PopeAlessandros

A Bloody Murder

*Is still waiting to see if you live*

Never Ending Battle ~ PopeAlessandros x AkiBlue

Akito's smile becomes a little strained at his betrothed comment and he murmurs honestly, “Both.” He doesn't go into depth about what exactly made his fellow soldier fear him, but it's clear from his tone that he means it. He blushes slightly at the idea of the prince being impressed with him, especially given how clear the man has made it that the young soldier's life is not something he approves of. That cools, soft hand slides into his own sword roughened grasp and he holds it as delicately as he can, not wanting to abrade the smooth skin beneath his fingers.

The prince gives his hand a little squeeze and the gesture threatens to spook the bashful soldier once more but instead of focusing on the rather supporting action he instead focuses on doing exactly what he came out of the tent to do. 'I'll just show him the places I used to hang around. I was always away from camp, and there's less military stuff outside of camp so maybe he won't be as critical of it as he is of my way of life. . . .' Letting out a long breath he begins walking, making sure to keep his eyes off his feet, trying desperately to display some of that courage that helped him live through the war.

As they approach the edge of camp however Aki comes to a halt and looks over his shoulder. He doesn't look to his partner at the question, instead doing his best to answer it without that immediate fear that always seems to come to him when he looks at his betrothed. His eyes scan the area, the various people going about their daily routines; Sharpening blades, finding food, training, treating their armor. The sights, sounds, and smells are all from his childhood. Even the earth beneath his feet makes him feel at home - the wooden floors of the palace a bit off-putting and somehow rather cold compared to the dirt of his “home” - but as he actually looks out at the actual faces of the people around him, the people he grew up with mixed with new recruits and people he's only known a short while, he doesn't really feel like they are family.

'This is my home, and these are my people, and I will defend each and every one of them with my life, but. . .Only Father feels like real family, and these others. . . .They are my comrades. . . .Not even friends, though many of them see me as a nephew or little brother, I've never felt myself returning such sentiments. . . .' His hand tightens ever so slightly for an instant around Hiro's as he looks over at the young man but loosens immediately as a faint flush comes to his cheeks at the gesture. 'Yeah, he will be technically family soon, but, he's even more of a stranger than these people. He will be bound to me, and I will have to get to know him, but I wonder if I will ever trust him as I trust them. . . .'

Tilting his head towards them he lets out a light cough and speaks softly, but with a strong note of calm in his voice. “This is my home, and these are those I would call my people, but I have lived a mostly solitary life, even surrounded by people I trust my life to every single day, I can only claim them as comrades.” he looks back towards them and adds a little more softly, “Don't get me wrong, I care for them all dearly, but. . . .I have only one person I consider family among them, and that man worked long and hard to earn that position. . .”

Turning he gives the prince's hand a little tug to urge him to continue walking and together they make their way past the edge of camp. The long grass making up the field around the site is soft, swaying beneath the gentle breeze and making a quiet rustling noise. Glancing back at his companion he does his best to stay calm as he leads the man forward, murmuring, “I thought you. . . .Might like to see where I spent a lot of my time whenever we were camped here. . .” In the distance there is a small stand of trees, some thick, some thin, but all thick with greenery that looks nearly impassable. However, as they draw close, Akito pulls back a couple branches to reveal a very lightly worn path leading into the foliage.

Holding the branches out of the way he gestures for Hironori to go first. Once the prince is through he follows close behind, placing a hand gently on his back and advising him to stay bent over for a while. It's clear when it's time to stand up and as they break through the thick branches into the open area in the middle of the stand Akito simply stands there for a long moment, letting the memories come back to him. The general himself had shown the young soldier where to find this place, the small pond in the middle the perfect place for him to learn to swim. The little frogs and fish were always fun to chase, and it was actually through this play that the general first realized that the youth may make a good assassin one day. He could never understand just how the shy, unobtrusive boy could turn into such a predator when hunting the small beasts.

