ORIGIN

nice night, it was looking to be. sort of a love bite in the breeze. the lights were beginning to dim, which meant that the stars were beginning to shine, truly shine — but not quite the way they had when damask had first seen them, the way nothing does for you anymore.

the memory tasted like salty-sweet blood in her mouth; orion always brought it back, clear as the crystals that lined its geography. it had been her first day in another room from canis, her first full day on the wing, her first (maybe last) really good day with ashtoreth's aid, and would you believe you saw a flock of birds in that ceiling? would you believe your eyes were that bright? would you believe you wanted to join them? that last one, yes, she absolutely could. even now, looking up at that unbreakable sky, she found herself wanting, squirming in her skin, this skin that didn't fit. oh, all the things you'd give right now to be anybody else.

she blinked and let her gaze drop to her toes. the wind chimes beside her swung back and forth, murmuring a wooden something-of-a-tune without rhythm or melody. she'd never finished them with the finer touches she'd envisioned. likewise, the building itself sniffled with dust, only halfway decorated: plumes and dried flowers hung from arcing strings as her nest of moss and feathers sat alone in the corner. she hadn't slept in it for weeks. all this place was good for anymore was a watch-and-wait occasion like this. auré'd told her to put herself up — offered to help with planting a garden, teach her how to make little lights — yet ... somehow, somewhere, it had started to feel altogether useless. (you know, like you.) like a waste. (you know, like you.) time better spent on her father, her family, her trainees — and on a huge commission for a total stranger and her kid? the one that took you all of a cycle? right. that, too. so, it's time better spent on, once again: anyone but you. breathe in ... breathe out. speaking of a useless waste of time. wings in ... wings out. don't you have somewhere to be? yeah ... yeah. you've kept him waiting long enough, haven't you? the longer you hold off, the worse you're gonna feel, so come on, damn it. come on. get up and go.

a leap into the air, and the home she hadn't made was behind her.

"hey, damask?" eythan had asked, and wow! what a spectacularly efficient way to set off every last alarm there is in your little mess of a head! he barely even gave her time to drop what she'd brought for avi, a geode, a bird. they went after the gifts in an instant, which left her all but alone in her snare. "have us a chat," huh? "pop a question"? "looking for advice"? casual as he was trying to sound, eythan was a Z-list actor, and they both knew it. given the circumstances, the tension between them, building as long as avi'd been alive — anybody could've been forgiven for a nervous reaction, except for you. never you. damask, she opted for a play at guarded intrigue, a very in-character quirk of her head, a conservative "sure." her eyes went sharp with piquing curiosity at her father's name. "may i ask what kind of advice?" underneath: okay, just how worried do i need to be? should i study for this? and if it's about you, why would auré send you to me when — ...

and then he had to bring up the meet.

immediately — kid, this joke isn't funny anymore! get over it already! yet, the very mention of it had been enough to make her stiffen, expression gone blank with forcible composure, eyes and ears full of all the things that assembly had seen and heard and (more importantly to you) all the things it hadn't. "... i see." enough preamble. "top of the tower tomorrow? when the lights start to go dark." "sounds good, sounds good." to avi: "enjoy." to eythan: "i'll be seeing you soon." then: "excuse me."

jump ahead to the present, her chosen place and time. the tower rose up in the distance, its peak like a head slightly bent to stare damask down. she met the hollow eyes of its uppermost chambers just as resolutely as she approached; her wings angled up from the coast to the climb. closer came the staircase that ribboned around the tower's height, and she swerved over with a twist of her pinions as she passed, winding up alongside the steps. with a little more force, she could be there in less than a minute — but somewhere around forty feet, just out of earshot, her course leveled out in a sudden jerk. she circled flatly, wings almost unmoving, as close to frozen as she could be in midair. a crane of her neck, a strike at her stone, just to get a glimpse of him ... to no avail. she couldn't concentrate.

