Furious Lament
The Fianna begins this next tale thus:
There was a man who'd been replaced by Hunger. The Hunger'd been put right into him. Forced down his throat and now it wore his skin like a winter coat in July. He wore a leather coat, too, bulky, for-to-hide things, and maybe he remembered who he was, thought he was still a person. But he wasn't. He was Hunger. I saw him, his tattoos, his face, and recognized it from this story we'd been following down, story of a Covenant with the End of the World. He was in the middle of a July-celebration but he didn't belong to it. He was turning himself into somebody's shadow. We watched him eat everything he could. We watched him lick the grease from his fingers, swallow up a wrapper whole, then look like he was going to eat his own fingers next, like it was just too much, but Hunger like that. Hunger that foul, Hunger that Wretched, Hunger that gets put into a person like that, that kind of Hunger, it's there for a purpose.
Celduin followed him through the crowd. The crowd was a fireworks crowd. Watched this dark Hunger come out've the stories surrounding this House of God looking like he was about to consume his own godamned flesh if he didn't find something better and watched him find that something better.
We were his shadow as he became Reverence of Dawn's shadow.
Laughing Battle
He stands off to the side while Tamsin speaks and only the fact that he's stood there at all warns of his impending giant-step out to join her. No spotlight to draw the audience's attention to him but Hector isn't shy and they hear his voice before he's even started orbiting Tamsin.
"Celduin followed him. More like Hector and Jack followed him and Tamsin thought she saw David Wenham getting a hot dog and just stood there gaping for half-a-minute."
A preemptive dodge of any incoming retaliation and he walks it off. Meant to do that. Joke. Has to mark the narrative transition with a fucking joke.
Furious Lament
The retaliation seems as practiced as the switch-off, swapping one tale-telling style for the other. This exaggerated eye-roll, this shake-of-her-head and a swift kick to the general vicinity of 'flat ass.' But then she stares dreamily off into the crowd.
That lasts all of a second. Then she subsides into something more solemn and intent.
Laughing Battle
"This dude was eating out of the trashcans the entire way down the street, too. Not the way Bone Gnawers do. He wasn't looking for the choice bits people throw away when they're not paying attention. Empty fry container--ate it. Dirty sock--mm, delicious. Old Band-Aids stuck to cigarette butts and spilled milkshake all dried onto newspaper so it looked like garbage casserole...
"Not even exaggerating. I bet if there weren't a bunch of people straggling out of the arena after the explosion show he would have just turned the trashcan upside down and emptied it into his mouth but he had an audience and besides, he was following Reverence of Dawn.
"Ended up going for a stroll along this old trail south of Civic Center park, brush and exposed drainage pipes and stuff that didn't make into a trashcan for scenery. Real romantic. Not real good for sneaking around. Our anti-heroes made a classic horror-movie mistake and split up, so Reverence of Dawn and her gentleman friend heard the Boomer come crashing down the access path them. Whistling."
And he holds out his arms at half-length, demonstrating the size of an oversized creature.
"Like the Wretched son-of-a-bitch didn't have his size working against him he was whistling."
Lets his arms down.
"That was when Law-in-War called on the Curse of Aeolus and the fog came rolling in."
He doesn't say it because he's Taking This Seriously but it's in his tone anyway: fucking bad-ass.
Furious Lament
Then it's her turn again because the fog came rolling in. The female Galliard raises her voice and says:
The fog came rolling in. First time he called it and it came to him like the sea were just two steps to the left. Fog came rolling in, and it clung to Hunger. Behind him, there was another would-be murderer with the name House of God carved on his heart and festering. Thin and sharp with his skin trying to run up off've him and something glistening beneath. Reverence of Dawn and the Fianna kinsman she walked with saw Echoes of the Lost and myself as we came creeping down behind this Other. This Other who stopped and hissed like that'd scare us away, but he didn't know us then, what were we.
Kin do this nice, Hunger says. Kin do this ni-ice. Not-nice.
- and Tamsin's voice gets ugly, worked over and folded up like an over-welded thing, quivering with Hunger, with Want. That's how her voice gets, curdling with Wrong.
Then it's her own again. Clear.
He wants not-nice. He doesn't know what that is but he wants it.