'I was one of the best protein providers for the camp, and it all started with frogs and fish as a little boy. . .' He smiles, the still rising sun lighting the area with a dusky, morning glow and making the scene quite picturesque. He'd tried several times in his teenage years to paint this beauty, camping out all night so he could catch the area at just the right time of day, but as always his pictures never turned out quite right. The long grass lays across the ground in this area, far more green and plush than the stuff growing outside the stand, and as Akito makes his way forward his normally near silent footsteps go completely unheard. He slips past the prince and takes a seat beside the pond, letting the calm, familiar surroundings relax him as he waits to see what the prince thinks of his little hideaway. Hoko smells all the fresh grass and without hesitation slips out and begins hunting for small critters that tend to gather around the pond.

Make Me Purr, or Roar. . . ~ PopeAlessandros x Crawkid

Morning greets the man in a somewhat dreary way, the rain pelting down from above making his house dark even after sunrise. However as Jin rolls around under his sheets he can feel nothing but joy and contentment. He knows that unless the spirit wants to seek him out, Jin will never see him again, but after such a good reception, including it following him home, he feels no doubt that he will be seeing the little one again soon. Smiling into his pillow he peeks out at his house, watching various things shift and move as the little wisps escape his alcove in his joy.

'Now now, stop that. I can't have you causing a ruckus so early in the morning' His eyes dart to the only visible window and he grows a little wary. 'I hope the Seraas has a safe dry place to stay nearby. My tree has a lot of alcoves in it large enough for the beast form I saw, so hopefully it's stayed nearby and I'll be able to see it again today. . .' Once more little wisps find their way out but this time they are no more than the little ones that regularly escape him in his sleep so he has no worry for the organization of his room as he watches them dance about.

Finally with a long yawn he rolls over once more, but with this roll he slips out of bed and stands. Stretching he curls and shifts with no shame as he does so without covering himself. It's his own house, why should he bother? It is hilarious when he answers the door this way, but after a few long stretches a chill runs over his skin and he decides to at least put a shirt on to stave off the cold. Reaching down he tugs his shirt free of the pile of clothes he'd left on the floor the night before. To the slight fortune of the creature within this does not expose it's furry little body, but likely would wake the beast if it was not roused already.

Turning to the room he moves to pull on the shirt, one arm in his sleeve before he notices something off. 'My notes. . . .I thought I put them away. . .' He eyes the stack sitting half way out of it's hiding place and looking a bit jumbled with a critical eye, straining his vision in the semi darkness. Pulling his shirt a little further on as he moves towards the stack he slips it on his other arm before suddenly freezing, feeling an unfamiliar tingle against his back. 'This is not my magic' His wind begins curling around his body protectively as he turns to the pants and unders still resting on the ground next to his bed. Staring for a long moment it finally clicks and his wind flares for a moment – setting off almost all the chimes hanging about his house – before settling and dying completely.

He can sense it now, still there, still fresh and real. He longs to go over and uncover the creature within but instead he resist, remembering his manners. 'It will address me if it so deems me worthy. All I can do right now is go about my day. . . .' Biting his lip he does his best to keep his excitement down and begins preparing his morning meal, making twice as much as usual as he prays he has two to feed now. As he works he begins humming the offering song softly, hoping his morning voice is just as soothing as his normal voice is and that it won't drive the Seraas off. 'It's not required to have a nice voice, but it can't hurt' he muses, smiling to himself as he works.

Over the Hill ~ ClosetMonster x PopeAlessandros

There are hands on him. The blinding pain wracking his frame seems to flare at every contact point drawing long whimpering wails from him. He wants to fight beck, to push them away, to be freed from the pain they are causing him, but it's too much to ask of his body right now. His voice grows harsh as it tightens and his breath begins coming out in gasps. He'd been so close, so far in, and to tear him from it like that, even the magic of the land feels the wound. Somewhere in the back of his pain filled mind he knows he has to go back, he has to heal the wound before some foolish farmer tears into it with a hoe or some foolish couple redirects it with their passions. No knowledge lasts long however, nothing coherent passing his scrambled mind into conscious thought.

