Untitled

His guilt was something she had tried to assuage, as, despite the role he had played in Harin's upbringing he was not the man's father. He was his brother. In the end it was not Dracoth who had chosen Harin's existence, it was her, and so she was responsible for his happiness. It was harder to assuage it now though, as he mind was more focused on the fact both of her children were hiding things from her.

"You aren't supposed to keep things from me," she stated, taking a final sip of the glass in her hand, a trail of a droplet that had not reached her lips running back down to the base of the glass. At least she did not look as drunk as she felt, so accustomed to her stature and posture only Dracoth could likely tell from her words that she was inebriated. "Neither of you were supposed to keep anything from me. Why would telling me you both were bring me any sort of comfort?"

Glancing around at the display Evelyn too felt a level of pessimism but unlike Dracoth this was uncommon for her. Evelyn had always felt that one day Destarin could be a sort of Utopia, where people like her mother could run and find a true sanctuary, and not just a place to hide from those who would do her harm. She had her own plans in motion to protect Dracoth, to protect the guild and the town because to Evelyn the town was her family, so it was good she did not now Dracoth felt otherwise, it have only furthered her question as to what had happened to change him in this way. The boy who would do anything for another at the expense of himself seemed to continue to disappear before her eyes.

"Would you though?" she asked of him returning home if the Kingdom fails. "I do not believe you are leaving solely to fulfil some duty. I do not understand why you won't tell me what I've done that has caused all of this," she gestured generally to all of him. The jewellery he wore now felt less of a mockery, and more of a gaudy display.

Evelyn placed the glass down on a table, not sure where it should be abandoned. "Was it because I let him have these things?" she asked regarding Harin's own materialistic nature. Dracoth had been raised by parents that sought to raised him like themselves, someone to fight against those who would harm the undeserving, but Harin had been raised by Evelyn, a guilt that he lacked the father his two elder siblings had she had conceded in many ways to indulgences. "Are you angry with me that he was allowed to care less, that your father wanted you to be as we were so you might have the choice to lead if you wanted it, that you might be generous and strategic, so we didn't buy you pretty things or let you boss around the few house staff there were with an indifferent tone." Evelyn shook her head, a slow exhale as she considered how he seemed now with the small amount of guild staff that had cared for their home. "Why won't you tell me what has happened?" she drunkenly accused, her voice growing louder.

The Incubi initially tried to laugh it off, chuckling uneasily at her comments about her sons keeping secrets. He found he could provide no answer as to why he thought it would bring her comfort, to know that both her sons had, and were keeping still. At least he had no answer that Evelyn would accept. Dracoth had been grasping at straws, postulating common expressions, in a bid to silence her with easy, superficial chit chat.

The problem was that Dracoth, who could deceive so easily, was not adept at lying to Evelyn. She was a shrewd woman who knew him well. And yet, somehow, Dracoth found himself in a web of lies of his own making, being forced to lie to her further.

He had not confided in her about his feelings towards Hasbaki, until damage was done. He had also not confided in her when Morana first approached him about reviving Harin, and he had spent months maintaining that secret. At one time, Dracoth’s family had been a reprieve, a place where he could be unashamedly honest without fear of judgement. Now, every time his mother looked at him, he saw repulsion. How had he fallen so far from grace?

"You haven't caused anything mother!" Dracoth said slowly, though his teeth were gritted and he avoided her gaze now. Dracoth focused his dark grey eyes on the slope of her horns. His mother was drunk, Dracoth could almost smell the intoxication on her, so he wanted to afford her patience. She was vulnerable now in more ways than intoxication, and Dracoth was at fault here, he was the one keeping secrets.

But Evelyn kept talking, the accusations not only in her words but in her eyes. Dracoth was not accustomed to having his behaviour studied and assassinated, and the fact that it was fast becoming a spectacle, only worsened his growing frustration. In his peripheral vision, Dracoth could see heads turning, some whispering, and it made his cheeks redden.