what's wrong now? hey, look. it's just a conversation. that's all it is, and it's gonna be fine. never mind what happened last time you had one of those here. never mind that it's with the guy who gave you life as a favor and ended it there, who didn't even want you to know, who turned around and had another kid who's got his whole heart. never mind that it's here and it's now, and anything could happen, and you're swallowing hard.

he said it's not important. remember? maybe. he'd appended a maybe. could not forget the maybe. fine. okay. important or not, it's got nothing to do with you, get it? it's about him, and the meet, and all he wants is advice. aren't you supposed to be good at that? he lost a daughter, damask, heard it from a pack of strangers, went off in front of everybody — and you're worried about what this means for you again?

oh, please.

with a decisive stroke of her wings and another, another, beating down the atmosphere, she reached and rounded the tower's summit.

approaching the top from behind, she threw herself back and flared her sails, tailfeathers catching. slender talons stretched for purchase, and in a moment's time, the accipiter had finished landing and settled in place, wings already folded neatly at her sides. she lifted her muzzle from the stone beneath her, and there was just-your-uncle-not-your-dad eythan, twisting 'round, damask's name out loud on his tongue. even from here, she could see the strain in his shoulders. where his were hunched, hers she held back, upright as always — but although their stances differed, she matched his stiffness measure for measure. the distance between them ran too far, even by her standards. she didn't move so much as a muscle to lessen it.

"eythan."     you rang?

"i'll jus' launch into it, 'kay?"

damask's heart did a little skip, chest rising up one inch and two as eythan began. getting right down to business, hm? if you could even call it that, scruffy dispositional jacket that he wore. she, for one, was buttoned up all the way — even that fractional inhalation pressed at the seams, stifled at once in a pristine three-piece suit of composure. she didn't have to move in it ... didn't have to be comfortable. just had to wear it. eythan only gave her time for a short, singular nod. now, there's a tactic you could spot with your eyes closed, kid; you know it too well, and how's it feel to be on the other side? not great. he was shutting her out, forging ahead without space for interruption. he didn't have to — either he didn't know her well enough, or he did and he was exploiting it — but either way ... you're in for it now. under other circumstances, she might've seated herself for what was clearly an oncoming monologue. under these circumstances, she stood and stood, unmoving, unblinking, rationing out the air in her lungs — even as the word meeting (ah, come on, you knew it was coming) plunged her insides into a deep freeze.

eythan wasn't wrong. that day had wound up in ruin, for everyone involved, (not just you!,) but especially him. she could still hear the raw fury in his voice, a phantom echo beneath his present-day words — and she could see the helpless defeat on her father's (auré's, of course, auré's) tired face, and all of a sudden, her blood was thawing, warming, boiling. oh, the big tourists and how they'd made her seethe, how good it felt to watch them squirm, isn't that right?, for all her silence and then her levelheadedness, how bad you wanted to burn like he did — but it hadn't been right, hadn't — hadn't been her. ... then again, what is?

his reaction, however, had been altogether justified and altogether him. seeing him changed like this, torn apart with remorse ... there was a dissonance to it, a clash. nothing's ever as simple as you'd like it to be, is it?

next thing she knew, he was kicking tangents back and forth. exhibit A: "the other one," meaning the other kid, because oh, yeah, he's got a total of three. exhibit B: "auré's around because i finally got the tar beat out of me 'n senses knocked in." all right, kid, so you came a little too close to reacting, there. exhibit C: "kinda makes me think of m'dad ..." aza'zel? "... he wasn't around."

kinda made her think of him, too — "quit with the lies ... be honest, just this once!" — eythan was snarling, screaming, slashing — and aza'zel, he was only sighing, and then he was falling, she was falling, they were falling as one, knowing they deserved it, at peace with the end — and when the glass inside their body shattered, it didn't even hurt.