Even with the instruction of “gently” the young men who lift the kirin off the ground are a little less than delicate with the creature. If there's anything folks in a small town don't like it's something they can't understand, especially if it seems to have spooked the local oddity herself. Confusion and fear reins even as they follow the woman's instruction and every time he jerks like he's trying to escape the hold on all the tighter. The whimpers and cries go unheeded as they make their way back towards town, a good number of the townsfolk following behind, their curiosity overriding their fear.

At the edge of town something new enters the mage's mind and refuses to leave. This new thing, this light thing, wraps around him and slowly begins easing his pain. He seeks it out, tries to look at it , to draw it in, but as his mind begins to clear he slowly realizes that he recognizes the thing and leaves it alone to do it's work. 'It is the thing. That thing the spirit put inside me. It is working its way through me and. . .' he can't quite see it clearly just yet but as he flexes his arms he realizes consciously for the first time that he's being carried. His first instinct is to fight, to pull away. He doesn't like the feeling of someone's hands on him, it brings back bad memories. The only hands he does not push away are not here, can not be here, so these should not be tolerated.

However, even as he begins to twist, to try and remove himself, the hands tighten and he lets out a small yelp, his eyes flying open. The thing inside has done it's work for the kirin and decides to settle for now, leaving Chall wide awake and alert. Glancing up to the left and the right he feels his panic only growing. Large men have him, and his magic is still far to wounded to aid his escape without seriously injuring not only his captors, but the gathering of people at their backs. So many eyes, all watching him. The fear, the unease, and in some cases, the anger and despise. He begins to shakes slightly. This is not a good situation to be in. This. . .This is not safe.

Suddenly they are inside a house. His focus on those around him kept him from even noticing anything about their goal and with a light shock he realizes that they are inside a dark, warm room. His eyes dart about, spotting the creature in the rafters first before noticing the man laid out on the table. His eyes go impossibly wide at the sight of the strong, kind man who had cared for him through his suffering and provided him with much needed shelter and aid, laid out like a man on his deathbed. He can feel his anger flare, but then out of the corner of his eye he spots the meant who's deposited him on the ground looking ready to pound him into a pulp and fear overrides his anger.

His tail, which had been lashing back and forth, wraps around his waist in fear, completely stilling as he tries to become as small and unnoticeable as possible. Then, at last, another familiar “face” appears and the tip twitches a little, his ears quivering. The smells of the house begin making sense to the frightened young man as he recalls the scent left behind of the person Wren said treated his wound and after a few deep breaths he's sure this is the hedge witch he'd spoken of. 'She is the local magic user. Simple stuff, not the stuff like I was doing, and, she live here, in this town. Magic is not unheard of, right?' His mind begins grasping at these facts, trying to use them to calm himself even as one of the men looms intimidatingly.

He watches as she looks back and forth between himself and Wren, and it becomes clear she wants him to do something. Unfortunately, he's still too frightened and confused to comprehend just what she expects of him. 'He is ill, sickly, but what am I? I am not a healer, I do not know how to treat human sickness. I can bind wounds, I can. . .' Much to his relief she shoos the others out of the building, the lack of critical eyes doing wonders from his concentration. A hand slips under his arm and he finds himself automatically climbing to his feet as the elderly woman tries to draw him to his feet. He finds his feet moving forward and for the first time he recognizes that it's not an illness plaguing the human, it's something else entirely.

“How did this?” Like before he completely locks out anything not related to the task before him and with gentle motions he reaches out and begins examining the man's cold, frail looking body. He doesn't sense Marge moving around behind him, trying to see what he's doing, doesn't see the goblin overhead watching him intently. All that matters is this man, this kind, good man, who now lay ravaged by. . . .Something. He feels a faint tug, not on his flesh, but on his magic, and without hesitation he lets it race forward. He trust his magic sense almost more then he trusts his physical senses, and when it lances out into a unseen wound in the man's chest, making his body shudder, he realizes quickly that he is indeed the right person for the job.

'This feels like what the spirit put inside me, but, it almost feels like it entered through a hollow that was already there, tearing it further. . .The spirit had no malice, it would not have caused this on purpose. It likes the humans of this town, I can not. . .He is so cold' A trickle of his own life enters his magic, his will to see the man get better guiding his actions and movements. Behind him the hedge witch watches his magic flow freely into her friend and wonders how he can so easily slip inside another's body and manipulate it. She knows there are greater magics out there, but with what was happening to her friend the idea that it would accept such an invasion in such a weakened state is nearly unthinkable.

