies never taught her to read.

Riddles; Oh, how she loved riddles. She smirked a bit as Darsidian spoke his poison, and took a short while to think it over. Seeing as he was the Beast, she did not doubt that any were out of the question. "I will tell you when I have chosen. Man by day, Wolf by night... I don't know that you're outright lying when you say one is false," she smiled, guileless to a fault. She chuckled. "Tell me... tell me how you see me. Tell me why you think I'm beautiful." She loved his words.

She cast her eyes to the side and didn't want to hear him out. But she had to, and she had to know that he was right. Pride crushed, she wished she had it still to shield her but it was gone now. "Then I have to stop believing anything but what you say... I don't know that I trust you that much." But her heart was telling her otherwise. She trusted him with all the pressure of the last three years.

"I do," she answered in a whisper, earnest and pleading. Would he let her, being the Beast? Surely she could learn how to avoid him by night. She was good at hiding.

And she was caught by a beautiful surprise when he accepted her kiss. He pulled her to him and returned her feelings, as uncalled for as they might have been. But she knew that what was stirring her senses was something more than just consequentially being caught up in the moment. She had surrendered more than just pride to this man--and she deserved better? No, she deserved Hell for what she had done. He rested his forehead on hers, and she wanted to see inside his mind. What was he saying? No, no, no. "Never," she avowed. She was not worth him.

"Kiss me again."

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 was surprised by the way she allowed him to touch her. He wasn’t sure if he wanted her to accept or reject his touch, but the fact that she allowed it so easily with everything that he had gotten out of her. She was a walking contradiction, and it fascinated both man and beast. He looked up at her.

“You…truly see the beast and myself as separate entities?” he asked. He never thought of himself as the beast, but if she could separate them like that, maybe there was the possibility that they could…NO. He was getting way ahead of himself. They hadn’t done more than kiss. He shook his head. “Separate we may be, but we are also inseparable.” He would never be separated from the beast. It was what allowed him to live.

He cocked his head, another look of genuine surprise crossing his features. “You cannot read?” he asked, curious about her story now. He wanted to know more about her, though he knew it was a bit unfair for him to expect her to give her story to him when he kept his own so deeply hidden. However, it made her wonder how she had gotten this far without learning how to read.

He laughed. “Interesting how you don’t doubt that every one of them might be true. You would think that knowing I was a beast that you would think that they would all be false. After all, you can’t trust a man who turns into a vicious beast by night.”

“How I see you?” He rubbed his chin in thought for a moment. “Well, my vision is very acute. I see just as well as the beast, a blessing I have come to lean on. It means that I see every detail.” He twirled a piece of her hair around his finger. “I see each individual strand and each varying shade…how they make up the color of your hair.” He leaned down to plant a kiss on her neck. “Your eyes are a beautiful shade as well. I see all of the different colors in your eyes too.” He smiled. “I can scent the meadow where I stumbled across you.”

He sighed. “At least you have /some/ sense of self preservation,” he said. “You can’t trust me and you are right to remember it.” He didn’t want to let go of her. The contact was more than he’d had in ages and it comforted him, allowed the beast within him to settle even for the briefest of moments. And what was even more was that she wanted to stay with him and to spend time with him. He wanted to give this the chance it deserved, but he kept going back to the question of whether the beast could tolerate another human so close for any long length of time.

“Mal…” he started, not wanting to open his eyes to the girl who at least was justified in her path in life. The blood on his hands had no reason behind it, other than the sick demands of a god on a little boy who had been torn from death’s grasp. He wanted to say no, to push her away and to make her understand he wasn’t the man for her. But he couldn’t, and when she asked him to kiss her again, he furrowed his brow a moment before putting a hand on the nape of her neck. “Your wish is my command.” He closed the distance between their lips and kissed her again. If he only had this one day to understand this companionship, then he was going to let it unfold.

[Malice MacArran]

That look in his eyes, she knew. He did not know what to make of her and, quite frankly, Malice didn't either. She felt like someone else entirely, but her thoughts were still intact. And she liked it. Meeting his eyes with a gentle trust, she answered, "I do. I don't see how I could see otherwise... You are different in the light... but aren't we all?" She gave a short laugh. Usually, she'd only been a highwayman by night.

She reached up a hand to touch his face, her fingertips gently upon his cheek. "And that might be a good thing," Malice prodded, her brows coming together in a look of concern. She didn't know that she could exactly explain that statement if Darsidian asked her to, but there was a feeling in her that he could not possibly be as bad as he perceived himself to be. She did not like the way he viewed his two parts, if he could tell her that she was not a bad person, why not believe those same things himself? She sighed.

Suddenly Malice felt inferior and ashamed. True it might have been that women were not educated, but she knew that many of them could at least read. All those higher-class, privileged women had libraries of books--they could educate themselves! But Malice had been raised by gypsies, and she couldn't have had a more useless group to help foster a future. She looked away from Darcy and said, with every hint of remorse, "No, I cannot." To that look in his eyes, she clarified vaguely, "I'm a gypsy--used to be, at least... We never had any use for it." She managed a small smile up to him and wondered what he had not yet told her of himself.