oh. oh. blink; recalibrate; blink, once again. here it comes! "it makes me think 'bout how i didn't give y'a chance." he sought her out, and she kept herself hidden, impassive, inscrutable, silver eyes trained levelly on his. hold still, hold still, and she did, very well, but it was getting harder, tension building and tugging at her nerves. eythan was a tragic hero down on his knees, sighing, stalling, backtracking; couldn't get his grammar straight, or even go two sentences without swearing at himself. every flex of his claws and flit of his gaze was another little needle of secondhand emotion. he was struggling — trying hard to get this right, achingly aware that he wasn't succeeding — and damask saw it all. how was she supposed to feel anything but sympathetic?

every sign went the same way. he meant it.

"what more do i have t'offer you? this half-assed mess of an apology 'n askin' if you'll have me?" ... ouch. "wait, no. i shouldn't have said it like —"

away he went, and she took a step forward as he cut himself off. her breath came out in a pressured release, like lifting the plug up off a drain — and how long had she been holding it? at least fifty words, by measure of the pain in her chest. okay, can't let that silence hang for too long. you need time. buy some. "you had every right to do and say what you did at the meet." another step. the accipiter tilted her head, leaning in, creasing her brow. she hadn't ever said it, had she? "... i'm sorry for your loss — elyon and your father. he should have been there." and — no, don't say it. don't tell him how he died regretting nothing more.

finally, damask's eyes broke away, sliding to the right. the air between them was loaded: i'm not finished. please hold. please hold. she could've gone ahead and cut through it, the way she did so often — but in this case, she would've needed a machete to hack it apart, and that was not the way to go.

if she'd ... have him?

shit! come on, come on, THINK, you stupid little ... !!

"listen," she began. "you can call me, call yourself whatever you like. i can be anything you want me to be." see: uncle and — ... damn it. see: father and — ... damn it! see — ... this is why you used the vaguest phrasing available, isn't it. her shoulders weighed heavy, and it was all she could do to keep them propped up, staying strong, revealing nothing. did you catch that look on his face, like he's already lost? of course she had, and it was killing her. all those weeks you spent stewing in your own inflamed sense of rejection, and now he's the one at your mercy. what's it gonna be, damask? what's it gonna be?

"but —"

there was something she kept coming back to. "i didn't want to step in," he'd said, "'cause i was scared'a messin' it — you up." except ... you didn't need an awful lot of help with that, now, did you? got it done all by yourself, and hey, wait ... was he implying otherwise?

"auré was never less than enough, and if what you're asking is whether you can be what he is to me ..." three more steps took her to eythan's side as she spoke, steely resolve edging into the words. her speech and her feet halted in synch, and her jawline twisted halfway into her chest as she regarded him, peering up on the diagonal; no matter her bearing, he had a solid sixteen inches on her. she looked him in the eye — those bright, bright eyes, golden and crimson, so much harder than the molten pools of orange that were her father's — oh, so much more like hers ...

and she let down her head, and she shook it left and right.

"i was scared you'd choose eythan over me."his pain, his remorse; his love, love, love — hers, then and now again.
this was best for everyone. a killing, yes, but out of mercy — direct to the heart, straight and sure and as painless as possible. not a single drop of crimson on her feathers, see? oh, no, damask, you might want to check again. there's blood, all right, and you knew there was gonna be. it just isn't yours.

she watched eythan sidelong in the uppermost, innermost corner of her peripheral vision. pros of that angle: light on detail. cons: it wasn't soundproof and it amplified motion. tremors of effort coursed over his wings, and a tiny chuckle came out of him, a breathy little heh. she lifted her head. conviction and compassion went hand-in-hand on her face, nudged and balanced securely, artfully into place. go on, kid. take a peek, and his eyes, they were twinkling, all shrink-wrapped in saltwater ... you did that. it's your fault. yours. lights and shadows passed over her features in a flash of concern, silent sirens almost louder than she was when she began too quietly, "hey —"

