epidemiology | it's not just for work and it isn't for play

Entry tags:

it's not just for work and it isn't for play

CHARACTERS: Koltira Deathweaver; Olivia

DATE: Now-ish??

WARNINGS: Gross dead elf thoughts (i.e., discussions of violence, also actual violence)

SUMMARY: Olivia wants to help Koltira, for some reason

[He's asked her to meet him at a halfway point. It's the edge of the outskirts, right where they run up against the woodlands. Isolated enough that no one is likely to disturb them, but close enough to some slice of civilization, some bastion Olivia could run to if she felt it necessary.

He's not sure what will come of this. He's a little concerned about what will come of this. But one thing is true: if he's going to stay here, he has to maintain his discipline, as best he can. Something in him murmurs that he can't, that he can resist and train and focus and fight with everything he has and the curse will still win out in the end. It always has in the past. But his situation is different now. This is a land rife with conflict, but not monsters. Not soldiers he can freely cut down.

He has to try.

So Koltira waits for Olivia, pacing in a copse of trees, his heavy boots crunching the grass. He's lightly armored, in only his greaves and boots. Byfrost is on his back, though, as it must always be.]

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

[ make no mistake — olivia is neither a masochist nor an idiot.

foolish, yes. reckless, probably. idealistic and naive? almost certainly.

but she knows full well the scope of what she has gotten herself into. she has seen, firsthand, what this man is capable of, and though she has spent too many nights kept awake by her terror, it is that very fear that bolsters her motives. he may not be the villain she originally thought he was, but that doesn't make him any less dangerous.

the fact he even contacted her again reveals that even he is aware of that. that, perhaps, he is the one most aware.

she nearly trips twice in her haste to meet him; once over her own two feet and another on a root that she somehow didn't notice, despite the fact it was nearly her size in girth. she hadn't meant to rush, or to appear too eager, but it had seemed like such an ephemeral moment; like if she didn't show up now, this instant, the desire would be gone, and with it, her chance to finally do something of import here.

(she may not be a masochist, or an idiot...

but she is, without a doubt, incredibly selfish.) ]

M-Mr. Koltira...?

[ she's out of breath and her face is flushed, and the brown and green coat she's wearing hangs a little awkwardly over her shoulders, as if she isn't used to the extra weight, but she's there. at least she's there. ]

[Her shoulders are so narrow. That's the first thing Koltira thinks of when she comes into view. As she comes closer, he thinks also of her gasping breath, of her red cheeks, suggestive of the hot blood rising in her veins. His eyes flutter briefly shut.]

Just Koltira.

[He folds his arms across his chest.]

Tell me what you mean to do.

[ quietly, she reaches up to tug the hood of her coat down, exposing the distinct waves of her soft-pink hair. her next movement is a bit more aggressive, as least in the way that it reveals the heavy iron sword she'd been carrying beneath that coat this entire time. the very same sword she'd turned on him all those weeks ago.

but this sword she settles down on the ground, and soon she is following suit. the snow is cold against her legs, but she doesn't seem to pay it much mind, at least not yet. her whole attention is on the elf before her, and as the snow crunches under her light weight as she shifts to get a bit more comfortable, she reaches over to gently pat the space before her, inviting him to take a seat as well. ]

First, I'd like to talk. If you're okay with it, I'd like to know more about you.

[He glances appreciatively at the weapon. A wise choice, bringing that.

When she sits down and motions for him to follow suit, he hesitates. The situation feels deceptively serene, casual. Like they were simply meeting for a nice chat. But he agreed to this just as much as she did. So he does as she asks, and joins her, sitting with one long leg folded over the other.]

I assume you mean you want to know what I am. A revenant, firstly.

[ her brows crinkle slightly at his response — sympathy? pity? — but her words remain relatively gentle even as she corrects him. ]

Not really... I want to know about Koltira himself, but if it helps you to start off with that, we can.

[ she tips her head slightly. ]

I've never heard of a revenant before... Are they common in your world?

It is no special class. Simply a term for one brought unnaturally back to life. More plainly put, I am cursed with undeath.

[He scowls, but not at her. Mostly at the grass.]

It's not an uncommon fate.

[ another furrow of her brow, but this time it's clearly over her attempt to understand his words. "cursed with undeath," he says. it sounds much like the risen of her world, bodies drawn up by dark magic that lack any real soul to properly function and thrive...

but he isn't like that. hadn't she decided that before? surely, he must have a soul. why else would he be doing this? ]

Is there no way to... break this curse?

[ that's how those things worked, right? she was no mage, but every time any of the ones of the shepherds spoke of a curse or hex, they would say it was a simple matter of breaking them... ]

It's part of my foundation. It will break upon my true death.

[He shakes his head.]

There is no other way.