Malice smiled. "I could not discount you for cleverness... Perhaps as cunning as my own. How could I think that you'd be so forthright?" But she was curious, because for the most part she did believe him. Which one of his little stories was untrue? She was afraid to choose the obvious, for that was, by the gaze in Darsidian's eyes, not correct. So Malice remained silent on the subject. However, she did add one more comment. "Vicious beast, eh?" She smiled lavaciously. "Does that come with another meaning?" Perhaps she shouldn't have said that, but it was out now.

She listened to his every word, and let out a slight gasp as he kissed her neck. It was an unexpected action, but she did not protest it. Malice liked his description. She had always enjoyed being told how beautiful she was--that vanity never fleeting--but before it had always been to humiliate men. Now, she just wanted to hear Darcy's thoughts. "You are observant," she smiled at him. "And I have fallen victim to your words."

Those were words she had lived by. Malice could trust no one but herself, and there were many times when she could not even do that much. But she wanted someone to trust. She was weak right now, stripped of her former self, and she needed an anchor. All she could do was nod and look away. She wanted a better life. She always had. But the revenge that fueled her every day was no gentle companion, and she had been too long at its mercy. This hideous incongruency with her pride was what made her hate herself, and that was the reason she kept thieving. She did not want to think about who she was, and so she kept herself busy. Did Darsidian understand this? Did he know how long she had lived in the shadows of lost faith? She was forgetting him, though. She did not know what he was going through.

She had hoped he would not tell her to go, and he didn't. He yielded to her request, and Malice closed her eyes to accept another kiss. She had never felt this urge before, while she had used to be kissed by some of the gypsy boys, they were repulsive things. But Darsidian--he was another experience. Malice tried to move herself closer, though they were already terribly close, and she dared to deepen the embrace, wanting to taste more of him. She parted her lips and kissed him with a lifetime of pent-up emotions.

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 scoffed. A good thing to be both man and beast? He supposed that he had gotten used to living with the beast as a necessary part of him. The beast gave him the strength to stay alive and blessed him with other gifts. His hearing and vision were more acute than that of the average human. He didn’t doubt that the presence of the beast made him superior to others, but a good thing that the beast was there? The beast had forced Darsidian to isolate himself so that he would never hurt others again, and that none would ever find out the horrors that he had committed as a child.

“At least with others the deception, whether it be by light or by night, is a bit less dangerous,” he said. He looked at her, something in his expression more wolf-like than human, though there was no risk of the change occurring in the light of day. “And let’s face it,” he said, crowding her in the hopes of forcing a retreat out of her. She needed to understand that he was dangerous and that he could kill her in an instant, whether he wanted to or not. “How can you tell which face is the truth? Am I a beast in a man’s body, or a man in a beast’s body?” He shook his head. “You can’t know for certain. And it’s a gamble you’d have to be willing to bet your life on to find out the answer to.”

He looked at her for a moment when she confessed she couldn’t read and then nodded. “I suppose that’s something that I might have known if I thought about it hard enough,” he said softly, almost to himself. He looked out of the corner of his eye, as if deep in thought. “I take it then that you can’t write either.” It wasn’t said with condescension, merely a statement of fact. He supposed that if she couldn’t read the letters, she wouldn’t be able to write them either, for what would be the purpose. But if he was wrong he would retract his remarks. He didn’t think she was simple. Quite the contrary, she was very intelligent. Literacy was only a product of intelligence and if he could teach Malice these things, then perhaps she could be very useful to him in her travels. Especially if she planned on returning to visit him after she went out on her highwayman adventures again.

He didn’t miss the teasing in her voice. Yes, they were becoming companions in a way Darsidian had not had since he lost his family. He was enjoying the conversation, much more so than the conversations that he carried on with his clients, though there was information to be had in those conversations too. Then she made the comment about the vicious beast coming out in other areas too and Darsidian did something he hadn’t done in a very long time.

He laughed. Not a self-deprecating laugh, or a condescending one. Not one full of sarcasm or of malicious intent. No, this was an honest to goodness laugh. It erased some of the care-lines that had begun to line his features. He actually, for a moment, looked his twenty-one years, not someone who had grown up too fast and for all the wrong reasons. He looked at her, eyes glittering with genuine amusement. “Forgive me, that was probably terribly rude of me to laugh at your question. I just find it so ridiculous. Where else did you expect it to come out, in my cooking? Well I suppose that’s true. I do eat like a beast.” Darsidian knew very well what she was talking about, but he wasn’t ready to admit to her that he had never taken a lover. He wasn’t ready to admit that in one way, he was still just a boy. And he knew that he could hurt her without meaning to, bring back those memories of what had happened to her. She didn’t deserve that.

He held her close to him, an almost possessive gesture. Perhaps there was something to the idea of the loyalty of dogs. They cared for their pack. And those that helped Darsidian were definitely his pack. “I have to be observant,” he said, running a finger lightly down her arm. “It’s what’s kept me alive all these years. Knowing who I can trust and what can hurt me.” He placed his other hand on her empty dagger sheath and smiled to himself. “Even roses have thorns.” He looked at her again. “It’s good to know that I can still weave pretty words for such a pretty girl.”

Darsidian moved himself back, breaking the kiss with all the willpower he could muster. He took a few deep breaths and turned with the appearance of looking for the tunic he had discarded at the beginning of all of this. It was only a part of the reason he turned though. He had to regain control of himself. If he lost control of himself, he lost control of the situation, a lesson learned too harshly. He picked up his tunic and brushed the dirt off it, pulling it on. He kept his back to her as he spoke.