Laughing Battle
In the space where Tamsin speaks her alpha fades back into the nonexistent wings and gives her space to weave. Then she hisses with the bell-clarity of a bird repeating something it heard once and Hector pulls the band keeping his black hair back and combs his fingers through it once before he steps back out of the darkness. Doesn't speak in a falsetto like to truly imitate the Silver Fang. Ignore the long hair: this isn't a comedy. He mimics her poise and assurance and he mimics it close enough not to turn into a purebred blond lawgiver but to give her words their proper shape.
"That's enough." She didn't shout or even raise her voice then. He doesn't shout or raise his voice. "When I am finished, I will take your head as a prize and keep your skull as a gift to present to one of the mystics of my tribe, should one prove deserving of the honor. Your skin, however: of that I will take the largest identifiable piece that is left, and I will have it delivered to whoever your master is."
The half-moon smiled in the past, in the story. As they practiced Hector laughed more than once because he couldn't believe what his memory brings back to him but he doesn't laugh in front of two Septs' worth of warriors.
"'Nice' is an archaic word for 'precise, tidy, neat.' I think my way sounds quite nice indeed."
Furious Lament
There is a pause because this is a moment for a pause. And then Cinder Song, Furious Lament says:
"And that fog, it just comes rolling in, rolling up, blanketing everything, and Hunger doesn't see 'til Law in War's teeth are at his throat. 'Til Reverence of Dawn's teeth are burying in his gut. Is he still Hunger, then? What does the creature think about nice now? -
a smile, slim and sharp and knowing
- Echoes of the Lost and I. We're battle-ready, battle-weary: Echoes of the Lost is quicker this time, but we slay the one whose skin wants to run away from what it is he's become and becoming, and then the bullets come down from above.
This isn't a story about coincidence."
Tamsin is more still than otherwise. But she paces now to lend her shadow to the frenetic energy of the Uktena's next part, in order to better be his inversion, physical baseline, punctuation and physical elevation of the threat.
Laughing Battle
And that fog--
He steps back again. Needs to pull his hair back, does it in the shadows. This isn't a comedy. This isn't a story about coincidence. He steps back out of the darkness and his voice has that cocky boyish quality now, not that grown-heiress stoniness he'd affected before.
"Two of them, up on the bridge. We didn't see them. She didn't see them. We didn't even see her, the red in her, until she was racing up to the bridge, bam!--"
And he leaves out how he killed another combat to whom no one had been paying attention, took him two bites but he took him down while the Silver Fang was flying towards the shooters. Is getting all frenetic with the storytelling, gesturing between Here and There and throws his hands around to indicate small bullets hitting their target and huge eruptions of blood from throats, but his tone remains steady even when the pace increases.
"--fast as her gentleman friend could fire off two shots, faster than we could turn around to see what she was even running after, we felt the bullets but it's July, it's humid, they were terrible shots, thought they might have been mosquitos or something, you know, Wyrm mosquitos that aren't afraid of anything, barely even nicked anybody but they were dead and gone and the next thing either of us knew, Law-in-War, he said--"
Furious Lament
The Fianna Galliard speaks, Rage licking along her word like fire'd lick a bone before cracking it:
"The Veil."
Then -- and her voice is as taut as a whip, lashing -- conjures up a Dire-wolf's gravitas without needing the transformation:
"The Veil!"
Then -- and she exchanges a look, the first one in a long time, her pupils large and swollen, with Laughing Battle -- and she is no longer a two-legged slim wolf-girl creature. No, she is Crinos, monster who bears Delirium on its shoulders. This is in the High Tongue.
And thus did he drag those bodies back down below, and thus did Reverence of Dawn - whose teeth were so sharp, whose bite was so certain and true - return, down where Hunger and his friends lay torn, while the sky was bright with fireworks. This isn't a story about coincidences, huh?
They died up there. They died thinking they'd be impervious to What-Comes-After. They died thinking their Apocalypse-Was-Here.
They died because of Celduin. They died because of Reverence of Dawn. They died because they'd been sent by their Masters, worried, that Reverence of Dawn saw them too clearly. They died because it was right that they should because they were corrupt in Gaia's eyes.
And they died with a warrant in their pockets, calling for our kin's death, calling for Avery Chase's death. They died, but somebody out there has dared -- and is daring -- to devour our own, to stalk our kin and to believe in our weakness.
They aren't done dying yet.
Celduin was there. Furious Lament. Laughing Battle. Law in War. The Silver Fangs were there. Reverence of Dawn. Our kin were there. Calden White. Gerhart of the Bonegnawers. Don't forget.