"'s not a letdown." yeah, right. "auré's the best one for that kinda job."

don't even try to argue with that, now. she bit her tongue, acutely aware of his ears twisting back, of the way his tail flopped weakly back and forth. it took a conscious effort to keep hers still. feeling guilty yet? are you? are you?

a heavy sigh, and then came the kicker, served with a smile. "i can b'whatever you want me t'be, damask." all at once, the accipiter stiffened. a spark in her eyes, flinty, unmistakable: that isn't fair and you know it. as if the gift-wrapped answer she'd given him was something cheap to throw back in her face — is it not, though? cheap? and how old are we now? you gonna point and cry and call him a cheater? you started it, kid. all he's doing is standing his ground. both of them fell into softer sobriety. at least he had the courtesy to take it one step further and utter the list she'd already thought through ... although there was one option that hadn't crossed her mind — one that eythan clearly wasn't partial to. "even jus' a friend or 'nother member of the bonebound." says a lot that he could even think of you being that cold, but she conceded him a subtle, singular shake of her head, and oh, how very charitable of you!

is that really the best you can do, damask? one minute, you think he doesn't care, you feel rejected, inadequate, too low to even muster up any jealousy for the kid he's really got; the next, he proves you wrong, and you haven't got a clue how to feel. all you can be sure of is that you still aren't happy. as if you ever are. you incorrigible sad sack.

he doesn't know what he wants, he says. he's sorry, he says. well, that makes two of you.

and against everything, she ignored the apology — didn't fight it, didn't repeat it, definitely did not accept it. instead, she lifted her lips into a hint of a smile, sort of a subtler take on eythan's suspect attempt. once more, with feeling: "hey." she wanted it to land like a punch in the arm. not too gentle, not too consoling; cool, because if there's one thing you're not here to do, it's make him feel like he's made out of glass. (... never mind the glistening film over his eyes, making them look as if they were ...) yeah, never mind that. her sentences went low and level, moving at a snappy clip. just the facts. "i have someone close to me, but you do, too. can't leave avi out of this equation. one for each of us, that's only fair, yeah?" damask held the smile, then let it go. another loaded intermission. please hold, it said. we'll be with you momentarily. she exhaled into the breeze and looked out at orion, sights falling down where eythan's had risen. all these ruins. all this decay.

"this is where he told me, you know."

... wouldn't you rather just stick to your math?

she remembered it as well as she remembered meeting ashtoreth, but that day with auré didn't taste like blood to her — it tasted like vomit, aching sour in the back of her mouth. you hid from him. snapped at him. stole his feelings because you were too afraid of yours. she turned around and walked away from the edge, leaving eythan at her back. all of that, and then ... ? no, damask wasn't going to think about the and then. didn't matter, not right here, not right now. one foot in front of the other, she picked her way around the height of the tower, the way she might've negotiated a mountain or a minefield. it wasn't exactly pacing, or at least it didn't look it; this was slower, more deliberate and purposeful, and she kept her words likewise in check.

"he said you didn't want to be more than an uncle to me because you didn't think you could." taloned feet followed the curve of the tower, and eythan's spotted shape drew back into view. as before, she kept him in her periphery, eyes just shy of him even as her muzzle twisted 'round to aim his way. "you told me you didn't give me a chance. that's the wrong angle. you didn't give one to yourself. the way you played it wasn't what you wanted, but you figured it was better like that, right? distance was your solution, your defense." (oh, that's rich, absolutely rich. listen to yourself.) her feet took her all the way around, and she faced him, arriving at a halt; but for the space of an instant, she was ... sort of staring through him. (you and those kids. you and your daddy. you and your dreams.) a fleeting little flicker of one tufted ear. at last, eythan's features sharpened into focus, and she regarded him evenly. (you hypocrite, you hypocrite, you'll say just about anything, won't you? so full of shit. by all means, proceed!) "i look at you now and that's not what i see. what i see is you pouring your heart out; you, coming closer; you, trying. that's what it's all about, eythan — you."