“Stay or go as you please, Malice,” he said. It sounded callous, but Darsidian was giving her the out she justly deserved. The beast was all too willing to take her into their home. But Darsidian was not going to doom Malice to a life of terror. That decision belonged to her and her alone. He looked over his shoulder. “If you stay, know I am no easy companion. To travel with or to live with. Solitude is my lifestyle and I know little else.” He turned to face her when his tunic was completely done up. “But know the longer you stay, the harder it will be to leave.” Let her take it as arrogance or as a threat. The beast didn’t let things go that belonged to him. Not without a fight.

Because the gods demanded blood when something was taken from them. And the beast made Darsidian a demi-god in all but title. He could remember the form of the wolf at the nature god's side, and now when he saw the god in his dreams, if he saw him, the wolf was no longer with him. This was a god's gift.

[Malice MacArran]

Malice frowned, in part because she probably should not have suggested such a thing. Clearly, Darsidian viewed himself as the beast, which she gathered to be... not-so-good. She looked down, away from his face. She would have said something, told him that she saw them separately and that any man who could be so kind to her as he had recently been could never be that bad... But she did not say anything. What had he done to think this way? Malice wasn't really sure she wanted to know.

She looked at him with a brow raised, her interest peaked. "Why say you that?" But she didn't want to hear the answer, for she was affrighted momentarily by the ferocity in his eyes that seemed out of place and unfamiliar. "Darcy, please..." He was moving too close to her and no more was his face gentle--leading her to wonder what he had in mind and frightening her enough for her to recall unpleasant memories that she had just forgotten. Her hand went subconciously to her hair, where a shiv was tucked away in her braid. Maybe Darcy had been good to her thus far, but she still had to look out for herself.

She was just about to scream at him, ask him why he was doing this to her, when he silenced her with his words. He wasn't going to hurt her. Was he... was he trying to scare her away? Frowning, Malice dropped her hand, hoping he hadn't noticed, and tried to see through his words. She heard something there that was still the good and caring Darcy, and answered carefully, "Don't you try and get rid of me now. You don't want me to leave." She said it tenderly, tapping again into her feminine mystique, all the while adding the assurance that she would gamble everything she had that he would not harm her.

Letting out a sigh, letting go of the pressure she'd just built up, Malice quietly admitted, "No, I cannot. I can steal and I can make gypsy potions, but I am no wordsmith." She hung her head, afraid that Darcy was ashamed of her, and reflected on her younger years. She would have been a good gypsy, and she would have been a good member of the clan, had it not been for those repulsive gypsy men, not one of them virtuous or even mildly handsome. It was the life that she was cut out for, minus one huge shortcoming, and... Well, it had been no more than brevity. Once, she'd had the mind to adopt a new clan, the Scots clan, but now she did not know. She had no Scots accent nor any knowledge of traditions. Perhaps she would just not stand in line for the lairdship and just try to belong somewhere--that was all she wanted anyway.

Malice snapped out of her memories and was caught off-guard by Darsidian's laugh. It was incredibly becoming on his face, which did not go unnoticed, and Malice wondered for a second why he did not look often as he did then. This brought a pretty smile to her face, a genuine one. She looked at him again and his eyes were now those pretty things she'd seen a minute ago. "It's not rude, Darcy," she beamed, still infatuated with his youthful face. But she did not answer the rest of his comment, for she did not know whether to take it as truth or as sarcasm. Surely no half-beast could be so innocent. So Malice just smiled and nodded.

She did not, however, want him to let go of her, for she was feeling, finally, like she belonged somewhere. She said into his chest, "I won't hurt you, Darcy." But she nearly hoped he hadn't heard it. Her sheath might be empty, but that was not to say that she did not have other weapons on her, sharper than her tongue.

Darsidian broke away from her just as she was beginning to enjoy the company of a man, and a tear escaped her eye. But he turned from her and she wiped it from her cheek before ever he could see it. She sighed, an anger and a sadness both pulling at her heart, and stood for several long moments in silence, wanting to know what she should say to him. Was he trying to be rid of her? She mulled over all of his words, so beautifully crafted as always, and did not try to read into them for fear of what she might find. All she could do was go with what her heart was saying. After all, she had absolutely nothing to lose.

With a quiet confidence, Malice replied, "I will take whatever chance you'll have me take, but I'll not leave. I do not want to be a thief any longer, and I do not have a home. I'm bound for the depths as it were, Darcy. I'm not leaving you."

That took all the strength within her. But she had said it, and it was done. She pulled the shiv from her hair, kissed the blade, and handed it to Darsidian with a gleam in her eyes that said she trusted him. That wasn't to say there were not a couple more weapons hidden under her skirts.

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

[Darsidian]

He crowded her. “A bad man will pretend to be good in the light, yet you yourself have obviously had experience with the men that become monsters in the shadows. At least other men are more forthright about how they will turn on you. The beast has no sentience. He will bite the hand that feeds him. You never know when a beast will turn on you,” he made sure to lock his gaze with hers. “Whether that beast takes on the form of a wolf or a man.” He heard the pleading note in her voice when he crowded her, and he was satisfied that she at least had some sense of self preservation.