"Let's, take a walk outside." Dracoth suggested, forcing a smile. He had not enjoyed their confrontation at the house, but at least there had been some resolution, and Evelyn had taken some of the responsibility for it. Being called out for his materialistic nature, and nonchalant treatment of staff, was entirely his own doing, there was no blame to be placed elsewhere. Feeling like a schoolboy, scolded in front of his peers, if Evelyn permitted, he would take her arm in his, so he could escort her away from prying eyes.

His wry smile felt more worrisome than his words but she left the dryness of it fade from her mind to focus on what he was saying. "Your word assuages something in me," she disagreed with his idea she would not believe him. "Afterall, many simply admit they have ill intentions and that nothing might be done of them. Your comments rules out that sort of evident betrayal."

Commenting that her own vigilance might be a show felt a joke similar to one Merry might make, even about her, but Bella didn't laugh, her eyes shifting to the now King. "If I wanted him gone he would be gone, but I care for him so much I have allowed a title of vanity to be placed upon myself. I would rather do as I had been but I won't let Merry go to the fires that are the other courts alone."

He looks back up at the other, knowing him to be the newly appointed Duke and lightly gestures toward the crown of daisies hanging from his horns, "Sorry I lack any adornments such as these," his fingers pinch one of the soft white petals but not to tear, only to touch, "but I am here to celebrate, just as you are," he lets his hand drop back down to his side. Cloth mask still covering the lower half of his face so he is not altering his features with magic just yet, "Perhaps you can assist me in acquiring one of these adornments."

"Ah, yes, absolutely! A band of nymphs were handing these out by the fountain, a very friendly species they are! Come quickly, perhaps we'll catch them bathing still!" Dracoth waved for Hiro to follow him as he turned to make his way for the fountain outside. Through the majority of fountains had fallen to decay and wreckage, across the kingdoms, Destarin included, the roman style aqueducts were carefully maintained by magics, and this day, water had turned into wine. "Nymphs bathing in wine, it is like the poet Ovid came back to life solely for today's celebrations!"

He appreciated Dracoth and his fancy ideas, and who was he to say no to a friend. So when the embrace was offered, he hugged the other. He was warm, a flame in the body of a man. “Friend,” he said, boisterous and smiling. “You have outdone yourself. Are we here to celebrate something or simply to indulge?” He asked. He too had taken out his finer outfit: a silk shirt with flames woven through the fabric, a heavy cotton low hanging pants that gave him free movement, and dark leather sandals. All of it fire proof.

"We are celebrating, my good man, always celebrating! Come, let's sit, I could slaughter a herd!" Dracoth declared grandiosely, pulling out a chair for his friend then finding his own seat. For all his faults, and he had many, Dracoth was unfailing gallant in his mannerisms. He was the type of creature to hold a door open for a man whose throat he intended to slit only moments later. He was a walking contradiction in many ways, and as he grew older the disparities between his kindnesses and his cruelties, only intensified. "We have a King, Destarin declared its independence, pigs might very well fly next!"

A young maiden came to their table to fill their goblets with ale, and when she was done, Dracoth gave her a few coins in thanks, and assured her, she and her colleague could retire for the night. This should have been an absurd request, but the maiden was clearly in the Incubi's thrall, eager to please, and reluctant to leave. Over the past several months, Dracoth had began to abuse his gifts more than he ever had before. He convinced himself that he was only using his power for small privileges, tiny favours that affected little of their lives, but it was a slippery slope and Dracoth was skating down that path at a slow, but assured pace.

"I didn't see you at the coronation!" Dracoth enquired after the two remaining servants had left, and they had the restaurant finally all to themselves. "where did you find yourself?" As he spoke, he picked up a platter of venison and inspected it with dark grey eyes.