[ she shudders at that thought — true death. what does that even mean. it sounds like all he's doing is waiting for it.

what a horrible way to live.

—if one can even call it that. ]

And your... powers? How do they work?

[He's not quite sure how to answer that. As a result, he doesn't say anything for a few moments, thinking how to phrase himself most precisely. Eloquence was easier for him, once.

After a few moments, he lifts his hand. Energies swirl around it--ice blue, sickly green, blood red. They mix and fuse and turn purplish black.]

Dark magic. Some necromancy, but it is more than that. The Scourge--

[He pauses, clarifies.]

-- that is to say, the undead -- once belonged to another army. One comprised of demons. Their magic binds me as well. It is different, but no less foul.

[ she is mystified by the magic he conjures up — she always has been a little fascinated by it, after all, even the sort they have back home... and though she knows the magic he wields is dark and dangerous... a part of her can't help but still find it beautiful.

or perhaps that's why.

she finally tears her attention away from it when he explains, though each word only deepens the furrow in her brow. ]

And... it consumes you? That's why you have trouble controlling it?

[He opens his hand, and the magic extinguishes.]

More that I have trouble controlling myself. My kind--that is, death knights--were enslaved to a creature of god-like will. Even in his defeat, he curses us. We long to cause harm, to sow destruction.

[He's staring at Olivia as he speaks. If he had visible pupils, they'd be unfocused; glazed. As it stands, the only warning sign is a slight dimming of the frozen light in his eyes.]

If we do not indulge ourselves, we suffer. Our pain multiplies and multiplies.

[He grits his teeth, hard enough to cut his own lip.]

[ it's worse than she imagined, and far, far more than she knows she is capable of helping. of course she had had an inkling, since the moment she even offered, that she would have been way in over her head, but she'd held out hope that maybe, somehow, something she could do might finally be of use around here...

but what can she do for him? he, who is cursed with a fate far worse than she's ever heard of? she is no mage, and any mage she is aware of cannot heal or undo a curse inflicted even through death. in death. only to be shaken by death.

she bites on her own lip too, gaze shifting down to the ground between them. her mind races, desperate for something, anything. she doesn't want to walk away from this. she doesn't want to extinguish the faint light of hope she'd insisted upon in her gesture.

but what could she do...?

unless— ]

If. If you did that — indulged — [ such a strange way to put it, such an unnerving way, as if it were something to enjoy ]

If you did it more often, would that lesson the chances of your losing control?

[He's loathe to admit it directly, but he does enjoy it. Not willingly, not consciously. It's a primal pleasure, part of the curse built into the aberration of his body. He feels its fierce pull now, even during this seemingly innocuous conversation. His fingers long for her neck.

Slowly, carefully.]

Yes. It was not typically an issue in Azeroth. There were always battles to fight.

[ it's an odd feeling she gets, when he gives her the answer she'd been hoping for. yes, he says, which should have terrified her, just as much as the plan that had been beginning to form in her mind. yes, he says, confirming all that she needed to know to make her next offer, and while every cell in her body screams at her not to...

she feels only this strange, dizzying buzz in the back of her mind. like right before a big performance, when nerves become adrenaline, and every inch of her skin tingles with a strange hybrid of trepidation and thrill, like in the next moment it can either be amazing or terrible and isn't the gamble the fun of it— ]

So indulge on me.

[He balks.]

No, Olivia. I don't want to hurt you.

[True, but also not true.]

[ she smiles rather helplessly, mostly out of reflex, because she's still not entirely sure how to feel in this moment other than keep going, don't stop, don't look back, just go. ]

I don't want you to hurt me either, [ she confesses, in a voice so tiny it almost breaks. she swallows it back and attempts a firmer tone. ] But I don't want you to hurt others more. I know it won't be much, and that you'll still be hurting, but — but it won't be as much, right?

[ she shrugs a little, those narrow shoulders of hers shuddering under this new weight. ]

I promised I'd help you... This is all I can do for now.

[He shakes his head, and moves to stand. He ought not to have come here. Her heart is fluttering now, he can feel it, can feel the rapid quickening of her pulse. It's making his head ache.]

I must go.

[ let him go, a voice screams in the back of her head, but what she does instead is shoot forward, reaching for his wrist to grip it tightly with a small hand. ]

Wait—! [ she says in a rushed, hasty whisper, feeling her panic spike but — she isn't quite certain why. ] I'm sorry, that was — I didn't mean to make it worse, I'm sorry—

[Every muscle in his body tightens. He stares, first at her hand on him, and then directly at her. His eyes are wide, burning cold blue. Her pulse runs through him like electricity.]

Let go of me, Olivia.

[ she should let go. every part of her brain is screaming at her to do as much, but her hand only tightens around his wrist — his skin is cold, there isn't anything there under her palm, no warmth, no pulse, no life — and her eyes well up with frustrated tears.

frustrated at herself, mostly.

why can't you do more? ]

Please let me help...