He kept his gaze locked on her, though he caught motion in his peripheral vision. She had reached for her hair. Good. She knew he was dangerous, and Darsidian wasn’t fool enough to believe he had disarmed her completely with his stunt before. She was willing to do what it took to survive, and that was exactly what he needed to combat the beast. He needed someone who wasn’t afraid to defend herself from the teeth and claws that waited at the first misstep. Malice was fast earning a place in his esteem.

He was shocked to hear the words he couldn’t admit to himself come out of her mouth. “I don’t want you to leave?” he repeated. He thought over the possible avenues of response for a moment. To use sarcasm would alienate the first ally he had made in a very long time. To refute the claim could mean him losing her forever. To admit to it…it would mean that she was close enough that the gods could use her as leverage. The gods or any of his enemies. He looked in her eyes. Who was playing games with who here? Wasn’t he the one who always had control of the situation? Yet with one simple sentence she had managed to throw him for a loop.

He let out a sigh. “I suppose you are right,” he said. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had the company of someone such as yourself.” Let her take it how she would. A woman, a sparring partner for his wit, a friend, an ally, possibly something more. Darsidian didn’t know what he meant by the statement, much less that he could put it into words. It was the first time in a very long time that a confession like that had been forced out of him. She could be good for him.

Darsidian’s brow furrowed as she dropped her gaze. There was no shame in being unable to read. The only reason he knew how to read and write was because of the monks. Had his life continued as it had been before his fever, he himself would not have known how to read. He gently tilted her chin up to look at him. “We can change that, if you’d like.” He didn’t want to assume that she wanted to read and write. Maybe she was happier not knowing how to read or write. Maybe she would be better served learning from another teacher.

He was glad he dismissed the slight of his laughter, but the amusement in his eyes and face slowly dissipated as he thought of the idea of letting her close enough to hurt him, or for him to hurt her. Was it worth the chance? If she thought living with the beast would be better than her life now, would he not be doing her a favor? Perhaps she didn’t know what she was getting herself into. He put a hand to his head, the thoughts buzzing like angry bees beginning to take its toll on him. She gave her word, softly, almost as if not intended for his ears, but she gave it nonetheless. He knew as well as anyone that some vows were made to be broken though.

He put his hands on his hips and looked at her as she made her confession to him. She /wouldn’t/ leave, not even if he bullied her. He smiled and let out a short sound of amusement. “Well, I suppose the word of an ex-thief is as good as the word of a beast.” It was not a slight. It was his way of kowtowing. He wasn’t fighting it anymore. She reached into her hair and pulled out the shiv, kissing the blade and offering it to him. He cocked his head in surprise, but took the gesture for what it was: a reciprocation of his earlier trust in her. He had given her a blade and his breast, and she hadn’t killed him. She expected the same of him. He stooped and picked up the dagger from earlier, offering it to her in return.

“Alright, then. Now that that’s over,” he said, turning back toward the path. Where did that damn horse get off to?” Once found he could return to his home with Malice in tow if she didn’t change her mind between now and then. He smiled over his shoulder. “Come on. I don’t want to have a repeat of last night.”

[Malice MacArran]

Ever the singular, space-loving woman, Malice took one step back, her eyes still on him and her face straight. "Well then I suppose that's what I've spent the last three years training for; I have a keen eye myself." She meant it as a retort to his words but allowed herself to keep her expression solemn in irony. She did not believe his second statement, not for a minute. But she'd learned quickly that there was no good to come from arguing with him, and she just gave the slightest shake of her head to dismiss the words. Malice did not believe that he would, as his human self, ever bring her to any harm.

She did not know if he saw what she'd done, and she did not understand the expression gracing his face, so Malice did not ask. She was happy enough that he had not reprimanded her for her actions. Malice was a friend to the shadows, and she did what was required of her by self-defense.

It took a moment for the statement to register even in Malice's mind. She did not understand the severity of it until she heard the words repeated back to her, and then she wondered what had prompted her to say that. A sharp wit was not always an effective weapon. Sometimes, silence was worth more. But Darcy's sigh felt too much like acquiescence, and it worried her. Right? Was this something he hated to say, because it sure sounded that way. Men and their pride--well, Malice could not deny that she was very much the same. She did not like for her pride to be the victim of someone else's conquest. With a quiet voice, she answered, "It's also nice to finally have company of any kind." She did wonder what kind of company he was referring to, but settled on that he meant a friend. Was that what they were now?

She soon found herself looking at him, prompted by his hand on her face. His eyes spoke volumes; they said that she need not hang her head. But she thought otherwise. She thought she was a disgrace, despite her heritage. Change that? Perhaps that would be nice. Any measure of intelligence that she could prove would be better than what she survived on now--her wit. "I would very much like that, I think."

Malice watched with what was almost a pained gaze as his face lost its lustre. She wished it could have remained, so beautiful as it had been, but knew that there was something else on his mind now. Perhaps he had heard her. He had tried just about all he could to persuade her against staying, but she had denied every thought. She did not like reasoning things out. For so long, she had followed the guidance of her heart, and now that her heart had been changed, she wondered why she should not continue to let it lead her. Was Darcy mad at her for that? Disappointed? She would show him that she was good enough to keep up with him, that she could protect herself from anything.