His eyes slide close, he can feel his magic draining even though it is slowly being bolstered by the gift the spirit gave him. He can feel Wren's heartbeat, growing steadily stronger beneath his care, he can spell the fresh scents of the man replacing the almost decayed scent that had been hanging about his skin. His magic binds and twists it's way around the man's own, something so soft and subtle that Chall hadn't even noticed it before. It's quiet, soft, gentle, and unassuming. With each pass more and more life returns to Wren until at last Chall lets out a shuddering gasp and his eyes snap open. He's never done anything like it before and the new feeling is almost frightening. It would have terrified him if. . .If it hadn't felt so oddly familiar.

He feels a hand on his back which almost makes him jump until he realizes he's been swaying on his feet. Looking around his ears droop and his tail falls limp, the impact of what he'd done hitting him like a rampaging beast and forcing him to his knees. The woman carefully helps him to a chair where she sets him up with some invigorating tea before moving to her friend's side to check on him. He's still unconscious, but he looks more like he's sleeping now than anything else. However once more Chall's eyes dart to the ceiling and he watches those glittering eyes in the darkness staring back at his. 'That. . . .Is a rare sight. . .' His mind slowly begins tumbling over and over, his magic weak and trembling after it's endeavor.

He tries to imagine what the spirit is planning, recalling how he'd sent something off towards the town with a simple breath, and wonders wildly what this human could have to do with anything. He'd been inside the man, seen a bit of him it seems he's been trying to conceal for a very long time, but still, none of it makes sense to the kirin. He can't quite grasp the meanings, he can't quite understand what all is needed of him. He knows he must return to the lay lines, he must repair them, but he also knows trying to do so in such a state will only cause either further damage, or his own death. 'But, something must be done, soon. . . .' His looks slowly over at the woman's back, her head still bent to the task of dealing with Wren, and in a soft voice murmurs, “The land is wounded.”

Marge turns to look at the young kirin, raising an eyebrow at him. Swallowing he looks back at her, his weakened state causing his words to come more slowly than usual. “The lines, they were. . .They were torn. Someone's will other than my own entered into them and tore them. It is. . . Not safe to disturb them now. They need to be protected until I can fix them. No one. . .No one should be around them now. . .” Understanding flashes in her eyes and she turns, heading for the door. There are still a few people gathered outside and Chall can hear her talking to one. He hopes she's instructing whoever it is to alert everyone to the fact that they need to stay away from the spot. He goes over his own words, wondering who's will it was that tore the lines.

'I suppose it could have been the spirit. He told me that the task given to me was not the one given by man, so, he could have been trying to redirect me. Or, if Wren was already sick, it could have been the woman's. He will for me to help him, or to use the magic itself to aid him. . .' He doesn't know, and at the moment can't think of any reason that he needs to know right away. His ears perk up as he hears movement overhead and he looks up to see the goblin getting more comfortable. Without preamble he says softly, “It is rare to see your kind about in places such as this. I suppose you are supplied good meals here with this woman?” He speaks softly, Marge still far enough away as to not overhear him.

Hibble simply stares back at the kirin, having no obligation to converse with the man. He is curious, and a little impressed with what the mage had managed to accomplish, he thinking Wren lost, but he is not the goblin's charge, and he'd rather not be caught talking to him when his charge does return. She thinks of him in a certain way, and he's perfectly content with her to continue thinking that.

Chall is a little disappointed that the creature refuses to speak with him but is soon distracted by the woman returning to the room. He looks to her expectantly, his tail swishing curiously back and forth with renewed vigor from her tea. She give him a nod and he is able to relax slightly, sipping more of the drink. 'Good. . . .Good. . . .' Letting out a soft sigh he looks to Wren, watching as the color finally returns completely to his cheek, his heartbeat picking up as she signal that he's about to wake. Unsure of what to say to the man Chall tucks his feet up under his robe and tries to shrink a bit into the chair he'd been lead to. He unsure if the man will be upset, will demand an explanation, and Chall also fears the implications of it all. It was clear before that while he did not hate magic, he had no great love for it either, and to find out that not only had magic almost killed him, but that Chall now knows that he has it too, seems like the kind of thing that may upset even this kind, quiet man.