[It's too much. He'd been in pain when he came here, more than usual. Time had passed since the jailbreak, too much time. In Azeroth, he fought the remnants of the Scourge daily. Not only the mindless undead, but also the living cultists who had sworn themselves to the Lich King's service. Koltira had his pound of his flesh.

But here there were no such enemies. Here, there was only his own body.

And now, in this moment, Olivia's. Warm. Thrumming with uncertainty and fear and determination. A momentary blindness overtakes him. He whirls on her, and grabs her throat with his free hand, choking her in a vice grip.

He growls, his voice as deep as a ravine, as rough as broken glass.]

You cannot.

[ all too belatedly, olivia feels true fear course through her for the first time that evening. (and somewhere deep in the back of her mind, a small voice grimly sounds a quiet i told you so.) it spikes in her veins like the blood he's so intuned to now, and a sharp gasp rises and gets caught in her throat, buried beneath the pressure of his grip.

her hands fly up on instinct, blunt nails clawing at his hands, drawing skin and blood in her blind and instinctive attempt to break free. her eyes go wide, a sharp lilac color that shines with the tears that had begun to build just moments earlier. they leak out now, falling without warning down her cheeks, pooling in the crevices of his fingers.

—is he right? can she really not...? ]

[He can feel her fear, he can taste it, like something tangible, palpable and sweet. He shudders as she resists him, because this too feeds into his curse. The desperation, the helplessness.

His blood runs black as her nails slice into his hands, hissing as it drips onto the grass. His grip tightens, and his eyes spark. Her tears are hot on his skin, and he wants them on his tongue. But, more than that, he wants her voice.]

Beg.

[ maybe she was wrong, she starts to think wildly. maybe there is no helping him, because there is no saving him. in this moment, when all she can see and hear is the sadism in his smile and in his voice, she can't help but marvel at how laughably mistaken she must have been.

beg, he says, and the thought of it makes her sick. still, the words tumble from her lips as easily as the quiver comes to them. ]

P-Please... [ her voice nothing more than a soft, cracking gasp. ]

[The second she stammers--chokes--out the word, something changes in Koltira. The lichfire in his eyes sparks, and he lets her go abruptly, staggering away from her as though he's been struck. He stares at his his hands, and then back at her, and his whole body quakes. Ache throbs between his temples, in his muscles, in the slow river of his veins.

This was a mistake. A grave, foolish mistake.]

Olivia, I -- I did not --

[He steps away from her, swallowing hard. This must not happen again. This will not happen again.]

[ the second he releases her, her body crumbles to the ground in a heap, soundless save for the desperate gasps of air she sucks in. one hand comes up to her throat, feeling the ghost of his grip linger and make her skin burn hot. it takes her a few moments to gather her wits about her again, to move past the fear of suffocation and remember where she is.

when she hears him, when she sees him past the blur of unshed tears —

she regrets ever doubting the kindness in him.

a true monster wouldn't look so stricken with himself, after all. ]

It's — It's fine, [ she gasps out, attempting to climb back up on her feet. hold out a hand towards him. ] It's fine, I'm sorry, I wasn't prepared—

You couldn't have been. You should not have been.

[No one should be prepared for an attack like that. For sudden, terrible violence. Not from an ostensible comrade, at least. But that was the issue, wasn't it? He wasn't her comrade; he wasn't colleague or companion or anything, at all, to these people. He was a hindrance at best and an outright danger at worst. It was naive to imagine otherwise.

He looks at her hand, and then he looks at her throat. The skin is already turning purple.]

I am sorry. This--this won't happen again.

[He backs away from her, shaking his head.]

—don't, [ she pleads once more, but this time there is no fear in her tone, nor revulsion in her eyes. they are wide now, filled with tears once more but they are of a different sort — a desperate sort. ]

Don't blame yourself, [ she keeps trying, struggling now back unto her feet, trying to move towards him. the last thing she wanted out of this was to make him feel even worse. ] It's not your fault—

[He hates to see her cry. Hates to see anyone shed tears on his account, whether out of sympathy or pity or--worst of all--because of what he's personally done to him. He has the horrible suspicion that Olivia's tears encompass all three.]

There is no one else to blame.

[He cannot stay here, not one moment longer. He can't keep watching her cry.]

Go home, Olivia. Forget about me.

[He turns, and he goes.]

[ she coughs a little, letting her hand settle over the tender skin around her throat. ]

Don't do that, [ she says once more, but firmer this time. ]

Don't give up just because I messed up.

[ and it was her fault, and she knew it. she pushed him when he made clear his boundaries.

she was too eager to prove something. ]

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

it's not just for work and it isn't for play

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject