04-05-2023, 03:55 PM
It was one thing to throw a magic knife and someone shoves a body into the path. It was a completely other thing to jam spikes into flesh and watch the blood bubble up.
His eyes were enormous, jaw parted like he was rendered with rare speechless. I killed her. The thought was part shock and part horror at how easy it was. Monster or not, Jaxen quickly realized he did not like killing things.
Had he felt the same after Sybaris? Technically, no. He’d tried to tell this girl the same thing. Did she have a name? A family? She went from demure and innocent to raging attacker in the blink of an eye. She should have known that he’d react if attacked. Probably why she stayed so still at first, but she must have cared about Sybaris to react so violently to learning she was in company of her (alleged) killer.
He glanced at his hand and swallowed. It was his blood on his palm, but blood was on his hands anyway. It was a relief to find the rest of the ear still attached to his head. Earless wasn’t a nickname he wanted for himself.
More than that, the side of his head fucking throbbed. He silently watched Zef heft the kid’s limp body. Guy had to weigh a buck and a half and yet she carried him away, muscles bulging under the strain like some ancient warrior. That skimpy dress might as well have been armor and studs. That spike could have been a sword. Zef was magnificent.
Jaxen silently followed, and when she dumped the kid and returned her attention for him, pain and pondering had darkened his expression. Not even the tease dislodged what had dragged down his mood. The scratch marks on his cheek still ached. The ear bled through the offered rag quickly. He must have looked like he was returning from battle. If it didn’t hurt so much, he’d have been more smug about the look. At least if it was a battle, he’d won. Okay that helped a little.
Once they were within range of signal, he went to the effort to message his building that he was returning in need of a concierge doc. Like the 24/7 staff that fetched and delivered, the building services also offered all hours’ docs. A car was arranged just as quickly. Like hell was he walking all the way back again.
He was oddly quiet other than paying the driver extra for the mess on the seat dribbling out of his head. The high was long burned out and forget about the chub. He wanted a drink.
The downtown district known as Moscow City was the mecca of modern civilization. Massive buildings, many world-record holders for their size and luxury, towered glittering above the river, the massive water that curled its way around the district like some slumbering black snake. High-rises that belied the mind twisted and turned, art-pieces in and of themselves. The one that Jaxen called home was lost in the middle somewhere. And each and every one of those buildings was built on a skeleton of Scion’s steel. No wonder his dad was filthy rich.
Jaxen owned a two-level chunk of the high-rise he called home - or so he did after his dad returned the keys to the kingdom in exchange for attending Ass-Candy’s ball. The door itself recognized him as he approached, and the hefty security system was lifted momentarily. Of course, the door system made note of female company as well, signaling the building staff to prepare the usual offerings that he tended to order in the middle of the night.
Liquor (and recs), of course, were already aplenty within the apartment. Fresh food and catering, on the other hand, would arrive shortly. Upon one of the balconies, like the others of the building, was a cantilevered pool suspended over the edge of the building-face. It glowed an eerie blue through the windows beyond when they entered. The walls of the apartment rippled and shone like they were living entities suspecting his whim and catering to the atmosphere he was probably most likely to anticipate. In this case, the vibe was sexy.
However, as soon as he entered, he paused at a control panel to override the system because there was a third person in their company. The doctor was waiting for him when they got off the elevator. The apartment was arranged such that the foyer and first level entertaining space greeted them. The style and decorations were sleek and modern, except for a display case housed a number of odd-antiques, many from India, but other cultures could be discerned among the pieces. A kitchen was nearby that appeared to be carved from a single, seamless unit. Smart technology was everywhere. No oven or refrigerator was apparent.
The doctor suggested they retreat to the main bathroom where there was plenty of counter space and bright lights. Jaxen explained where to go and he’d be there in a second. By then the ear was only oozing, him having pinched it so tight on the way back that it was practically numb. Dried blood made a river down his neck. Bits of it was stuck in the hair around the temple. He was still Jaxen, so he made the vibe look good, but he was ready for drugs.
And vodka. Lots of vodka.
He left Zef to make herself comfortable in the company of a thousand dollar bottle of vodka and an empty glass she could put to good use. Him? He stalked off to the bathroom already downing half a cup of ice cold crystal vodka on the way.
He’d stripped of the ruined shirt and let the doc have his way. A needle numbed the worst of it, but the mirrors made it impossible to not witness the doc slice the jagged wound up so the notch could be cleanly stitched back together. The towel draping his shoulder beneath was pink by the time it was done.
A line of black thread decorating the lobe was evidence of work done. Then the doctor left then, and Jaxen didn’t bother putting on a different shirt. He did change into shorts though. He’d cleaned up the blood best as possible short of taking a shower, and sank on his own couch nestling a fresh glass of vodka against his chest, dark eyes flat from studying Zephyr’s reaction to the transformed Jaxen.
If she wanted a hero, she got one. If she wanted a channeler, she had that too. There was just one thing left she didn’t have. The tattoo on his shoulder was an intricate snake skeleton. It began on his arm and curled around the cap of his shoulder, ending with the fanged head poised to strike on his pec. The ink was a synthetic metallic that seemed to dance under the lighting system and blue glow of the beyond pool. It rippled when he put the glass to his lips, looking her up and down.
“You’re one of those Atharim aren’t you?” he asked rather soberly despite the swimming of painkillers and vodka filling up his head. Other than the fact that the only good snake was a dead snake, if he cared, it didn’t yet show.
"If you're going to try and kill me, I'm pretty damn flattered," he said, a hint of challenge tugging the edges of his lips playfully. He honestly had no idea what she wanted. Beyond the obvious. If the tables were turned, supposed he'd get his kicks first and finish the dirty work second.