When Realms Collide {AkiBlue & PopeAlessandros}

Gently he closes the door to the Nightmare Guardian's room and with a slow turn he makes his way towards his wing of the palace. The medical wing. His little slice of this world granted him as not only his place of work but also his home. That little place where he spends his days saving lives and helping the next generation grow and learn to keep not only their own lives, but their patients as well. He knows that every time one of his workers vanishes from sight, off to go to the human realm to aid their side in a skirmish, or when it's time for the big battle, that he may never see them again, and that always saddens and terrifies the fox tailed minion. Every time he prays that they will come back to him.

But despite all this worry, all this care, all this fear he's had over the years for his people, for the ones under his care and tutelage, he feels no shame in thinking that, right now? He has never been so worried for a patient in his life, and this one isn't even his. This patient has caused more deaths to his comrades and those of his realm than any other of his kind, and Crios, the man charged with keeping all those people alive, is now in knots over the man who's spent much of his life known as the greatest butcher of their time. He doesn't know that the one from before is worse, the Guardian before him murdering with a smile and a song in her heart, but that doesn't matter now.

His tired body makes it's way slowly to his office, this small reprieve where his own Guardian is being a good boy and not running off and injuring himself again his only moment to simply sit, and breath, something he hasn't had time for in days. Passing through the patient area he gives the present medics a small nod and a hollow smile, wanting them to keep up their spirits despite his own fatigued appearance. A certain set of eyes follow him closer than the others, a sparkle behind them that goes unseen by the exhausted boss man and with a sigh, he slips into his small room, closing the door behind him. 'I just need a minute. Just a few minutes, to breath, and, and. . .'

His back comes to rest against the door, his tail wrapping around his waist almost like it's trying to hold him, and with a light groan he slides down the length of the wood at his back and comes to rest at it's base. He's taken his own shot, he's no longer overly frantic and tainted, but through his own over working of himself and the constant bombardment of stress and worry above and beyond over the past few weeks finally hits him and with a shuddering breath he begins to cry softly. The tears fall silently down his cheeks, neither hurt nor sad, simply the cathartic release of just a bit of all that has happened to him that has piled on to his soul since before the Nightmare Guardian arrived. His breathing is slow, and if not on orders from Harper he would be perfectly content to just pass out, right here, right now, but as it is, he can't, so instead he just breaths, hoping it will be enough to make it through the trials to come.

~*~*~*~*~

He's blind, he can't see anything, but he knows he's not sleeping as his entire body feels like it's on fire. There is no feeling in his sleep nothing, and no pain his he and Enasi's place. No, he's awake, but he can't see, only feel. Tight manacles, they cut into his wrists, keeping his arms tight behind his back, one atop the other. His feet are bound, likewise in metal, and on his face he can feel something hard and tight pressing over his eyes, adding to the pain of everything else that is happening. He lets out a faint hiss, it's that feeling again, something piercing his skin, burning his insides with whatever it is. The pain is blinding and even without the device covering his eyes he knows, he knows this pain would be enough to darken his eyes. Enough to take the world from him. . .

He longs for release, for anything, for some sort of change to signal that something new will happen. Blows fall every once in a while, and he's sure there's some sort of frustration coming from those around him. The flavor almost feels like disappointment, as if he's not responding the way they want him to, and in the furthest recesses of his mind he feels a very faint satisfaction that he's able to keep them from what they desire. He has no fear of death, nor does he long for it. He can endure, he does this for a living, causing pain and fear and sorrow, no one will every make this master of the craft crack, especially not with such foolish and simplistic attempts. He's fine. He will wait. His will escape, and they, will pay.