The Fianna begins this next tale thus:
There was a man who'd been replaced by Hunger. The Hunger'd been put right into him. Forced down his throat and now it wore his skin like a winter coat in July. He wore a leather coat, too, bulky, for-to-hide things, and maybe he remembered who he was, thought he was still a person. But he wasn't. He was Hunger. I saw him, his tattoos, his face, and recognized it from this story we'd been following down, story of a Covenant with the End of the World. He was in the middle of a July-celebration but he didn't belong to it. He was turning himself into somebody's shadow. We watched him eat everything he could. We watched him lick the grease from his fingers, swallow up a wrapper whole, then look like he was going to eat his own fingers next, like it was just too much, but Hunger like that. Hunger that foul, Hunger that Wretched, Hunger that gets put into a person like that, that kind of Hunger, it's there for a purpose.
Celduin followed him through the crowd. The crowd was a fireworks crowd. Watched this dark Hunger come out've the stories surrounding this House of God looking like he was about to consume his own godamned flesh if he didn't find something better and watched him find that something better.
We were his shadow as he became Reverence of Dawn's shadow.
Laughing Battle
He stands off to the side while Tamsin speaks and only the fact that he's stood there at all warns of his impending giant-step out to join her. No spotlight to draw the audience's attention to him but Hector isn't shy and they hear his voice before he's even started orbiting Tamsin.
"Celduin followed him. More like Hector and Jack followed him and Tamsin thought she saw David Wenham getting a hot dog and just stood there gaping for half-a-minute."
A preemptive dodge of any incoming retaliation and he walks it off. Meant to do that. Joke. Has to mark the narrative transition with a fucking joke.
Furious Lament
The retaliation seems as practiced as the switch-off, swapping one tale-telling style for the other. This exaggerated eye-roll, this shake-of-her-head and a swift kick to the general vicinity of 'flat ass.' But then she stares dreamily off into the crowd.
That lasts all of a second. Then she subsides into something more solemn and intent.
Laughing Battle
"This dude was eating out of the trashcans the entire way down the street, too. Not the way Bone Gnawers do. He wasn't looking for the choice bits people throw away when they're not paying attention. Empty fry container--ate it. Dirty sock--mm, delicious. Old Band-Aids stuck to cigarette butts and spilled milkshake all dried onto newspaper so it looked like garbage casserole...
"Not even exaggerating. I bet if there weren't a bunch of people straggling out of the arena after the explosion show he would have just turned the trashcan upside down and emptied it into his mouth but he had an audience and besides, he was following Reverence of Dawn.
"Ended up going for a stroll along this old trail south of Civic Center park, brush and exposed drainage pipes and stuff that didn't make into a trashcan for scenery. Real romantic. Not real good for sneaking around. Our anti-heroes made a classic horror-movie mistake and split up, so Reverence of Dawn and her gentleman friend heard the Boomer come crashing down the access path them. Whistling."
And he holds out his arms at half-length, demonstrating the size of an oversized creature.
"Like the Wretched son-of-a-bitch didn't have his size working against him he was whistling."
Lets his arms down.
"That was when Law-in-War called on the Curse of Aeolus and the fog came rolling in."
He doesn't say it because he's Taking This Seriously but it's in his tone anyway: fucking bad-ass.
Furious Lament
Then it's her turn again because the fog came rolling in. The female Galliard raises her voice and says:
The fog came rolling in. First time he called it and it came to him like the sea were just two steps to the left. Fog came rolling in, and it clung to Hunger. Behind him, there was another would-be murderer with the name House of God carved on his heart and festering. Thin and sharp with his skin trying to run up off've him and something glistening beneath. Reverence of Dawn and the Fianna kinsman she walked with saw Echoes of the Lost and myself as we came creeping down behind this Other. This Other who stopped and hissed like that'd scare us away, but he didn't know us then, what were we.
Kin do this nice, Hunger says. Kin do this ni-ice. Not-nice.
- and Tamsin's voice gets ugly, worked over and folded up like an over-welded thing, quivering with Hunger, with Want. That's how her voice gets, curdling with Wrong.
Then it's her own again. Clear.
He wants not-nice. He doesn't know what that is but he wants it.