"I do not agree," she said simply, something he already knew. For Evelyn him going to court would only corrupt him further into a life without the intention of the community he had grown up in, wealth and privilege and status would continue to eat away at him until his soul no longer existed inside his body. She could be...dramatic.

Certainly she would argue she had not raised them all to be independent free thinkers. Harin had been raised as her little shadow. Her daughter not raised by her at all. Dracoth perhaps was the only independent one and she did not believe she was involved in that at all. Evelyn had never thought indepdence of much value. Community was the only strength. She'd had her sisters, her husband, the guild, her children. Independence was a lie told to children so they would not remain financial burdens into adulthood. Evelyn did not see her children as a burden for a moment.

Taking another drink of what he had handed to her she attempted to swallow down her desire to insist he return home, a belief in her that if she said so strongly enough she could command this of him. It was perhaps one drink too many for the evening though.

"If he were here it would not feel so much like my heart is breaking that you are leaving," Evelyn spoke of Dracoth's father, or perhaps of his brother, wine staining her lips a burgandy rather than the soft red they'd been. "I thought he was happy." Harin. She was speaking of his brother. Evelyn was still under the impression her youngest was dead and had taken his own life. "I did everything to make him not feel lonely and he was." Yes, she'd had too much, or perhaps the wine that had been given to her was fae and stronger than most, affecting her sensibilities.

Dracoth was not worried Evelyn would have some tedious moral quandaries surrounding the reanimation of her dead son. No, he was concerned with the potential for Evelyn's fury at being kept in the dark. Additionally, Dracoth had seen her suffer, and had said nothing, lying by omission day in, day out. At any moment, he could have offered his mother hope, but the fear of failure kept his lips sealed. He would rather lie till his black heart ached, than risk subjecting Evelyn to repeated mourning.

"Mother, there is nothing you would not have done to ease whatever pains ailed him. Find comfort in the fact that all sons have secrets from their mothers." Dracoth thought he would rake his living brother over hot coals for answers, but Harin had returned to them; a blank slate. He had no answers to give, and it drove Dracoth just as wild as he knew it drove his mother.

"If anyone failed Harin... it was I, his confidant, his brother!" Dracoth's youthful face darkened as he spoke. In the bleak days that followed Harin's suicide, Dracoth had whispered similar contrition's. Nothing Evelyn had said could assuage his guilt, and quickly, the Incubi's discomfort was doubled tenfold as his mother strived to soothe his conscience. He had not spoken on it since. There was nothing in this world that Dracoth fought with more vehemence than regret.

"Alas!" Dracoth hastily continued before Evelyn could respond. He regretted inserting his own guilt into the conversation. Especially when he knew full well that Harin's mistake had been rectified, and so surely their misgivings were now rendered redundant.

As he hurried on, Dracoth took several generous swigs of the spiced berry wine, grateful for its magical potency.

"I am not really leaving! I am only ever a dream away, and I will visit you often! Besides... this-" Dracoth gestured to the celebrations around them, his dark gaze coolly assessing the other courtiers. "This might very well lead to nothing, and then I will ride home at the first opportunity!"

Inspired by the town’s declaration of independence, Dracoth had endeavoured to assist in every way he could. He was, however, old, and with age came pessimism, no matter how hard one resists. The Incubi was prepared to fight for the town, to defend it, and to use his wits and charms to further Destarin's prospects, but he was prepared for imminent failure. He would not die for this town; he would not subject his family to another loss. Dracoth would see Destarin burned to the ground before he would allow any further harm to come to his family. There was a permanency to be found in the loyalty forged by bloodlines.

'She will come to understand.' Bella knew many rumours of how his own mother had gained her power, by taking it through some manipulative means, and while Bellamy could admire the effort she hoped that he did not intend to reach for the crown himself and hurt Merrymock in the process. Enough people would be coming for Merry, she did not need to add friendly names to the list. "I would rather you lost your mind," she spoke of her comfort as she stepped gracefully beneath his long arm. "It would be easier to deal with two mad men than one strategic one. My only intention is to protect my friend, and while we may not be friends persay I find you pleasant and respectable, which is more than I can say of my opinion for most people." No, they were yet to be friends but Bella did like him enough she would rather not kill him.