"it's not about you, damask."
"i can b'whatever you want me t'be, damask."
"it'd make you whatever you wanted to be, damask. no, no — please, i can't, i'm so sick and tired of     SWALLOW IT!

"so don't ask me what i want when that's altogether irrelevant."

and suddenly, she was a few steps closer, a few steps away, and she had him at gunpoint with twin metal weapons leveled up through her brows. click-click, went her claws, striking stone twice. her voice rasped low in her throat; picked up speed, syllable by syllable; couldn't drown out the gray noise in her ears.

"this is not — about — me, get it?" this spoken with consonants so sharp you could hear the teeth in them, and faster, faster, almost ferocious: "some kid with your magic and somebody else's everything else, you don't need that —" THE BRAKES, DAMASK. "... need me to make you a better father." beat. "or a better you."

easy, trigger. E-A-S-Y.

so that was too much. got a little carried away, hm? we in agreement? okay, yes, maybe just a little. man, "some kid with his magic and someone else's everything else"? really? what do you want, a pat on the shoulder? that your version of a cry for help? disgusting. you keep that shit to yourself. lucky for you, there's no way mr. emotional intelligence over here is gonna notice. now, is this the part where you overcompensate?

sure was, and the accipiter sculpted herself into a realist's take on self-control, drawn-up, black-and-white wings folded tightly into place at her back. this was an example, see, and the idea was that, with a little instruction, eythan would follow it. inhale, the two of them in synch for that moment only — but then, all at once, his lip was curling into a snarl, and he was on the defensive, lashing back like something feral and cornered. what damask had told him couldn't have been easy to hear; she knew that. she wasn't sure what she had expected, but ... (but what? you take him for the type to just go along when you try cramming a pill that bitter down his throat?) ... but it hadn't been this.

not the first time he's snapped at you like that — except, heh, it wasn't exactly you — and the thought of it, the memory — (why did it have to keep coming up tonight, of all nights?) — had her talons beginning to dig into the stone. but, wait. something made her loosen her grip just as quickly. remember. the way he'd adjusted himself after glancing at the edge, pushing damask out of every immediate chord between himself and its circumference ... he's just as scared of history repeating itself as you, maybe more. and of course he is! everything he's done ever since has been another attempt at an apology, and this is just his latest and greatest. look at him. all that bite, it's totally toothless. then: you should be ashamed of yourself.

so she stood there and took it.

"why d'y'think i even bothered t'ask you?," he said, and she parted her lips to respond, because more and more and more, she knew why, and ... ahh, so that's the reason you're not satisfied. it does make sense now, doesn't it? here's his answer: because he'd rather shove it off on somebody else than put in the work. because avoidance and helplessness run in this family. because — (here, a revelation) — he doesn't want you, he wants your absolution. in short: because it's easier. and she'd already committed to the truth in all its brutality; she might as well see it through and tell him as much. eythan gave way to a moment of silence. an opening? his breathing told her no — this was hesitation, not an invitation.

that last part seemed to hang between them. self-aware, huh? was he really, though? ... are you? a startling thought. neither of you want to carry the weight. it's pointless. like some stupid sorta dance, except you're not allowed to touch. "i don't ever want to say," he began ... maybe you're just as bad as he is, and maybe, just maybe, the two of you are more alike than you ever could've — ...

and his voice traveled north.

"... one ..."
a sharp intake of breath shuddered audibly through her teeth. she clapped her jaws shut, airways unmoving, chest rising and sticking. fluttering ears twisted and flattened into her hackles.

"... for ..."
for all of an instant, irrepressible shock yawned wide and ugly on her face, one half slightly slacker than the other, eyes like open wounds.

"... each ..."
hear that? that's how you sound! YOU sound like that!