~*~*~*~*~

And hour passes and still no Crios. Rasha, while glad that Inui seems to be falling asleep at last, worries that he will not be able to keep his lord from leaving once it happens. He knows Enasi must stay, and he has to go, to help find those responsible, but he doesn't know what to do. Curling over and over Inui's chest, trying to keep him awake for just a little longer, he glances at his Guardian from behind his tail ever so often to make sure he doesn't catch on to what the little dream is doing. 'Being atop Inui is making me a little sick, his body leaking negative energy like a sieve, but. . . .But I need Crios back. I need him to keep Enasi here so I can go. I have to hunt, I have to look! Master cotton tail is relying on me, expecting me to actually do something productive, and, and it's for my idol! I. . .I can't let him down!' He keeps his panic under control, despite the fact that it keeps growing, and continues to gently keep the nightmare minion awake while keeping an eye on his Guardian.

[Suspect] To His Liking. [Pope]

*Plops down* *Smiles up* Hiya! How have you been other than an ash pile?

Immortal Blues (PopeAlessandros and FiroIV)

That's good to hear. I am glad *Smiles*

Who Will Break? ~ PopeAlessandros x Raafling

Zach rolls his eyes at the priest's suggestion for him to sleep on the floor and Kiel smiles softly at the gesture. 'Well, turn it back around on my why don't you?' He is glad to see that he's not upset at all at the prospect of sharing a sleeping space and he wonders vaguely if it isn't time to start talking to Zach about his pains so that they can work through them. 'Not now of course, not right before we're about to go to bed, possibly making said more uncomfortable by bringing up painful, frightening memories. . .' With a nod he chuckles softly at the bump, patting him on the back as he heads for the room first.

'That's right, you've had it hard. Doesn't mean I want you to ever have to do anything like that ever again. Especially directly under my care' He follows after, pausing at the doorway as Zach slips inside to change. “Of course Zach.” he says softly, fingering the sleeve of his robe while he waits. After a moment he realizes the door did not close all the way and curiously he peeks inside, keeping his eyes high so he can look over the boy's wounds without Zach glaring at him for “babying” him. He did initially accept the help with his injuries, but as time went on Zach seemed more and more upset over Kiel's gentle treatment of him.

Stands to reason, he's not only nearly an adult, but he's also very mature for his age. . .' His eyes travel over the nearly unmarred skin and he nods happily to himself, glad that there is little to no sign that the wounds were ever there. Letting out a sigh he looks away before Zach drops trow and waits until the sound of shifting cloth fades before peeking again. Seeing Zach fully dressed he knocks lightly before slipping into the room and giving the youth and approving once over, giggling lightly at the rolled up pant legs. “Looks comfy.” Is the only comment he makes before shooing Zach out the door so he can also change.

Humming softly to himself he slowly undresses, pulling off his robe and hanging it back in his closet. Stretching slightly he continues humming, going about his nightly routine quickly as he knows after such an active day, Zach is likely quite tired. Pulling out his pajamas he finishes stripping down before sliding into them, tossing pants and underwear into the hamper in the corner. 'Today had it's ups, and it's downs, but I think I'm making progress with him, and Sarah normally goes back after a night or two. It's good to see them getting along. He was very much like a big brother. . .' Letting out a soft sigh he kneels at the edge of his bed to offer his nightly prayer before standing and pulling on his top, doing half the buttons before calling out, “Zach, you can come in now.”

He had not noticed the door being slightly open and even as the young man enters it doesn't even cross his mind that he may have been being watched. Instead he simply smiles at the slightly comical sight of Zach in his too big clothing, the little slice of midsection sowing with every little movement more cute than alluring to the still pure minded priest. Sitting on the edge of the bed he pulls the tie from his hair, shaking out his crimson locks and taking his brush to them as he addresses the youth. “Would you prefer the outside or the wall side? I am comfortable with either.” Looking up at the youth he smiles softly, his bright green eyes almost seem to sparkle in the dimly lit room, the single bedside lamp the only illumination.

[Suspect] To His Liking. [Pope]

*Takes hand* *Gives little tug*

Immortal Blues (PopeAlessandros and FiroIV)

*Waves* Hi hi! How have you been?