She suspected the drink a peace offering, holding out her hand for it, though his additional comment, potentially intended as a joke did not leave the boy's mother laughing. "I am not drunk enough yet for such jokes, my love. I am still sober enough that I might consider if you have truly aged out of being sent to your room for being disrespectful to your mother, a room which is fortunately now so conveniently close," she informed her son. Not that Evelyn actually liked that he intended to leave their familial home and take residence in the courts castle.

"Since the newly appointed Duke insists." She laughed, accepting the goblet. Though she preferred sea food, she didn't mind the odd fruit every now and again. Popping some of the fruit into her mouth, Eirwen munched happily before asking, "So, how does one go from heir to the Scourge guild to duke?"

The woman, lead by him to the dance floor, observed his countenance as he bowed before her, something else she did not enjoy, but took it the same way she took Merry doing so - as a dramatic sarcastic performance. In response she offered the same, her knees together as she lowered her head, hands folded against her thighs, a religious bow.

The sea hummed. That was how Derya knew she was dreaming.

Not the feel of salt on her tongue or the heavy drag of brine against her skin. No, those felt real enough. But the waves hummed. Like a lullaby made of secrets she’d long forgotten, old songs passed between barnacle and bone. And there was a door where the reef should be.

A door.

Derya tilted her head, considering it, the same way she might consider a shipwreck full of treasure or teeth. A door where coral should be. A knock like a warning. Or an invitation.

The handle was warm. She opened it.

And smiled.

Too wide a smile for most. But she’d dealt with vampires before. Witches. Sirens. Mortal men with immortal appetites. Whatever this dream stranger was, she’d seen worse with her eyes open.

But still, she smiled.

Because it was just a dream. Just a dream.

“I know you,” she said, voice liquid as the sea around her. Not with recognition, not truly, but with the kind of certainty dreams allowed. A knowing born of feeling rather than memory. “Or maybe I don’t. It’s only a dream, after all.”

The nymph leaned in the frame, eyes too dark, too deep, and too still.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she added, soft now. “Not this close to the full moon.”

Her fingers curled against the coral just beside the doorframe, pressing into the reef that had no business being stone and yet still bled when touched. Her smile didn't falter. It widened.

She tilted her head, and her gills fluttered, instinctual.

"I shouldn't?" Dracoth did not part his lips as he spoke, his words instead filling the space around them, heard yet not uttered by the Incubi's unmoving lips. A serpents tongue slithered from between his teeth and darted out to meet Derya's cheek if she permitted it. Even in her dreams, Derya’s dark skin shone, retaining its faint sheen, and the Incubi wanted to know if it felt as it looked; wet.

The smell of blood in the water made slit like nostrils flare as Dracoth inhaled the strong scent. The fact that they were underwater apparently did not detract from his usual keen smell.

"Perhaps that is why I've come ... to you... Derya."

Again, his words could be heard even if he did not use his mouth to project them. Dracoth's drawling voice would have caressed Derya's senses, if she so permitted, and the dark emerald, scaled creature stepped through the doorway, sliding by Derya with familiar ease. In this realm, cordiality could be side stepped, for introductions were unnecessary and pretences of boundaries felt pointless while their minds ran wild together. Though they were strangers, in Derya's dreams, they were as old friends, reuniting.

"Show me where we are." Dracoth instructed calmly, turning his head so his strange yellow and black eyes never left her face. His voice was warm despite his command, inviting. "I want to see you." Dracoth's desire was earnest. He wanted to taste this magnificent sea creature, the reality of her that she kept sequestered away in her dreams. Anything but her fondest memories, her most intense feelings would not quench the creature’s thirst. Even with so monstrous a face, and such fearsome eyes, there was an open hunger; a need much like Derya’s own.