Malice grinnned. "At least I've not let my daggers speak for me," she retorted, allowing him an ever-so-slight wink. She could take inventory of the arsenal attatched to her apparel, but she'd rather not recall all of that. Darcy returned to her the dagger that she had earlier rid herself of, and she replaced it in the sheath that felt strange when it was empty. She'd had half a mind to give him jewels instead, but they were not worth much outside of a town and she did not think that they would have meant the same. Touching her necklace, which displayed many dazzling sapphires, she entrusted him with some of her most guarded information. "I've a store of jewels, you know. Even if you tossed me out I could take care of myself." Of course, she would never divulge where she kept all of her treasures, in case one day she needed to run for the bonnie hills of Scotland and buy herself the proof that she was a MacArran.

"Horses, you cannot trust. They have desires of their own," she half-muttered, and then followed close behind Darsidian. "No, no, I don't care to scale another tree if I don't have to." She traipsed along behind him, listening for any sign that would point them to his mount.

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

[Darsidian]

“Three years?” He shook his head. “I’ve a few years on you Mal. Try living this way for thirteen.” He realized what he said too late and snapped his mouth shut. That was way too much information. He’d never told anyone how long he’d been without someone at his back, a family to care for him. He shook his head again. “I’m sorry. I’m letting my temper get the best of me.” He hoped the apology would turn her away from his moment of bad judgment. He didn’t want her questioning why he had been so on guard for those past thirteen years. Who knew, maybe she’d even heard the story of a boy who killed his family.

He looked at her, taking her in with a different perspective. She had been just as lonely as he had, if her response to his prodding had been anything to go by. She lived alone, whether by her own choice or if her hand was forced. He smiled at her. “We’re more alike than we first appear,” he said. “It’s unusual to find people like us. It’s…refreshing.” And it was odd that he meat it. He wasn’t used to having someone understand the way of survival like he did, even if she had a little help with him force feeding his ideology at her.

“There’s no shame in not being able to read or write. A large part of my job is legal documents for those that can’t read or write.” He nodded when she said she would like to learn to read. “Alright. Then, if you’d like, I’ll teach you to read and to write.” It would give him something to do aside from the work he had. Besides, it would be nice to have a student instead of being forced to do nothing but the papers that people requested of him. Perhaps one day she could help him, if she stuck around that long. Darsidian wasn’t going to let himself believe that she wasn’t going to leave. That way, if she did, it wouldn’t hurt so badly.

He laughed again, though not like he had before. “That’s true enough. You’d have a nice wolf-pelt blanket for yourself if you had.” He looked at her and cocked his head. Why was she giving him such precious information about her jewels? Surely she understood that a wolf could trace her scent almost anywhere, depending on how often she visited her cache. She must be trusting that he was no thief and would not steal from her. He smiled. “Well that’s good to know. I would never want to leave a woman without a means of supporting herself.

“Well you did look good climbing up that tree,” he said, winking at her. He continued walking forward, whistling softly every so often to see if the hose was close enough, or willing enough, to come when his master called. At first, Darsidian feared the worst, that the horse had been taken by some animal or another traveler, but after nearly an hour of searching, he found the horse with his reins tangled on a tree near a stream. He shook his head. “There you are you stupid beast.” He moved over to check the saddlebags where he had stored his parchment. Thankfully, only a few sheets had been ruined in his horse’s flight. Better than the majority of them being ruined.

With nimble fingers, he disentangled the horse from the foliage and turned to Malice. Now was the moment of truth.

[Malice MacArran]

Malice drew back, away from Darsidian at his snappy comment. She recoiled and wondered what had suddenly caused him to show another face--not that it was uncommon for her to do that also. To him, she answered bitterly, "You think you understand me!" Then, thinking on what he had said, her face grew lax and her eyes half-squinted in pondering. "Thirteen?" she whispered. That must be terrible. She hoped he had not heard her. She heard his apology but only nodded, because she was still wondering why he had not found someone to occupy his time in thirteen years. Who exactly was he? Clearly, she did not know.

Feeling Darcy's eyes on her, Malice shied awayand busied herself looking at her hands. She turned to her palms and sent out a short laugh at realizing it had been years since she'd read lines like this. Mayhap she could not read letters, but she could read hands. What did hers say? Her heart line had many lines in its path, and it represented a life of trauma. Her life line was short and deep--a life of brevity and yet influence. She shook her head. Hopefully it was wrong. "Alike?" she laughed softly, looking up. Without asking, she took his palm and began to trace its lines with a furrow in her brow.

She smiled up at him. Maybe this was an aspiration of future stability, but she answered, "I think I would like that. Might it take a while?" A part of her hoped that his answer would be yes, and that he wanted to keep her by his side and that he would teach her all the ways of the world. But the rational, less heart-touched side of her told her that she probably wouldn't stay around that long. That she needed blood to satisfy her thirst and she would go back to being who she'd been all along. Was she still that bad?

