A Genuine Ex Pat From Hell

It was an ironic thing to say, considering the situation. That situation being Blythe delicately balanced on the foot board of Harry Dresden’s hospital bed, folded into a crouch that gave the impression they were ready to pounce as they watched the sedated wizard. 

But Blythe did appreciate the attempt at humour.

Blythe’s six eyes had narrowed into sharp little slits at the tall not-quite stranger that had approached them where they were comfortably prone on the plush settee. One long leg braced against the seat, while the other dangled off the side, leaving room for the pretty mortal boy lounging between their thighs. Their long, clawed fingers had been playing with the boy’s hair, winding blonde curls around each knuckle idly while they surveyed the mass of bodies on the dancefloor below.

They recognised the face and at first glance, they may have mistaken him for the other one. But something about him was recognisably different. They just couldn’t quite put their finger on it yet. 

“Do we?”, the demon drawled and their hold on the strands between their fingers tightened until their human companion moaned with something somewhere between pain and pleasure, his eyes near black and his expression one of absent pleasure, giving away a state of intoxication of some kind. 

Blythe’s own expression had shifted into a sly, almost hungry smile, too wide to be anything but inhuman. “You aren’t one of us ... hmmm.”

A flick of their wrist sent the young man in their lap backwards and to the floor, leaving them free to get to their feet with odd, long limbed grace. “And what, pretty doppelganger, do you propose?”

Michael would really prefer to walk away, but without Amoracchius to defend himself with, he didn’t dare turning his back to Blythe. Even with the Sword he probably wouldn’t risk it. “Harry doesn’t tell me about everything in his life. He doesn’t have to.” If their plan was to sow discord between him and Harry then they would fail.

“Secretive.”, Blythe nodded sagely, flipping the long, ostentatious feather boa they were wearing (or was it part of them?) over their shoulder. “I suppose that is no surprise. Birds of a feather and all that.”

They smiled and just for a second, two rows of needle sharp teeth were revealed and ... those dimples in their cheeks? Did those glitter red? Like a set of eyes?

“Nice to meet you, Blythe.” They seemed to care about politeness and Michael knew enough about the Fae not to risk angering something unfamiliar. “We’ve met, yes,” maybe that’s where they learned his named then - although Michael didn’t believe for even a second that Blythe had John’s best interest in mind. “Their… tryst?” That’s not what he knew about the two of them, they’d both denied even being friends.

“Ooops.”, Blythe giggled, hiding their mouth behind a hand that looked tipped in claws. “Did I spill a little secret?”

“It’s not very polite not to introduce yourself, either,” Michael watched warily as the… creature sat down, their movement unnatural and unsettling. The hairs on the back of his neck were rising, everything about this situation was wrong. “I think I’ll stay here, we can talk from a distance.”

Continued from ask

Cold fury erupted through him at the demon’s next mention of Constantine, and the pain of his wounds melted away into so much background noise. It had occurred to him before that he knew precious little about the man’s past. About the demons– both figurative and, apparently, literal– that haunted him. He hadn’t pressed for details, and had volunteered precious few of his own.

But this creature, whatever its history with John, clearly had one hell of a hard-on for hurting him. And that…

That was not okay.

Not even a little bit.

(He tried not to think about what that might mean)

(It meant Constantine was his, and he’d be damned if he’d let this demonic stick bug harm him in any way)

As the demon hurled itself at Harry, he swung his staff to bear again and snarled, “Here, have an appetizer on me. Infriga!” A roar of wind kicked up, punctuated by a flash of glittering light, and the air rippled and cracked with a broad swathe of mist-shrouded frost.

Pain in the air, the taste of blood and Blythe could feel their gut twist with pleasure. 

Oh, they knew that anger. 

Their sources were correct, then. John Constantine had gotten himself entangled with this ... Dresden character.

And what a character he was. Half of Fairy was having a hardon for the man and Hell? Oh, Hell was just jonesing for his soul.

Blythe, however? Blythe was just here to have a little fun on John’s expense. Maybe start a little collection down in Hell? Oh, wouldn’t that be fun? They’d string up Dresden right beside what was left of sweet Oliver. And then, then they’d get the one with The Gun, too.

And they’d make John watch.

His own personal Hell on earth.

But first ...

They saw the spell coming this time. The staff might direct his power, but it was also telegraphing Dresden’s intentions and Blythe pushed themselves out of the direct path of the incoming power. The edges of it still stung like a hundred knives to their skin.

They laughed.

“Too slow. Again.”, they admonished with a little click of their tongue. A tongue, that they wrapped around their blood stained finger. Only to draw back with a hiss, swallowing the astringent sweetness of fairymagic. “Oh, now that’s interesting!”

Once again, they cloaked themselves in shadow, pulling darkness around them, before reaching for the threads of magic around them. Long fingers knitted into a complicated pattern and when they stepped back into the half-light of the parking lot, barely a step away from Dresden, the power of their own spell released.

It took hold of the staff and yanked, hard, giving Blythe an opportunity to step into Dresden’s space, almost like a lover into a waiting embrace. The way Blythe wrapped their arms around the man furthered that illusion until their claws dug into the muscle beside his shoulderblades, holding him in place.