She had been fortunate with Harin, that he loved to learn, that she hadn't needed to hurt him or make him afraid for him to practice but - so far as Evelyn believed - he had taken his own life. She had sought to protect him from the wrong thing. Her sweet baby, that clung to her in his childhood, that would crawl into bed with her, and even in adulthood had escorted her to markets and danced with her at events in the town, had left her and she had not seen it coming. For weeks she had cried where no one could see but Dracoth. The face she showed the world was a stoic one but alone it broke apart as it had when his father had died. Her heart broke for the second time.

Maybe it was why she was so assured now she needed to fix things with Dracoth. The loss of two loves was like a weight she could barely walk with, and without her eldest the weight of him being gone might actually break her.

Evelyn attempted not to think on it too long, to focus herself on what was at hand, a smile afforded to her son when rather than returning to the dagger with it's jewelled handled he instead sought a set that was more plain and efficient. "You won't be going to battle," she reminded him, but in a way it was also a command. He would not be going into battle. Whatever would come Evelyn would not allow him to sign up for any army. "Daggers will be perfect for what you will need to be able to do. Protect yourself if someone gets close."

She did believe that he would remember more than he thought, though was unaware his words were a manipulation to distract her, stepping with her own blades away from him, a few slender daggers on her thighs for throwing that she often hid beneath garments when she was in a district of the town not controlled by Scourge Guild. Certainly his laissez-faire throwing of his daggers at first were easily avoided, some simply clattering to the floor as she side stepped them, a few embedding themselves in the wall, but he did seem to have his eyes on her, she could tell that at least to some degree he was paying attention. Which was why each time it seemed as though he was not looking she moved the knives away from where he had left them. If someone could not find their weapon they couldn't use it and he would regret a tactic that allowed him to lose sight of what he should have been in control of.

Evelyn had trained her son in the art of war and self-defence, but for all the techniques and skillsets she had taught him, she had never asked that he be perfect in delivery, or that he adhere to a certain lifestyle. What she had asked of him, Dracoth could for the most part provide, effort, zeal and a student mentality. Where he lacked in precision, Dracoth compensated for with strength, and where he failed in his tactics, he displayed dramatic flair in its stead. He was no soldier, but he could fight, he could kill, and given the right mindset, he could do so with brutal determination.

Unaware that his mother was collecting the blades he threw, Dracoth's dark grey eyes raked over the blades on display. Unable to resist, he pocketed a large and heavy blade, sliding it beneath his tunic.

"And when war comes?" Dracoth asked his mother, once again tossing another blade behind him, but this time he turned with his arms movement, rounding on his mother. The conversation he continued, was his continued efforts to distract her. Beneath his tunic, the heavy blade shifted, it's sharpest point caressing his abbs threateningly. "You expect me to do what? Stand on the side lines until someone gets too close?"

When Dracoth launched a minor assault of small blades at his mother, excitement began to light up his usually bored features. The Incubi had learned never to underestimate his mother, but his arrogance often tested him, putting him at a disadvantage.

"I can do more than that" Dracoth exclaimed, dropping to the floor so he could aim two of his last few small blades at Evelyn's delicate ankles. Not for the first time, having caught sight of his mother's dainty feet, he was reminded of Evelyn's vulnerable moments. When Dracoth's father was murdered, when Harin, her own son had left them, instances such as these had done away with any illusion of Evelyn's omnipotence. The incubi knew his mother more intimately now. she had weaknesses he could exploit, that anyone could exploit if only they knew how.

The incubi wasted precious seconds recalling his mother in vulnerable moments. An easy enough trap to fall into; infantilising the woman who gave one life, could lull even the coldest of sons into a non-combative state. For several moments, Dracoth would be vulnerable before his eyes fell on the place where his blades should have been lodged.