"At least then I'd have a nice place to sleep," she retorted teasingly, "and not have to sleep up in trees." But her earlier slip in words was weighing on her mind and she knew that if Darsidian was not who she had taken him to be, she could end up poor again. Hopefully, God willing, he would forget or at least decide that it was not worth his time. He was, after all, the Beast. And his reply, while not terrible, was not exactly assuring, at least to Malice. She had stored up those jewels for so long, so that maybe one day she could bribe her way into the clan that she was supposedly kin to. She'd heard from her only full brother, Rousch, that their father was harsh, and that was why Rousch had retracted his kin and lairdship claim. But she had money, and money could speak volumes.

But she did not want to have to keep supporting herself. Something in her heart was trying to calm itself. "Darcy, do you think I could be a laird, if I ever went back to Scotland?" She said the last word with whatever accent she could conjure up that resembled a Scots voice. She laughed nervously, still worried that Darcy would not forget the treasures.

She caught that wink and it told her that he was all play again. Malice cocked a smile at him and answered sappily, "Oh, did I? I can see the Beast is still a bit devonaire, then." She grinned and brushed her hand against his arm. He went on and she followed behind him the whole time, looking for his horse with him but more often thinking about what she would do after he found the mount. She wanted to stay so much. But she wanted to be herself. What was she to do? Malice hummed softly as she went, recalling old gypsy love songs. Sometimes, she wanted that comfort. Sometimes, she just wanted to feel loved.

Darsidian found his steed eventually and she stood there, still as could be with a melancholy grace upon her lips. He turned to her, and the smile grew as she decided that what she'd said earlier was a reflection of her heart--and she should listen to her heart. "Take me with you," she asked in a hushed voice, moving toward him with a glint of hope in her eye.

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 rubbed his forehead. “No, you are right. I should not be so quick to judge. Everyone has their dirty little secrets. Me of all people should be able to remember that.” He put a hand over his heart and bowed his head in apology. Let her concentrate on his mood swings. Let her forget the boy he’d been when he left. Thirteen years was a long time to be lonely, but it wasn’t her that had caused him to be that way. It was his own damn fault. Yet his acute hearing caught her whispering the word thirteen, and he schooled his expression to act as though he hadn’t heard. Maybe she didn’t want him to hear and wouldn’t bring it up again if he didn’t either.

He nodded as she reached out and took his hand and began to trace the lines that formed in his palm. “Yes, we are alike. Oh we are different on a most obvious level, but we have our similarities. Tenacity for one. Survival for another.” He watched her fingers tracing the lines. “You going to read my fortune?” he asked, smiling as if daring her to do it. The gods would do with him as they saw fit, and nothing that she could read in his palm was going to change that. If the god of the forest wanted his companion back, than Darsidian would fall ill again, or be caught in some sort of trap. Whether he died an old man or a young one, it mattered little to him. Even with his newfound friendship, he didn’t have too terribly much that the gods would be tearing him away from. No, the gods wouldn’t consider it much of a sacrifice if he wasn’t giving up much. They would wait until he had found his true happiness and then destroy it, just as they had done with his family.

Darsidian let out a short laugh. “One doesn’t learn their letters in a day, Mal. It took me years to read and write, though that was to certain specifications.” The monks had taken the extra time and taught him calligraphy, hoping he might one day illuminate the manuscripts they made. Darsidian had other ideas. He would not pledge his service to a god that meant nothing to him and turn his back on the one that had saved his life. He had used them, just has he had used others before them and others after them. Darsidian was a man who knew how to use his tools, inanimate or human. “If you don’t plan to stick around for long, then I can teach you the basics, but you may still struggle with it.”

He shrugged. “That is true. If you killed me you could take my house and everything in it. Might actually make my death worth your while then,” he said. He had a feeling that she wasn’t going to turn on him. She hadn’t thus far and he had no reason to believe that she would, given the chance to sleep under his roof. Then again, men would do anything to fulfill their desire for safety. Malice was a variable that Darsidian needed to come to understand as best he could.

He shook his head. “Mal, I could lie to and tell you what I know you want to hear. But I’d be trying to write blind. I know nothing of Scotland, or of its lairds. I’ve never been too far from Solraya and the village where I was born, with the occasional jaunts into Tyrian for supplies. I care nothing for the politics of the realm because I am not bound to either by any law of man or beast. I know that there are always ways to get what you want, it’s just a matter of keeping them once you have them.” So true of many things in life. “I’m sorry I can’t offer more than that in my words, but you deserve better than someone just telling you what you want to hear.”

“The beast knows his beauty just as well as the man does,” Darsidian said as he led the way back to his mount. He nodded when she asked him to take her with him. “I only have the one bed, but I don’t imagine we’ll be doing much sleeping together, what with my sleep cycle being from dawn until mid-morning.” He took the reins and led his horse back to her. “Do you ride?”

[Malice MacArran]

Malice knew that whatever he said to her and whatever she felt for him, she could not let Darcy get the best of her. He was still dangerous, and she was still a highwayman. But she did feel something for him, and it was all the harder to think logically, with the colder, more predominant part of her heart. His apology was sincere, she felt, and she answered in kind. "Don't mind it," Malice said sweetly. Still, she could not help but think of what thirteen years in this kind of solitude would do to a man. And, how old was he anyhow? Surely he'd not been left to this life as a child. Surely he had to be older than his smiles made him look. She dared to ask, trying to make it sound more like a casual question than an interrogation. "How old are you, Darcy?"

