god of ravens

                                                 “What’s wrong? Scared to get                                                  your ass beaten by a girl?”

As she walked past the back of the vehicle, she grabbed hold of a scrap of fabric in the trunk and tugged, uncaring of whose it was. Pushing the straps of her dress off her shoulders, she slipped out of the fabric easily, replacing it with the shirt that was now undoubtedly not her own. Kicking it from her ankles, she swiped it up from the ground and went to open the door. Yer there he was already reaching for the handle, ever so chivalrous as he opened it for her. If it had been anyone else she would’ve snorted but it was him so she tugged the sides of the over sized shirt out and gave a small curtsy.

"Thank you.”

Her eyes went fleetingly to the car where the man would rot until someone stumbled upon his body in a drunken stupor, but then the door was shut and she let her mind go back to the road ahead. That would be her last thought of it, until the thoughts became too much and she’d have no choice but to choke on them. All the faces, the torn flesh, and the blood caked underneath her fingernails. She is a result, a used to be tale of a human now gloriously half-destroyed. The sound of his door opened dragged her from the murky waters of her own thoughts and she sighed audibly, sinking down into the leather as she worried over the tip of her finger with her teeth.  They sit in silence, breath mingling in the small space as she thinks about where in the world do they go now. They could ride forth, aimlessly down the highway or they could go back. Instead of attempting to make a decision, she looks to Ivon tucking her hands underneath her chin. He doesn’t meet her gaze, determinedly focused on what’s in front of him as he fidgeted with the keys.

Ivon looks wrecked, in the best possible way he can. Just now tumbling down from an alcohol high on to something else that has his hands grasping at the steering wheel, a tightness in his jaw. Desire is flickering in his eyes, or maybe longing it doesn’t matter to her. It’s exactly what she wants, even if it selfishly so. She wants him here with her, right there trudging bowels of her indiscretions. From the first time she’d met him, she’d wanted to lay ruin to him. Bring him close to the edge to take her hand and make him drown with her. But, staring at him now, she wonders if she even has to. She has a feeling that he’d go willingly if she ever asked, but she won’t. Not tonight.

"Look at me." She whispers, reaching over to ghost her fingers over his profile, never quite touching but making the intention clear. When he turns, finally, she catches the tip of his chin between her fingers and softens. Shadows darken his features, they make him sharp at the edges. They make him beautiful. He’s perfect too, she notes. A fact never lost on her but unsaid nonetheless. She has no poetry, only the dance of her fingers across skin and blunt words said in dark silence. But tonight is different somehow, the words flow freely this time, an echo of his earlier words but no less powerful.

”You’re perfect.”  Her eyes shine with sincerity, and she hopes that he understands that it isn’t something to take lightly. But then the moment passes, and she let her fingers drop from his face. Her hands instinctively moving to seek out the pack of cigarettes tucked away in the glove box next. She lets it hang from her lips unlit as she reclines the seat slightly. She cups her hands over the butt and it comes alight within seconds, the flame’s glow tangled with the purple hue of magic. The action coming easy like the natural fall and rise of her chest. Her abilities are especially powerful in these first few days after a kill, potential crackling over quiet fingertips. Sated and focused, it’s her favorite time. She figures that the feeling she gets is probably the closest thing she’ll feel to invincibility. So, she exhales, sinking into the seat, watching the smoke billow in the darkness. The car comes to life, and she feels it when the first person takes a step outside the threshold. Her influence is gone entirely by then, the mountain boot stamping out the last of her hold written in the dirt.

Ivon’s gaze makes her skin prickle, she can feel the heat of it even when her eyes are trained forward. She wonders if he’s searching for answers in her profile, her expression veiled in an indifference. An odd picture, her in an over sized t-shirt with blood dried against her skin and a cigarette hanging from her lips. She wonders what he sees, startled by the realization that she does in fact care. It makes her feel unlike herself, worrying over whether he can see past what she’s created to what’s real. She stamps down those thoughts, lips curling upwards as she plucks the cigarette from her lips. Choosing that moment to meet his gaze, smiling in an almost whimsical way,

"Well, are you going to drive or are you just going to stare?"

Staring at her will soon not be enough, Ivon realises. Days, months, maybe even years will pass until his desire for her will turn into something impure, but the period of time is irrelevant as the outcome is inevitable and just the same — he will ache for her in ways others ache for her and from her graces he will fall, losing her favour and her admiration and turn into just another could-have-been along the road that she will remember with a sad shake of the head before jumping into her next companion’s car and driving away into carnage and horrors.

Kyungri is pristine, a tear fallen from a star and into this filth humans willingly swim in and he can’t bear the thought of dirtying her because he couldn’t keep his head out of the gutter and decided to venture onto the paths he knows he shouldn’t. She’s a goddess and people with serpents for eyelashes and hellpits for eyes don’t associate with the slaves worshiping them.