"It is surprising to me you would seek a title," the woman spoke her feelings aloud. To Bella, much like her own title she had taken on, it seemed tactical in terms of victory. To fill the court with those who might terrify the other Kingdom's was wise, but it also seemed contrary to their guild. She wondered if it was his own materialised that had driven him to it, or if it was tactical.

with: @dracothscourge

It's been some time now since Harin's return to life and finally is allowed to roam outside the boundaries of Morana's estate. He hadn't felt confined at all, in part because he simply did not recall what space felt like. Beyond the gates of her estate, the city of Destarin sprawls. He'd heard it countless times, constant noise filtering through the windows and thick walls. Voices of people and mysterious shrieks from creatures. He did not understand them and he did not fear them, it was simply sound, and as it was something he always heard, he had grown accustomed to it. However only hearing it was different from seeing it and hearing it.

He'd gone on walks with Morana before, through quieter side streets and shadowed alleyways when the sunlight was still too much for his eyes to bear. Now he was on his own and following an old man wheeling a cart. The crunching of its wheels into a well trodden dirt path turning into cobblestones an enticing venture for the revived Harin and so he follows. Leaning down from time to time so he can get a better look at the wheels turning. Or peering over the edges of the old man's cart so he can see what he's carrying. It looks like baskets of various vegetables and fruits, overladen so they spill out the tops.

Curiosity is a seedling and once planted will continue to grow until it has a chance to flourish or is uprooted. Harin does not know this is considered stealing when he reaches into the cart for a round looking red fruit. He also does not realize the old man has turned around, curious and wary about the person who has been following him.

"Oy!" The old man's gruff voice cuts through sharply, deep and croaking, "Put that back!"

Harin does not realize he is being addressed so he does not respond, nor does he put the fruit back.

The old man hops off his cart and walks like he's stumbling, one leg seems to be much shorter than the other or perhaps the other leg is too long, either way, he walks like he's falling and lands a large hand on Harin's arm much to the young soul's surprise.

"Thief! Put that back or pay for it!"

Harin stares and then he copies the old man's voice, though his tone is far less accusatory and much quieter, "Thief. Put that back or pay for it."

The old man blusters. Spit flying through yellowed teeth. "Mocking me are ya lad?"

Harin only blinks.

"What's da matter wicha? Ya ain't got no sense?" The old man spits at him.

Harin once again, only blinks innocuously.

As Harin's older brother, he was naturally very protective, but this natural instinct was fiercely intensified by Harin's stop over with death. There had been no guarantee that Morana's macabre craft would be successful, and the looming dread of a world without his younger brother had taken it's toll on the Incubi. The mourning, the yearning, the loss - however temporary - had been almost overwhelming. Dracoth had every intention of devoting his life to avoiding feeling anything akin to it. He had endeavoured to assist Morana every way he could during the process of resurrection, and believed he had done so. Now Dracoth endeavoured to preserve the life of his younger sibling, to the point of pickling him if need be.

"Hold. Your. Tongue." Dracoth smirked as he growled the command from behind the vender. Utilising the near last of his enhanced speed and strength on a nameless vendor had not been a part of his predictions for the day, but this was what it was to be an elder brother, sacrifice. As the old man had spat, Dracoth had practically vanished from the doorway he loitered in, reappearing from behind the man. He had reached one long arm around, emerald claws slithering into the man’s mouth with inhuman speed, and grabbed a wet, defenceless tongue between the sharp claws of Dracoth's forefinger and thumb.

Blood sprung from the vendor's mouth, as he instinctively tried to pull away from Dracoth's grip. The red liquid combined with his saliva and began trickling down his chin and onto his clothing.

"Ah, my good man, I would stop struggling if I were you! Harin," Dracoth turned to look at his handsome younger brother, warmth in his dark eyes and a genuine smile on his lips. Despite the absolute horror that the vendor was experiencing as he struggled to stay still and not choke on the well of blood pooling in his mouth, Dracoth looked only joyous to see his brother out and about.