She looked up at him, meeting his eyes, with a trace of a grin on her face. His hands were like her own, worn with years of work. Nobles did not have this strength in their hands; they were usually much less diligent. "I suppose we are," she said at her own speed. "I don't read them much anymore, but I'd like to see what's in you that I can read." She traced the lines gently with her own fingertips, witholding from him what she felt until she'd finished. "This here," she said, pointing out a line, "this is your life line. It is long--for a long life--and it is deep with the promise of power." At this she sighed, for her own life line was not nearly as long as his. She was bound for a short life. Pointing out the other most important of the lines, Malice continued, "And this is your heart line. It bears the scars of your heart and the traumas of your life. Your deepest scar was in your past... but your future looks much more promising." Not asking deeper, she smiled, pained, up at him. Her heart line bore many scars, and the deepest was yet to come. It was near the end of hers.

She listened, noting his experience and thus the possiblity of his three "truths," and then stood before him noiselessly, her arms crossed in front of her chest. If there was anything Malice was quick at, it was learning. Hell, she'd learned to sell with the gypsies in a day, and she had learned how to sew a dress in a matter of hours. With a sigh, she answered simply, "I think I'll stay then." She did not like struggling, and she certainly did not want to go against what she had already told him she would do. She grinned at his next words and answered lowly, "And then what would you propose I do with them? Live in the house? I've never lived in a house. Neither do I need your things unless you possess a plethora of food." Her treasures were honestly of no value to her unless she ventured to the north. She smiled at him and thought no more of it.

Thoughtfully, Malice answered him, I know nothing of it either. Just what my mother told me, and what Rousch--my brother--said, but I don't know which one of them to believe. And I don't know that I even want to be the laird. I just... I don't know." And she thought on that for a minute before answering more, "Why do you keep telling me what I deserve? I deserve to be hanged." She was half joking, but a part of her was serious. She still did not want to accept the truths he was tossing at her. She wanted to continue to be hellbound.

Malice was quick to smile at his comment, and she whispered a thanks that she wasn't sure if he could hear. Another feeling stirred in her at the mention of sharing a bed, and she wondered if that thought was simply too much for her to handle. What was she even to say to that? "I... Probably not. I wake with the sun." Her words were forced and a bit dry, like her throat. And hell, was she tired right now. She wondered for a moment what Darsidian's house was even like, and if it would feel anything like a home to her who had lived in the forests and the hills for all of her days. She was in tune with the nature around her, but so was Darcy. Maybe it would be alright.

Darcy led back his horse, and she'd expected him to let her ride behind him, but she frowned. "Well... of course I do." She'd had her own horse one time, just a pony, but she had once been good at riding. It was just that the highwayman who'd taken her had also taken her gray mare.

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 nodded as she accepted his apology. He knew sometimes it was better to make apologies than to fight on them. He hoped that she would move on, find another avenue of conversation. However, he was not entirely surprised when she asked his age. Though the nature of the question was innocent enough, it was enough to know that she had remembered his comment of thirteen years. He folded his arms and looked at her. “Twenty-one by the autumn harvest. I’ll be twenty-two at the end of this summer.” Being of the old ways, he kept time by the seasons and their major events rather than by months and years, though he was well versed in how they were used. He sighed and figured he might as well give in now. “Which means thirteen years ago, I was eight. That’s what you were really asking, wasn’t it?”

He chuckled softly. “I suppose that’s fair. I’m not exactly an open book,” he said. He had never put much stock in this manner of fortune telling. He couldn’t see how the lines in his hand could dictate the future. They were a random assortment of lines, but he’d let her have her fun. He let her trace the lines in his hand, naming them. “A long life of power, hmm?” he shook his head. “Doesn’t that sound like something I’d enjoy?” She traced another line and called it his heart line. “The worst has already come, hmm?” he asked. Well, if it were true it gave him small comfort. It meant that there was nothing that would hurt him worse than losing his family. Not that he put much stock in fortune telling. He smiled at her, not about to give her the satisfaction of knowing that she was right about a deep trauma in his past. “Well I hope you’re right. Sounds like my future isn’t too bad if you’ve anything to say about it.” He brought his other hand up to her cheek on a whim, caressing her cheek. He wanted to kiss her again, but he didn’t think it would be entirely appropriate.

“I won’t hold you to it if you don’t find it to your liking,” he said. “It’s quaint enough. And I’m sure that we can make it work for two if you plan on sticking around.” He chuckled. “Oh there’s enough food, certainly. And you never know what you could do with a house. It would at least give you a place to come home to, not that a house does much for someone who is on their own. It’s just a shelter.” He shrugged again. “Besides, you’d be able to sell my property to help you out even if you didn’t want to keep it for yourself.”

He shook his head. “Then don’t decide right now. The gods have a funny way of screwing over every plan that you set out for yourself. So let them decide. Let them throw their dice. There’s nothing you can do to stop them.” He didn’t even wince when she asked him why he kept telling her she deserved better. “Perhaps because I know that sometimes people don’t get what they deserve. The innocent die at the hands of the guilty, while the killers run free waiting for another victim. The honest man is cheated, the wicked prosper. No good deed goes unpunished. If you deserve to be hanged, then you deserve to be hanged, but know that there are others much worse than yourself who deserve that as well. So think carefully on what you truly deserve.”

