Curiosity’s a Hateful Thing

It took so long for them to find him, so long for them to track him down and pin him in a single location after things had gotten fucked up again.

When the package arrived, the couriers expected a grieving man. Not one who looked wild-eyed and unslept, fourteen-days haggard and pointing a gun at their heads.

He took it, signed and shut the door, all without a word, once he realized what it was.

While she was in the shower, he stared at the box for a long, long time, and wondered if he should actually open it, considering that it was only supposed to come to him on the event of her death.

Were there things inside, better left unknown until she was somehow actually gone?

Curiosity’s a hateful thing.

Her showers were usually long enough — he went through the box, read the letters, looked at the money and stared at the video tape for awhile before he finally put everything away.

He watched the video tape in the bluegrey hours of morning where it still feels like the night before, while she slept the sleep of the eternally drugged and broken.

He’d bought a bottle of scotch, not in celebration, but anticipation of needing the oblivion, but by the time the video was over, there couldn’t have been enough booze in the world to wash away the nightmares of what had been hidden from him for so long.

So easily.

That night, he stood guard in the doorway, watching her, watching the windows, watching the world.

Sunrise was coming, and then would come a beginning to end them all.

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While She Is Missing

Snow — thick and heavy, lush and crisp, sometimes wet, sometimes light and flurrying. And then it’s a sudden rush, a blanket, one foot, two… three. The city crawls to a halt as priests, mages, and men from the army come to clear the streets. Warmed in the comfort of the palace, several of those missing the Holy One worry for her in these storms. The birds will go back the instant the skies are clear enough, to tell her they hope she is well, and that if she does not return soon, they would like permission to simply retrieve her, so that she is not in danger of remaining out there for the whole of the winter.

While she and her grey-eyed thief remain at the cabin, quiet and calm and tender, learning one another, the dragonmaids continue to sing to their flying, flirting, shrieking males. The noises come and go, at times far, far louder than the wind. The frosted windows are heavy with ice and snow — only the dimmest shapes can be seen, but it seems as though they run around the cabin itself, so near, playing.

The song is high and sweet, sharp and clear, smooth, perfect icicles of sound. Her thief listens, awed and chilled, and holds to her more tightly, sharing warmth, offering his own, gathering hers in.

Far and away, the Emperor lays on his bed, and the Otherlander comes in, yet again. This time, she allows him to take away the knife, and she settles down against him. It is not love — they do not make love. It is not quite simply fucking; it is slightly more tender than that, pleasurable enough, but overlaid in grief for them both.

When it’s over, she leaves without a word as she always has, but this time, she looks back once, over her shoulder, and meets his eyes.

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Ritual

He got home, and headed to his suites, where he found the girl curled up on his bed, watching him quietly.

“I had to,” she said.

He looked unsurprised, and watched her with sharp eyes as he moved to pull out a chair across the room.

“I had to. It… you don’t understand,” she sighed. “You don’t understand. My people, I–”

He could see her, trying desperately to figure it all out, how to make it so that she wasn’t in trouble. Desperation behind a childish gaze.

“I didn’t mean to go behind your back. It’s just that I’ve been so worried. She has you so upset, and you just–”

He sat down with a sigh, grumbling quietly, and she jumped on the chance, saying, “If you hadn’t — you were the one who made the magics. You called me here. You were the one who made the choice, and I could do nothing but submit to your will. I was doing it for you. I was doing everything for you, Excellency. You are the master of me. You own me. I’m doing everything I can to–”

“Listen to me,” he snapped, irritable. His wings mantled, and feathers ruffled. “You’re making it worse. I didn’t call you.”

“You did!” she cried. “I felt it. It was a burning. A need. A… a… hunger,” she said, putting her hands to her heart. “I could tell where you were. There was a pull, but then by the time we were on the boat, and it snapped, I still had to get to you. I had to. You felt it too. You know!”

“No. What I know is that I didn’t call you,” he said. “The magic called your sister.”

The woman’s eyes widened, and she shouted, “You knew, then! You took my sister! You took her from me! She was all I had! How could you?”

It was his turn to look shocked, and while he was reeling, she closed on him, putting her hands on his cheeks, her eyes smoldering. “I needed to fulfill her destiny. She died on the ship because of you, and I still wanted to do what she was meant to do. I wanted to do it from the way she talked of you. I wanted to take care of this. And then I saw you,” she whispered.

She climbed right into his lap, then, spreading her legs as she leaned into him. “I saw you, and I knew that no matter what, it would work. I had to have you,” she breathed.

He could see it — could feel it. The lies coming from her were thick.

“Can you even tell the truth?” he wondered, pushing her away. Disgust warred with pity.

She hit the floor with a thump, arms and wings and legs tangling, a squawk escaping her. “I don’t… but… you can’t do this,” she hissed. “You’ve ruined everything. I traveled all the way here to deal with this, to help my sister, to see you, because you cast a spell, and it ruined everything,” she said, getting up off the floor. She began to stalk around, throwing things, sometimes cursing in her own tongue, sometimes simply shouting. She hurled hatred. And then insults. And then vases.

When a vase nearly clipped one of his wings, he ducked out the door and shouted for guards, who came immediately. Four of them dealt with her, but her arms and legs were strong, and she flailed and scratched, howling and shrieking. Two more came, and she laughed as she continued to scream, to bite and scratch. With a nod from him, one of them simply covered her nose and mouth, suffocating her long enough to make her pass out. She panicked, but then went limp, and finally quiet.

She was gone, then — they took her out, leaving him to stare around at his mutilated suite. He called in servants, then, and went off to another private room, to bow his head in prayer.

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Stolen

Honestly, you got the wrong guy. I never woulda done somethin that screwed up to the broad. I mean, seriously, whatever guy did that’s got some kinda problem, y’know? I mean, come on, y’look at her face, and y’just know he wasn’t the kinda guy who was thinkin of his old lady yappin away like some effin purse dog,  picturin the look on her face while he’s carvin away.

He was right here in the right here an now, if y’know what I mean.  I mean this ain’t my deal.

I mean sure, I’m gonna flash a knife if I gotta, if someone’s starin at my face while I’m doin my thing, but I ain’t gonna take out her eyes and widen her smile any — that’s just effed up, seriously.

I’m a little offended y’think I’d be lumped in the same class as this psycho, y’know?

We’re not all alike, y’know. I mean, there ain’t no honor among thieves, if that’s what y’think I’m sayin, ’cause I ain’t. It’s just that some of us guys are in this ’cause we’re good at it, like me, y’know? And some of us are in this ’cause we gotta be, ’cause we’re scared or desperate or strung out on meth or some shit, ‘scuse my French.

But this guy, here? This guy ain’t good, and he ain’t desperate. You see that cut? It ain’t rushed. It ain’t torn. He, uh. He took his time, is what I’m sayin.  An’ that’s what sets this guy apart from the rest of us. He ain’t stealin a wallet. He ain’t goin for a purse. She’s still wearin her fur and everything.

You got the wrong guy, man. I’ll cop to the six purses, ten wallets, three messenger bags, fourteen watches, nine pounds of mascarpone, the harpoon and the Labradoodle, but I didn’t steal nobody’s eyes, okay?

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Last Time

The last time
I came undone for you
had to be the last time
for everything.
I would not be
your mistress,
and I could not be
your wife.
I had to be
your undoing.

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