((Tattoo something like this but more intricate))
His eyes were enormous, jaw parted like he was rendered with rare speechless. I killed her. The thought was part shock and part horror at how easy it was. Monster or not, Jaxen quickly realized he did not like killing things.
Had he felt the same after Sybaris? Technically, no. He’d tried to tell this girl the same thing. Did she have a name? A family? She went from demure and innocent to raging attacker in the blink of an eye. She should have known that he’d react if attacked. Probably why she stayed so still at first, but she must have cared about Sybaris to react so violently to learning she was in company of her (alleged) killer.
He glanced at his hand and swallowed. It was his blood on his palm, but blood was on his hands anyway. It was a relief to find the rest of the ear still attached to his head. Earless wasn’t a nickname he wanted for himself.
More than that, the side of his head fucking throbbed. He silently watched Zef heft the kid’s limp body. Guy had to weigh a buck and a half and yet she carried him away, muscles bulging under the strain like some ancient warrior. That skimpy dress might as well have been armor and studs. That spike could have been a sword. Zef was magnificent.
Jaxen silently followed, and when she dumped the kid and returned her attention for him, pain and pondering had darkened his expression. Not even the tease dislodged what had dragged down his mood. The scratch marks on his cheek still ached. The ear bled through the offered rag quickly. He must have looked like he was returning from battle. If it didn’t hurt so much, he’d have been more smug about the look. At least if it was a battle, he’d won. Okay that helped a little.
Once they were within range of signal, he went to the effort to message his building that he was returning in need of a concierge doc. Like the 24/7 staff that fetched and delivered, the building services also offered all hours’ docs. A car was arranged just as quickly. Like hell was he walking all the way back again.
He was oddly quiet other than paying the driver extra for the mess on the seat dribbling out of his head. The high was long burned out and forget about the chub. He wanted a drink.
+++
The downtown district known as Moscow City was the mecca of modern civilization. Massive buildings, many world-record holders for their size and luxury, towered glittering above the river, the massive water that curled its way around the district like some slumbering black snake. High-rises that belied the mind twisted and turned, art-pieces in and of themselves. The one that Jaxen called home was lost in the middle somewhere. And each and every one of those buildings was built on a skeleton of Scion’s steel. No wonder his dad was filthy rich.
Jaxen owned a two-level chunk of the high-rise he called home - or so he did after his dad returned the keys to the kingdom in exchange for attending Ass-Candy’s ball. The door itself recognized him as he approached, and the hefty security system was lifted momentarily. Of course, the door system made note of female company as well, signaling the building staff to prepare the usual offerings that he tended to order in the middle of the night.
Liquor (and recs), of course, were already aplenty within the apartment. Fresh food and catering, on the other hand, would arrive shortly. Upon one of the balconies, like the others of the building, was a cantilevered pool suspended over the edge of the building-face. It glowed an eerie blue through the windows beyond when they entered. The walls of the apartment rippled and shone like they were living entities suspecting his whim and catering to the atmosphere he was probably most likely to anticipate. In this case, the vibe was sexy.
However, as soon as he entered, he paused at a control panel to override the system because there was a third person in their company. The doctor was waiting for him when they got off the elevator. The apartment was arranged such that the foyer and first level entertaining space greeted them. The style and decorations were sleek and modern, except for a display case housed a number of odd-antiques, many from India, but other cultures could be discerned among the pieces. A kitchen was nearby that appeared to be carved from a single, seamless unit. Smart technology was everywhere. No oven or refrigerator was apparent.
The doctor suggested they retreat to the main bathroom where there was plenty of counter space and bright lights. Jaxen explained where to go and he’d be there in a second. By then the ear was only oozing, him having pinched it so tight on the way back that it was practically numb. Dried blood made a river down his neck. Bits of it was stuck in the hair around the temple. He was still Jaxen, so he made the vibe look good, but he was ready for drugs.
And vodka. Lots of vodka.
He left Zef to make herself comfortable in the company of a thousand dollar bottle of vodka and an empty glass she could put to good use. Him? He stalked off to the bathroom already downing half a cup of ice cold crystal vodka on the way.
He’d stripped of the ruined shirt and let the doc have his way. A needle numbed the worst of it, but the mirrors made it impossible to not witness the doc slice the jagged wound up so the notch could be cleanly stitched back together. The towel draping his shoulder beneath was pink by the time it was done.
A line of black thread decorating the lobe was evidence of work done. Then the doctor left then, and Jaxen didn’t bother putting on a different shirt. He did change into shorts though. He’d cleaned up the blood best as possible short of taking a shower, and sank on his own couch nestling a fresh glass of vodka against his chest, dark eyes flat from studying Zephyr’s reaction to the transformed Jaxen.
If she wanted a hero, she got one. If she wanted a channeler, she had that too. There was just one thing left she didn’t have. The tattoo on his shoulder was an intricate snake skeleton. It began on his arm and curled around the cap of his shoulder, ending with the fanged head poised to strike on his pec. The ink was a synthetic metallic that seemed to dance under the lighting system and blue glow of the beyond pool. It rippled when he put the glass to his lips, looking her up and down.
“You’re one of those Atharim aren’t you?” he asked rather soberly despite the swimming of painkillers and vodka filling up his head. Other than the fact that the only good snake was a dead snake, if he cared, it didn’t yet show.
"If you're going to try and kill me, I'm pretty damn flattered," he said, a hint of challenge tugging the edges of his lips playfully. He honestly had no idea what she wanted. Beyond the obvious. If the tables were turned, supposed he'd get his kicks first and finish the dirty work second.
((Tattoo something like this but more intricate))