"You escaped the corpse bride, glorious!" Dracoth was teasing of course, for he respected Morana and was glad for her keen focus on Harin. She had the time and apparently the inclination to babysit his once dead brother, which gave Dracoth the privilege of only enjoying his time with Harin and of course returning him to Morana when Dracoth grew bored or hungry.

"Are you planning on eating that or this man?" Dracoth asked nonchalantly. He knew Harin understood little of what he said, but the vendor would understand if he could only hear over the sound of his own outraged cries of pain. "I still don't know what your diet is brother, but we could make a grand feast of this fellow. Picture pan seared forearm paired with caramelised ears!" As Dracoth painted a very visceral image for the vendor to consider, the old man quietened considerably and stared nervously between Harin and Dracoth.

Tormenting people was something Dracoth felt he had some considerable expertise in. After all, he was an elder brother, and a rather competitive elder brother at that. A younger brother, even a mortal one as Harin had once been, had always presented the real threat of taking centre stage, stealing attention Dracoth thought was owed to him. Sadly, Dracoth could therefore recount many a story where he had sabotaged his brother, teased him to the point of tears, or terrorised him with nightmares. Even into adulthood, Dracoth had made a point of bragging of his sexual conquests to Harin, even seducing women he knew were interested in Harin. Most of it had been subconscious, but Dracoth was not entirely ignorant of his behaviour.

The guilt had eaten away at Dracoth from the moment he first heard of his brothers death. All those years he had misused by bullying and competing with him, when he should have been guiding him, protecting him, preparing him. Now, Morana's necromancy had given Dracoth a most precious gift; a chance to do it all over again, and rightly. The chances of Harin returning with no memory only made the project easier because he did not look at Dracoth and anticipate petty cruelty. He had looked at Dracoth when they first reconciled, with new eyes, blank eyes. Together, they could paint an entirely new brotherly bond. One built on mutual respect and trust... and possibly a little awe, if Harin were so inclined to begin to look up to Dracoth with admiration, that would be a perk Dracoth could live with.

"No? Not interested, perhaps just the apple then?" Dracoth queried with a detached kind of curiosity.

The vendor began to plead with Dracoth, and then again with Harin, unaware of the various nuances to the predicament they found themselves in. It did not occur to Dracoth that it might be foolish to present himself as a hero to Harin, by terrorising an old man whose only crime was assault, a common enough incident in Destarin. It did not occur to Dracoth that this might be a poor example of behaviour to be setting for Harin. Neither of these things occurred to Dracoth because none of what he was doing was atypical, in fact, he considered it the norm that Harin would have to accustom himself to. This was Destarin. They were all criminals here, and one fought violence with elevated violence.

Open Starter

"Ah, won't you have this, on me!?" Dracoth encouraged, drunk on wine and the wild residents of Destarin who were abuzz around them, dancing and roughhousing, raucous with laughter.

The Incubi offered a goblet, filled to the brimmed with berries and various other fruits. Entangled in his hair and sloping horns was a variety of beads and flowers bestowed upon him by others celebrating. 'Eat up, your newly appointed Duke commands it!"

Dracoth's comment on his company did not assure Hasbaki he was not lonely, because Has did not believe it. Much as Hasbaki had told Dracoth that he felt lonely without a mother Dracoth had apparently been lonely without a father. That loneliness had not abated in Has, even when around Hiro, so he did not imagined it abated for Dracoth. Company was only a cloth on a stab wound, maybe it prevented the bleeding but the wound was still there.

Certainly he did not laugh when he saw through Dracoth's words, and he did not necessarily pity him, he rather empathised. Maybe if he had the ability he too would have drunkenly indulged instead of crying over a grave he had come to learn was not that of his mother. Whatever the case he indicated no direction of humour or pity, definitely not when Dracoth looked at him through dark lashes, a tightness in his stomach as he did not now how to react.