Sitting in the car next to her, skin burning where her fingers were just seconds ago, the gap between them is now more obvious than ever. It’s taunting him, provoking him and challenging him to try and close it, to try and reach her, grab her and possess her like all beautiful things demand to be, tells him that wanting to take a bite out of the forbidden fruit she holds between her own teeth, positioned strategically in front of the barrel of the gun he has given her a long time ago isn’t something to be ashamed of and try to deny himself. Ivon knows better than that. Ivon knows he knows and clenches his fist, willing himself to turn the engine on and drive away, foot planted on the gas pedal.

❝On we go, princess.❞

She had thought about seeing someone to get something prescribed but she knew that would come to a few easily determinable outcomes. Unlike most people is quite aware that she isn’t normal and her personality is quite compulsive and obsessive. She’s almost certain if she found the right pills it would become something she abused and became dependent on. She’s like a leech, clinging onto anything that will give her momentary comfort. It’s quite apparent with rows upon rows of perfectly made dolls that resemble one another lined neatly in the shop below them. The second conclusion to that route would be even less favorable. Sohee tells her doctors aren’t meant to be trusted - after all, how many times had she been the hospital when her husband was still alive and they did nothing at all? They would send her away if they realized how bad her anxiety was getting. To the point of mild paranoia.

“ Patience isn’t one of my shining       virtues. For now, it hasn’t gotten       out of control so I don’t worry about       it too often. There are far greater things       to worry about than a little lack of sleep.”

It’s quite odd that she hadn’t sought professional help for those issues of her, by now. Judging by her reaction, they’re quite potent and mendlesome and god knows that if there were any pills on the market that still had the desire effect on him, Ivon would’ve been hooked on like an addict on them.  Perhaps she’s a masochist, perhaps she’s afraid, perhaps she doesn’t have the financial means to invest in medication or, perhaps, he’s reading way too much into all of her answers and makes it out to be a bigger deal than it truly is.

Truthfully, he has absolutely no reason to look so much into the looks concerning her being. She’s nowhere near an acquaintance, or a person of interest. Gain, as far as he was concerned, was an outlet for his thoughts, somebody he had no emotional ties to, or any kind of ties, really, who he just happened to stumble upon while searching the area. She crafts dolls, works alone and most likely lives alone, and has a duller life than he ever hoped of getting. All in all, she is somebody he wouldn’t look at twice in normal circumstances.

❝ Yes, well, life has much more     to offer, don’t you think ? Tell me,     do you perhaps take comissions? A     friend’s daughter’s birthday is coming up     soon. I’m not necessarily close to either of them,     but I was invited out of courtesy. She’s quite spoiled      by her parents, so I think a one-of-a-kind type of present     would suffice.  ❞

      Doubtful.

     “ You say that as if things are not going our way, ” he sighs faintly, feet giving a little tap against the ground in barely restrained impatience. Before anything more can be said, one of his men is returning and speaking quietly in his ear, causing lips to curl into some semblance of a smile, though it more closely resembles a snarl.

       A glance is spared for the other man and he cocks an eyebrow, gun slipping from his pocket as a ring-clad finger flicks off the safety. Already he’s beginning a casual prowl around the corner of the building, towards the junkyard across the way.

       “ Come if you want, I don’t give a fuck– just don’t give me a reason to paint the floor red. ” Normally enjoying a hunt, this particular chase has gone on far too long and his patience is wearing thin, leaving him more eager to leave a bullet in the fleeing man’s skull and take the money than simply take the money.

Ivon barely blinks as the body hits the asphalt, bones crushing under the realisation that another hole shall be dug tonight to accomodate the steadily growing number of bodies being freed from the burden of an unfulfilling life by their traitorous hands, all because of a delay in delievering the amount of money owned to Minsook. The soldier’s ledge is, however, drowning in blood and no flowers shall spur from the barren ground around it and enough is enough, tonight, no more playing god. So with the indifference of a tired man, his face he paints with the cooling liquid, ripping his clothes in different places and dragging the evidence of the crime commited down an alley. Once the job is done, Ivon takes his place against the wall, concentrating on lighting up the cigarette stolen from the dead man in the furious wind rather than on the agonizing sounds coming from inside of the building his companion for the night disappeared into.

Ivon has got to credit when due, and the quickness with which the heir solved the issue is impressive. He eyes him carefully from his place, putting out his third cigarette in a row with his boot and giving him an inquisitive look. He wonders if there are any survivors. He wonders if he should even wonder about that or if there are families waiting for them back home. He decides that he shouldn’t as it is not his business in any any and as far as he is concerned, his body count is miraculously low tonight. That, for now, is more than enough.