"... of ..."
sh-shhhit. a punch in the gut had nothing on this. oh, that hurt, that really, really hurt — she shrunk a little, trembled once or twice —

"... us —"
a sad little noise, a squeak, a whimper, verging on a sob —

STOP IT STOP ITyouuu sound like that!!NO CRYING ALLOWED PULL IT TOGETHERthat's you! that's you! hahahah!WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH YOUyou open your mouth and that's what he hears! that voice! yours!COME ON THIS IS MEANINGLESS PULL IT TOGETHERand that was even when you were trynna make it sound cool, just for him!COME ON COME ONjust imagine what it's like the rest of the time, au naturale!WHY DO YOU CARE??! HELLO??!no matter how hard you try, right? that's why you quit playing pretend, isn't it? no matter how hard you try, you're always gonna bQUIT CARING!! —

and all the while, her features were ushering themselves back into default neutrality, and by the time the muffled hum of eythan's voice had arrived at another pause, they were approximately there, if a little wobbly, hinting at the effort. damask squeezed her eyes shut in a forcible blink. when they opened up, the vulnerability was gone, but they were ... different, somehow — soft and shadowed despite the oxymoronic fact of their pallor, brows gone low, pinpricks of light bouncing off the pupils.

and eythan kept talking, kept talking, and the words themselves were sort of indistinct, but remorse was rolling off him in waves. twice she caught the shape of the word sorry on his mouth. was that meant to make her feel something? all of a sudden, she wasn't feeling much of anything. "i'm just gon' g'won ..." ah, there was something — a dull spark of alarm. "there's sum'n for y'down below." her eyes flicked away to follow the gesture, then returned home, resting heavily on the back of his head. they wanted very much to sink to her feet.

"good talk, damask."

her first instinct: run like the spineless coward that you really are. her second: disappear, and then run, y'know, make it like a magic trick. poof. cue applause. and her third: mess with the air pressure or, failing that, just grab him or something to cut him off, whatever it took to stop him leaving her there alone, because ohh, the horror!, how dare someone else abandon you, next the mice will be eating the rats and rain'll be falling up from the floor ...

see? instinct, desire — selfishness and fear. who needed 'em, right?

so, instead, she took a step after him, and she opened her mouth, and she said, "wait." almost gagging on it.

... just ... stop ... caring ...

the accipiter gathered herself — dusted off her jacket, straightened her lapels. you gave him what (you thought) he needed, but what about what he wants? huh? huh? she cleared her throat and tamped her voice down: pushed it into a soft, low crackle, rough around the edges. sooner wouldn't've used it at all, but — just had to do it careful-like, syllable by syllable, couldn't let it stutter, couldn't let it shake or break — pick a word, any word, and when she rummaged, the first one she found was the one that she kept, more acceptable than the others, she could make her peace with it — but still that tired, tormented darkness in her eyes —

"could you settle for brother?"

suddenly, nausea, stirring deep in her stomach.

"you, mine?"

better.

brother. out of all the words.

sure, blood relation had two other terms for what eythan was to her, and two was unusually generous. but neither of those came quite as close to the shape of this ... thing that really intertwined them, damask and eythan: a darkly tangled knot of emotion and history, tied in its majority before she'd been born. the word she'd chosen wasn't perfect, either, and in the genealogical sense, it was just downright wrong — but how much was that worth, really worth? avi, ashtoreth, giggle ... all their magic ran in damask's veins, connections neatly summarized in titles and percentages, branches and perches on the collective family tree. yet, not a single one of them was as close or as far as predetermination would've had it. what was ash supposed to be, her half-aunt or something? hm. sure didn't feel like it. and what about ozzie and lemon? better yet, how about the ones outside the walls of canis? kaimana, wilder, alpha — oh, you know, all those chance encounters you should've just forgot about, and yet here you are — they weren't her friends, her acquaintances, not your anything at all, and don't you forget it — they just ... were.

