\\ : VOID.

“This is the last one.” Certain that it was something he’d proclaimed many times before, “The last time I let you drag me to one of these things.” Still, the champagne glass in his hand did just enough to quell his own boredom in a room filled with people turning their nose up at the mere fact that had no idea who he was. “Some decrepit old woman groped me in ways.. I haven’t been groped in years and I’m only just now seeing that you’re completely happy to watch me suffer here. I feel used.” The smirk that lay just beneath the surface toying with the amusement bright in his eyes.

“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?” Kasey held the rose out towards Beth, a slow smile being tugged onto his face. It was rare for him to be in a good mood – especially when the entirety of the Ouroboros had their eyes wide open in this false world. But this had been too good to pass up. “Mine eyes doth taketh interest in thee.”

“Out of all the time periods, they had to go with this one.” Unamused, Alex looked from their rather dull surroundings to his companion. Beth still stood out, just as she did in modern time even in period appropriate dress. He didn’t expect any less of her. “Could have been anything. And we got this.” He just couldn’t really wrap his head around it, what it was supposed to accomplish. Granted, he often wondered why everything needed to be so elaborate. After a decade of this, he’d learned not to ask questions, just hope that the outcome looked to be in their favor.

“Bonnie and Clyde didn’t make it very far. We’ll just say we’re better than them.” Kasey brushed some of her hair back from her face, before he shook his head, dropping his hand, “You’d have to, Beth. Sometimes there’s just…if something happened to you, I’d burn this place to the ground.” He would, and he would probably die trying. But they wouldn’t let him rest, not when he had two more lives to give. “But even if I fail, you can bring me back.” It felt unfair, to ask Beth something that may or may not happen. Preparing for the worst was what he did best; he knew nothing else, anyway.

“Not content to sit still for too long then?” she said, almost teasing, but the huff of a laugh that followed her words lacked the mirth to make it so. Both the Ouroboros and her position at BITE kept the vampire almost endlessly occupied, and for one who dwelled so deeply in her own mind, the idea of sitting idle sounded both foreign and welcome. A holding pattern was not quite the same–the group of them idling on the precipice of the end of what had been a trying ordeal made for high anxiety and rash decision-making.

“Did Susannah speak to you?” she asked after a beat, sharp eyes now carefully watching the serpentine woman for any sort of reaction. It wasn’t an outlandish tone, not from her, not from someone saw no point in mincing words when met with someone who would catch charm for what it was: mere manipulation.

Kasey felt like he was holding his breath, unsure if Beth would actually agree with him or not. It was risky; it was literally life or death for them. If they managed to get out, then they’d be out. But if they were caught, well, that’d almost be certain death – at least for Beth. It’d be almost too easy to brainwash a phoenix again. He squeezed her hand, letting out his breath in pure relief. He had a promise to the basilisk, anyway. He wasn’t going to let anything happen to her as long as he was there. “On the lam? What a phrase, love. We’re going to leave this bloody place behind,” he murmured, pulling her into his arms so he could hug her. “I know it’ll be risky, but I won’t let anything happen to you. If things go wrong, you get out. I’ll have a second chance – you won’t.”

“That doesn’t happen everyday,” Levi pointed out but she wasn’t wrong that there were a lot of other riders who were just as bad or worse in different ways. Levi had to hold back his laughter when she asked if he wasn’t rich enough for his own town car. “Do you normally asked people about their socioeconomic status? Openly asks about it when on the subway?” He laughed.

Loneliness was something Cyrus hated. He loathed the feeling, the sense of being utterly inconsequential that rode with it. So he hoarded the people that made him feel less alone. He craved the things that filled the voids inside of him. And he fed the hate he had for ancient fucked up families with promises of their pain and suffering. He’d done nothing as a child to be hated except be born. And if the world was going to hate him then he would make sure they had a reason. It was contradictory the hate of being alone and the need to destroy. But it was far, far too late for the Basilisk to change, because when he found those fleeting moments of balance, when he felt precariously happy it was enough, it was a high that beat every drug on the market. It was always so quick to leave but that made him want that next fix all the more. Keeping his people was a difficulty in itself. Because most people let him down eventually. They would pull away sooner or later. So he learned to hold on tighter, to burrow deeper, faster, earlier. Being a monster had saved Cyrus from a hateful existence or drudgery and misery. Even at five, death had been preferable. And he’d been given this instead. This miracle of horror and power. That had been what he had given Bethany all those years ago. Her dark eyes found his, bright and blue as she responded in the negative. And something inside of him began to unwind, to release and relax. He even smiled, a soft huff of amusement pushing past his lips when she mentioned the vampire that was none too fond of their kind. He looked down as she changed the position of their hands, her cool fingers clinging around his. The snake looked up as she spoke the words he wanted to hear. Soon accompanied by those same fingers that had been clinging to him so tightly brushing through his hair. He softened, as far as the Basilisk ever softened. For the first Basilisk that he had found and brought into the fold. Beth would always be bound to him as far as Cyrus was concerned. He looked at her face, examining it and building his own expression, mirroring hers for a brief moment before he let it slide away, leaving his expression passive and calm. He couldn’t talk about what he knew, where he’d come from, the why of what he was. And at this point he didn’t think it would matter. Not to anyone that didn’t already know. “Violence is a part of what we are. From eyesight to entrails my darling Beth. We can’t abandon the truth of what we are.” He brushed his fingers over her hand, cupping it as it touched his cheek. He turned his head and pressed a kiss to her palm. “I’m sorry I wasn’t a better teacher. I’m sure I left a lot of be desired. But you are spectacular.” He released her hand, his fingers brushing along her arm, “I’ll try to be better about checking up on you.”