Hasbaki's infatuation did not leave his mind, Hiro's aggression towards him near making Has fall to his knees in the other witches presence, but Dracoth's look reminded him of old lust that had confused him and he was glad any flush to his own face could not be seen. He had to look away though, his gaze falling to the wet stones in front of himself, focused on the way the water between crevices reflected the minimal light from lanterns on the street.

It was interesting then, to see the witch drop his eyes to the ground between them, looking fixedly at them.

So, it would seem that there were some cracks yet to be fixed by their estrangement. The thought made Dracoth smile with unabashed self-satisfaction - not an atypical expression for the indulgent incubi. He was genuinely pleased with the notion that somewhere, hidden away, Hasbaki maintained a sensitivity for the old drunk. Dracoth allowed the realisation to soothe some of his ego, but Hasbaki's words brought with them a pail of cold reality.

"...where our intentions could align..." it sounded so cool and calculative coming from the witch's sensual lips, and it reminded Dracoth all too well of his discovery of Hasbaki's betrayal. The last time Dracoth had lulled himself into a false sense of confidence with this man, someone had died. Perhaps there was a weakness for Scourge Incubuses in this witch, but it had not stopped Hasbaki from exploiting that weakness for his own purposes. And most importantly, it had not stopped him exploiting Dracoth's.

The next words from Hasbaki's mouth sounded like the curt reprimand of a nun, or so Dracoth imagined for he had not had much experience with religious folks outside of what some would deem a "depraved" setting. It did not rile him, for Dracoth had heard a lot worse than the suggestion that he was drunk. He arched one of his intense brows, cocking his head to one side and responded wryly.

"Darling." There was some derision in his use of this endearment. "I am not entirely sure our intentions could ever align again. Unless those intentions resulted in my dragging you before the entire Scourge Guild and my mother."

While he made threats he had no intention of upholding, it occurred to Dracoth that Hasbaki had taken considerable risk in approaching Dracoth here of all places. Surely, the witch knew intimately well that Dracoth was rarely without protective eyes on him, not to mention that they were stood outside the Scourge House. Perhaps Hasbaki was right, and he had over indulged, for it took till now for Dracoth to feel a sudden well of anxiety take root in his stomach. He hissed with a sudden force, his serpent-like tongue rattling between his teeth and darted between his lips.

"We should discuss this elsewhere!" The Incubi spoke assertively, humour and malice wiped from his expression, replaced with an unreadable determined one. Only the tension in his body might have indicated his wariness. Dracoth was a lazy man. He moved with graceful lethargy and spoke often in a long, drawn-out drawl that leant the impression he was perpetually bored. But on the rare occasion it was called for, Dracoth could focus his attention, temporarily assuming an authoritative command built from years of training. His enhanced senses were for once utilised as he gauged their surroundings, their neighbours spewing about them in a haze of chaos. There were so many variables that made spotting potential threats to Hasbakis’ person, more difficult.

In another life, Dracoth would have grasped the other man’s forearms, forcing him to turn, and marched them both away from prying eyes. In this life however, familiarity had been forfeited, and boundaries had slipped into the subsequent void.

"If you please." The wording was polite, but his expression allowed no room for debate. He gestured down the street for them to walk while remaining at arm’s length. After all, Dracoth did not want to set off alarm bells while they made a hasty withdrawal. Frustratingly, Dracoth also anticipated oncoming company and so casually leaned against the doors to the premises, easily thwarting any attempt to exit. The Incubi barely acknowledged the proceeding thumps against the door, which rattled from the efforts.

The young Incubi had taken some time for Bella to grow used to when his mother had brought him to her to be fitted, much like his mother he was...affectionate, in ways Bella was not, but he had seemed to wise up quickly to her disinterest that went beyond simple displeasure, and was rather obviously discomfort, and had allowed for the fittings between them to simply be that.