Laughing Battle
In the space where Tamsin speaks her alpha fades back into the nonexistent wings and gives her space to weave. Then she hisses with the bell-clarity of a bird repeating something it heard once and Hector pulls the band keeping his black hair back and combs his fingers through it once before he steps back out of the darkness. Doesn't speak in a falsetto like to truly imitate the Silver Fang. Ignore the long hair: this isn't a comedy. He mimics her poise and assurance and he mimics it close enough not to turn into a purebred blond lawgiver but to give her words their proper shape.
"That's enough." She didn't shout or even raise her voice then. He doesn't shout or raise his voice. "When I am finished, I will take your head as a prize and keep your skull as a gift to present to one of the mystics of my tribe, should one prove deserving of the honor. Your skin, however: of that I will take the largest identifiable piece that is left, and I will have it delivered to whoever your master is."
The half-moon smiled in the past, in the story. As they practiced Hector laughed more than once because he couldn't believe what his memory brings back to him but he doesn't laugh in front of two Septs' worth of warriors.
"'Nice' is an archaic word for 'precise, tidy, neat.' I think my way sounds quite nice indeed."
Furious Lament
There is a pause because this is a moment for a pause. And then Cinder Song, Furious Lament says:
"And that fog, it just comes rolling in, rolling up, blanketing everything, and Hunger doesn't see 'til Law in War's teeth are at his throat. 'Til Reverence of Dawn's teeth are burying in his gut. Is he still Hunger, then? What does the creature think about nice now? -
a smile, slim and sharp and knowing
- Echoes of the Lost and I. We're battle-ready, battle-weary: Echoes of the Lost is quicker this time, but we slay the one whose skin wants to run away from what it is he's become and becoming, and then the bullets come down from above.
This isn't a story about coincidence."
Tamsin is more still than otherwise. But she paces now to lend her shadow to the frenetic energy of the Uktena's next part, in order to better be his inversion, physical baseline, punctuation and physical elevation of the threat.
Laughing Battle
And that fog--
He steps back again. Needs to pull his hair back, does it in the shadows. This isn't a comedy. This isn't a story about coincidence. He steps back out of the darkness and his voice has that cocky boyish quality now, not that grown-heiress stoniness he'd affected before.
"Two of them, up on the bridge. We didn't see them. She didn't see them. We didn't even see her, the red in her, until she was racing up to the bridge, bam!--"
And he leaves out how he killed another combat to whom no one had been paying attention, took him two bites but he took him down while the Silver Fang was flying towards the shooters. Is getting all frenetic with the storytelling, gesturing between Here and There and throws his hands around to indicate small bullets hitting their target and huge eruptions of blood from throats, but his tone remains steady even when the pace increases.
"--fast as her gentleman friend could fire off two shots, faster than we could turn around to see what she was even running after, we felt the bullets but it's July, it's humid, they were terrible shots, thought they might have been mosquitos or something, you know, Wyrm mosquitos that aren't afraid of anything, barely even nicked anybody but they were dead and gone and the next thing either of us knew, Law-in-War, he said--"
Furious Lament
The Fianna Galliard speaks, Rage licking along her word like fire'd lick a bone before cracking it:
"The Veil."
Then -- and her voice is as taut as a whip, lashing -- conjures up a Dire-wolf's gravitas without needing the transformation:
"The Veil!"
Then -- and she exchanges a look, the first one in a long time, her pupils large and swollen, with Laughing Battle -- and she is no longer a two-legged slim wolf-girl creature. No, she is Crinos, monster who bears Delirium on its shoulders. This is in the High Tongue.
And thus did he drag those bodies back down below, and thus did Reverence of Dawn - whose teeth were so sharp, whose bite was so certain and true - return, down where Hunger and his friends lay torn, while the sky was bright with fireworks. This isn't a story about coincidences, huh?
They died up there. They died thinking they'd be impervious to What-Comes-After. They died thinking their Apocalypse-Was-Here.
They died because of Celduin. They died because of Reverence of Dawn. They died because they'd been sent by their Masters, worried, that Reverence of Dawn saw them too clearly. They died because it was right that they should because they were corrupt in Gaia's eyes.
And they died with a warrant in their pockets, calling for our kin's death, calling for Avery Chase's death. They died, but somebody out there has dared -- and is daring -- to devour our own, to stalk our kin and to believe in our weakness.
They aren't done dying yet.
Celduin was there. Furious Lament. Laughing Battle. Law in War. The Silver Fangs were there. Reverence of Dawn. Our kin were there. Calden White. Gerhart of the Bonegnawers. Don't forget.