all those cycles of turmoil and tension, and at long last, with all pretensions stripped away and left for dead, damask had a name for eythan: his name, and did any other really matter? no, not especially. just the one was enough for her, in his case or anyone else's. auré was an exception — the exception — but then, he always was.

so if eythan wanted a word, this one was as good as any. an uncle was a cousin with a splash of seniority, and a father was ... a father was — go ahead, finish — her ████. but a brother? no. brother said you're as much mine as i am yours, whether that's everything or nothing at all in no uncertain terms. we've got all the same mud on our feet, it said, all the same rain shining wet on our shoulders, and if you're down in this gutter, you better believe that i'm there with you, whether we like it or not.

but let's be honest with ourselves, here. it's not like you didn't have to think about it; it's that you just didn't. again that bounce of light in the darkest silvers of her eyes. what are you really thinking about, damask?

truth is, she was thinking about the echoes in her ears and the rasp in her throat.

but we don't have to talk about that.

let's not, yeah? let's not.

with a shuddering breath, eythan cast his eyes back at her. she could see it, of course: the ongoing tension in that roll of his shoulders, wings remaining noncommittally between open and closed. he didn't show it, but she could pretty well guess at the venomous resentment pooling in his mouth, whether he was going to spit it out or not. because — you stole from him. he had the perfect escape all plotted out, and you snatched it right out of his claws. but in her defense, he'd done plenty of cheating tonight, too. if there were still rules here, she wasn't sure what they were.

at last: "all right." and before her very eyes, he wilted like a daisy. "yeah, we ... we can try to do that."

"do," he says, and "try." you know, like it's hard.

"you and me?"

this response — or rather what it wasn't: a snap, an exit — it should've made her ... what, happy? jumping-for-joy delighted? you? all right, no, that was too much to expect, she wasn't exactly the type — that's funny, you're funny — but she could've hoped for hope, or at least some sense of relief. and yet, the sight of him, all the life gone out of him ... this is a surrender, his complete and unconditional. so congrats, kid. you win. no one could've gotten any triumph out of this. but the bird of prey gave a tip of her chin, the way you'd tip a hat — it was an affirmation, an acknowledgment: you and me. then, damask's eyes let go of eythan's and fell to the floor, brows furrowing between them — and still not a trace of the usual edge, still something very wrong swirling around in her head, that punch to the gut settling into a bruise ... so this is over now, right? you two, you're square? you can both go back to your respective holes in the wall of existence? yes? yes? ... hahahah ... no. her vision drew into focus, zeroing into one specific spot on the rock underfoot. it was the spot that eythan had nodded at — likely arbitrarily, but the nod in itself had given it meaning nonetheless. there was something for her down below, he'd said. ah, wait, no. sum'n.

and out of nowhere, absolutely nowhere, there was this urge, ugly and hot and sickeningly strong — to do something vindictive, to throw it back at him in the very same way — to call up a favor from the jasper in her chest, reach into her throat, and pull out his voice, threadbare and drawling. to show him how a professional made a mockery right in the middle of making amends. taste it in her mouth. it would've been childish, pointless, ridiculous — but oh, damn, it would've been delicious.

holy shit, damask —

selfishness and fear.

"this something of yours." aah. she didn't mean it to come off like a correction. she really, really didn't. but that sure is how it sounded, huh, asshole? "now, now. only sad, lazy, washed-up has-beens slur half the letters out of a two-syllable word," you say, to which he can only reply, "ah, my bad; i knew i was in for a counseling session, but i guess i wasn't counting on a grammar lesson, too. sorry 'bout that, ma'am." a little twitch yanked at her muzzle, caught somewhere in a flush between anger and pain — but she stopped that snarl in its tracks before it could become one. her gaze rose back up to eythan's, a lifeless hint of an apology in it. swallow, swallow, swallow, as if that could or would do anything at all ... and two more words, low, abrupt: "show me."

a wing unfurled almost gently from her side, pinions flourishing into open air.