“We’ll figure it out, I’m sure.” He turned to the horse and whispered something softly in its ear, causing the horse to toss its head slightly. Satisfied, Darsidian turned to her and offered a hand. “Need a leg up?”

[Malice MacArran]

It was curious, the way Malice was getting on with Darsidian. She had never had many friends besides her brothers and sisters--most were only half-siblings (except Rousch, who was her only full-blood relative and who had once been her best friend). But the way she and the half-beast at her side were talking, it seemed like they had known each other for longer than a day. And just now was she figuring out his age--he didn't even know hers--which seemed slightly mistimed. It seemed he was but two years her senior. Strange, considering how old his soul seemed.

"Only?" she half-whispered, still slightly astonished. But he figured her out; she should have known he would know her motives. She stepped slightly back and fought back a tear for failing to hide her intention. "I'm sorry... I... I should not have asked you that." But he didn't seem to be angry with her, and she breathed out the air she'd been holding in. "Neither myself," she commented, but she knew that had he chanced to ask her anything she would tell him.

It was apparent by Darcy's expression that he was more amused by her reading than convinced. It was a gypsy tradition, and sometimes it was right, but maybe that telling look gracing his face was more so. Malice sighed and shook her head. "I suppose it's just gypsy jargon, but mine has thus far been correct. Yes, you should hunger for power," she replied sardonically, with the slightest roll of her eyes. But then something registered in his next sentences and Malice felt she'd said something that matched with what had happened to him. She would not ask, she told herself, but nevertheless it left a curiosity. "Perhaps I'm right. Perhaps I'll even be a part of that future," Malice said with a bemused smile, and then felt his hand on her cheek. She almost shied away but the feeling struck her still and she felt a warmth in her stomach. Her eyes closed, just for moment, and she reached to touch his forearm.

She believed him, she did, but Malice still was having a difficult time comprehending life in a structure besides the forest. Surely it would be nice, but not knowing just what to expect was a bit nervewracking. "I'm sure we'll have no problem, then," she said coolly, putting aside her desperity. She laughed and shook her head. "I won't do that to you, you know," Malice said casually, "thief though I am. Except maybe I'll have your food."

"I know," she said hypocritically. She did not know if they believed in the same gods, but Malice had never been one to let someone else decide who she'd be. She figured that those lines crossing her heart line were all of her own doing, her own inflictions. She had to be the one to hurt herself, because she was not about to let someone else do it. "I will make my own choice, but I will decide after I have rest." Let him think what he would... Then, of course, he had to play his cards. Those pulled on her heartstrings. "Do I deserve to be with you, then?" she asked almost in spite of herself.

Oh sure. They would. But that did not make Malice's fear of being so physically close any better. She took his hand with a bit of a spirited grin and hoisted herself onto the horse, taking no heed to the traditions of courtly women and settling for the riding position of a man. It did not matter. "Where to?"

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

[Darsidian]

“Yes,” he replied simply. “I was eight when I was left to my own devices. Thirteen years is a long time to learn the hard way who you can and cannot trust, though I was saved from a few close calls by the beast’s instincts,” he said. It was strange, so openly talking about the beast with this woman. It’s not as though he had to keep it a secret from her anymore, but he never spoke so openly about the horror that dwelled inside him. Malice was beginning to prove a balm for the wound he had been afflicted with, even if she didn’t know it yet and never would. Because Darsidian was only just now beginning to admit it to himself. He shook his head. “It is not an issue. I have not been very forthright about myself, and for a simple question like that to cause me bother?” He shrugged. “It’s not worth it.”

He smiled at her sarcasm. “Craving it or not, power is a tempting dish. And on some level we all search for power. And some gain it without wanting it.” He nodded as she mentioned that she might be a part of his future. “It’s quite possible. Who knows what the gods have in store for us,” he said. He didn’t move as her hand touched his forearm. Was this her way of saying she was happy for the physical contact, or was this more of an instinctual thing, like his own putting his hand on her face? He didn’t know what it meant and he didn’t like not understanding. It made him feel vulnerable. But this was not something that one just simply asked about. So Darsidian held back from kissing her, though he was sorely tempted.

He smiled and nodded at her. “I was hoping you wouldn’t. And after you chose not to stab me with a dagger I was happy to think that that might be the case. But thank you for allaying my nerves,” he said, his tone joking but a kernel of truth in his words. Darsidian had come to realize that he didn’t know what he could expect from this little woman in front of him and though he found it unnerving, he found it the least bit refreshing.
He shrugged. “I don’t deserve what I have now,” he said, so matter-of-factly he could have been talking about the consistency of inks or the weight of the parchment. “I think that you deserve a better man than I, not that I’m assuming that you need a man at all, but if that’s your choice then you tell me if I deserve you.”

He watched her get onto his horse and smiled, offering her the reins and clicking his tongue softly. The horse started moving at a pace to match Darsidian as he led the way back out onto the main road. He looked up at Malice and answered the question before she asked it. “It’s mid-afternoon now. Damn beast hid itself away so well we spent the better part of the day looking for him.” He patted the horse’s neck. “I paid good money for him to be trained as he was. With a rider he’ll return to my home. If we do not make the house before nightfall, he will take you there. It will be easier for me to put distance between us if I am not riding.”