“You know that’s not true,” Elio smiled, helping her off the couch, “you spend your entire day surrounded by art. Just because it’s not on a canvas doesn’t make it less so,” he mused, pulling on his coat in preparation for the brisk March air the city brought. At least it wasn’t snowing again and the sun was shining a bit more often– something the basilisk was forever grateful for. “We can walk or take the train–– what do you want to do?”

An absent flick of her fingertips closed the folder whose contents Sabine had been studying as her gaze lifted to meet the basilisk’s, expression unreadable as she gave the woman a quick once-over before she began to organize the apparent paperwork strewn across the desk. “I’m old and tired,” she deadpanned, but a glimmer of a smile crossed her lips as she spoke. “I’d like to think we’ve crested a hill, if that makes sense. Like we’re no longer pushing a boulder up it,” she continued, then turned so she could lean against the sturdy tabletop. “I don’t suppose any of us have been particularly busy lately, you included?”

LOCATION: Ouroboros’ library.

TIME: 4/03/29, late evening.

FEATURING: Anton Grimaldi 

“Bethany,” Anton nodded at the basilisk as he took the seat beside her in the Ouroboros’ library. There was no one else present and the witch had already cast a charm the moment he walked in, muffling the sound within to any outsider. They may have been in their main headquarters but Anton was ever cautious. What he had to say was for Bethany’s ears only, after all. “I don’t mean to disrupt your time here,” he was never one to impose on someone’s presence. If anything, people tended to impose on his. So he wanted to keep things succinct but the fact that he was there, taking the seat beside her, instead of requesting her presence in his own study meant that whatever he had to communicate, was important enough to be brought directly to her.

“Mallory Bordeaux,” he began, hands clasped as he braced his forearms on his knees, studying the wooden panels of the library floor. “She’s had the dagger for months now.” The witch looked over at Bethany, “and once everything’s set in motion,” just a few more days, he thought, “we want you to help procure the location. You’ll need to gain her trust when she’s susceptible to influence. And she will be. You’ll need to gain her trust enough that she feels comfortable with you, that she’ll confide in you, Beth.” Intentionally or by the slip of the tongue. The destruction of the other dagger at the hand of Noah Bordeaux himself had been…unexpected to say the least. At most, they’d believed it would have been damaged but its totally destruction had left them reformulating their plans and now they were ready to move forward once more. His death had been a victory, however it had occurred, but one death would not suffice.

“We both,“ himself and Susannah, "agree that you’re most suited for the task.” Old enough to be wisened by life’s cruelty, young enough that her face wouldn’t jog any memories beyond present day ones. Calculating enough to think on her feet in any situation. Eager as the rest of them for this to draw to a close. She was everything they needed. “If you do this…you will have given us one of the final pieces to end all of this.”

He felt the weight of Tillie’s wedding band against his chest, hanging from a chain that seemed to grow heavier each day. “If you do this, Bethany–– you help us win the war.” The witch looked over at her, unable to truly read beyond her current expression but that didn’t bother him. If anything, it instilled confidence in the Grimaldi. He was renown for reading people like books, one glance and he knew the beginning, middle and end of their tale. Not so with Bethany. And if he couldn’t see beyond what she presented, neither would Mallory. Neither would any of them.

“Will you?” Once the pieces were moving, everything would make sense. Her mission would be clear. All of their missions would be. For now, Anton left his words hanging, needing to know that Bethany was in agreement. If she was, their plan could continue to march forward and they could share the next phase in the meeting to come. They would be one step closer than they’d ever been before and Anton could almost see victory on the horizon. They could win the war. 

                     The utterance of her name alone provoked an uneasy impression to resonate within the ophidian, sitting before Anton could ever quite request it. A musky and oppressive sense clouded his lexicon, as if the invocation was a veil to a deeper meaning — that it was a test she would surely fail. Her dedication to the Ouroboros had been nonpareil for dozens of years to come, only waning recently when it came to the zenith of influence her own survivors instinct could provide. Beth could only become brittle under her time with the organization, their outlandish coveting for various secrets and their need for vague propriety whenever they felt it suited them, offered an unsettling feeling that she could never quite shake. Once upon a dream, she had found home in the fact that there were others akin to her, like Cyrus; a saccharine nectar that pooled within the very confines of her veins, clotting up as the years went by until she felt suffocated by the very idea. Perhaps, in theory, Cyrus was like her — due to regressed trauma and experiences only a recherche few could share; yet when it came to their own viscera, she could never quite compare to the empty regress of Cyrus’ unbalanced self. He was what the Ouroboros’ vied for, a contraption devoid of any emotion, built to bloom under the feral savagery that their affiliation kept on a tightly wound leash. All the same, Bethany was an actress and even amiss her own paranoia, an actress she would remain. 

Kasey couldn’t really stop his smile. He was already moving forward when she motioned him to come inside, pushing the door closed before he kissed her cheek, “Hey,” he put his hands on her arms, squeezing lightly. “I’ve decided I’m gonna do it, Beth. I’m gonna fucking be free of this fucking place. And I want –” he paused, trying to calm himself down. The phoenix ran a hand over his mouth, wiping the smile away before he took control of his temperature. He knew the heat was radiating off of him, simply because he was working himself up. “I don’t know what Anton and Susannah will want to do – I don’t know, but…I do know that whatever it is, I think I can…I should be able to get out of here. And I just…I wanted to know if you wanted to go with me.”

Ghost shrugged a little at that. To each their own. He could respect a non-drinker, that was a good way to live life; he wasn’t a great fan of the booze himself, at least not in this form. “Partying? With Cyrus? Do you get the impression he likes me?” He laughed, head shaking as he patiently waited for her to slip on her shoes and join him. “You couldn’t pay him to party with me. I don’t do parties, anyway. Not Cyrus’ kind.”