Hasbaki Aneji

Hiro's confidence in his ability to maintain his illusionary visage was without question and yet when Has moves behind him, his voice a low murmur, bassy and warm in a way that moves the air behind his neck and rises the fine hairs to attention.. Hiro almost loses his concentration. Almost. And then he feels it, the light touch of firm fingers at his waist. Hiro's magic altering his appearance is visual only, like water in the air catching light to present a mirage. By touch, he remains himself.

Has' fingers, as he knows he can't raise them any higher than the table simply move closer to the middle of his hips, pressing softly so his chest is against Hiro. "Asking you to dance," he whispered, ignoring that Hiro insisted he would not concede anything. He held the closeness he'd initiated only for as long as it took for Hiro to potentially register his words before he stepped back, withdrawing his intimate touch but leaving his hand extended in the air.

With a small step the witch moves behind the other, to hide his had departing Hiro's finger to slip around his waist, feeling through the fabric for where his hip might reveal itself. He hoped that it still felt lie Hiro but he mentally prepared himself that it might not. "So later, when you do beg," Has mused, honestly enjoying himself as he kept his own voice low, but still loud enough someone nearby could hear if they wished to listen. "You will concede to how much you enjoyed my company? No excuses." The witch's fingers water ever so slightly up, to feel the small of Hiro's waist.

"No, I don't think so." Kalliste responded, looking torn as she considered her next words. "But people throw rotten fruit at our King. How will he control the masses if his own people do not fear him?" Kalliste looked fearful. She did not know if she should fear for their King or for the townspeople, herself included. For here in Destarin, the king, the villains, and the heroes were indistinguishable from one another. "Civilization begins with order, grows with liberty, and dies with chaos." Kalliste whispered with a haunted expression.

He knew what it was like to fear the person who made the decisions for you and for those you were surrounded with. He did not think it was the way to be lead. Fear did not bring about anything good.

Her words felt like the same sort of brainwashing he had grown up with, the same that he felt himself uttering at times when he was not prepared for his upbringing to linger so heavily on his person. It was sad to see it in another, to hear it so evidently on her tongue.

"Not everything thrives the same way. If you're here it must not have worked for you."

The strangers face with Hiro's words looks back at him and Hasbaki smiles, able to take Hiro's own amusement that this face has given him to attempt enjoyment of the situation as well, even if concern couldn't fade from him. "My good looks aren't enough?" he asked, gently tugging on Hiro's finger as they reached the drinks.

Kalliste could not fathom what she had just seen at the coronation. Their town's mad king, pelted with rotten fruits, and crowned with copper bells. The blood bath. The lust for violence and debauchery permeated the very air the towns residents breathed in, and Kalliste could only watch as festivities turned raucous and the new king's subjects seemed to part ways with what little inhibitions they still had.

It felt a relief that he had misunderstood what Hiro had meant by a night together, and gave a soft nod. He didn't want to admit he'd taken it that Hiro thought he only wanted one thing, that he'd assumed Hiro saw him lie that because he knew it was the only way he'd ever experienced getting close to people since it was all a manipulation. With Hiro it had simply been that he wanted to make sure Hiro knew the desire was there and they only had moments but he kept his perception to himself because the insecurity was his own, and not about anything Hiro had said.

Shuffling his shoulders he rose his gaze once more. "I am disappointed because I don't like looking at a strange face, or that you might assume I'd be fine with a night with you even if you were gone come morning," he clarified, his words ephasised to denote a meaning beyond. "I would want your face and I would want to wake to it," he admitted, once more looking away, his lips pursing because the notion made him feel weak, hearing his Uncle in his head insisting he carried his mother's 'feminine darkness.'

Hiro's appearance wavers like ripple over water as the mask is removed, not one feature seems to be his and yet is at the same time. His brows are both too short and too long, his eyes either too wide or more narrow, his lips thinner or twisted. His jaw line more square or more round. Every detail that makes him into who he is no longer remains the same, turning him into a distortion of himself. He is himself but he is not. The only thing that doesn't change are his eyes, ever dark and ever burning.

"I'm not letting you disappear," he stated, because it wasn't a question. He doubted Hiro took it as a threat but he said it regardless because intention mattered. At least it did to him. "You want to be a ghost tonight, that's fine, but I've got plans and none include you disappearing."

The memory of their abrupt and painful end only deepened the red in Dracoth's cheeks. Shame and embarrassment burned in wounds that the incubi had neglected and allowed to fester. On the rare occasion Dracoth had permitted himself to think about the witch, he had only been able to focus on one emotion at a time; rejection, shock, betrayal, denial, the loss and then the rage. Confronting each of the array of feelings would have overwhelmed the sensitive incubi, and he seemed to have neglected one emotion, namely desire. The desire for Hasbaki's company had been one raw emotion he had eclipsed with distractions, and it was one that flared now. So it was especially brutal to see the look on his face.

Dracoth grunted in acknowledgement of Hasbaki's assessment of him. It was evident from his expression that Hasbaki did not look upon Dracoth and see a glorious king in the prime of his life. Instead, he no doubt saw a drunk, a sad old drunk. And as Dracoth reassured himself, that was only a fraction of who he was. He was also a mighty Incubi, a ravenous consumer of people as well as wine, he also enjoyed a feast of food like anyone. In addition to that, he was also open minded, loyal and loving, but none of these qualities soothed him in the same way.

"Ah, the holy man who never saw me naked," Dracoth trilled, being deliberately provocative, before allowing his torn shirt to part, rippling behind his lither figure. In all his years, and he had many, Dracoth had never allowed anyone to suspect him of shame, or insecurity, and this day would beno different, he decided.

"Why yes, thank you for asking. It is fun! I acknowledge your sarcasm, but it would be a disservice to the lovely ladies and gentlemen, and monsters to deny it”Dracoth mentioned his evening companions for several reasons. First and foremost being of course to ascertain how this would affect Hasbaki, if at all, but almost as importantly; it gave Dracoth some comfort proving how lonely he was not. It might have appeared as a deliberate tactic to illicit jealousy, but in truth he was simply perpetuating his own denial; a defence mechanism against admitting he was lonely.

"Excuse me" Dracoth frowned, shaking his head and dropping his gaze to the floor. It occurred to Dracoth that Hasbaki might see through the façade, and was perhaps laughing at him, or worse, pitying him. Dracoth knew that there had been moments when he had endeared himself to Hasbaki. There had been affection, if not the love Dracoth had interpreted, the witch had not always seen him through such narrowed eyes.

Dracoth cleared his throat and looked through his lashes at Hasbaki, sobering a little.

"I'm not accustomed to seeing your face around these parts." The incubi explained, biting his lip to restrain a nervous giggle. Dracoth had seen Hasbaki's face all over Destarin, but in this context he meant specifically Hasbaki’s.

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.

Her years with Doran had built her up in ways she didn't see in the man in front of her. Doran had been her family, her support, her light in darkness she hadn't asked for. At least, darkness she didn't think she asked for but she was never entirely certain. The shadows left behind from the erasure of her life before still hung over her, still hanging on by her curiosity, but Doran had wiped them from her eyes. They were no longer the only thing she saw.

"I'm glad you were the one to find me." Was all she said, there was no reason to push where it seemed he had a line in the dirt similar to her own.

His smile on the other hand, that changed things. No matter how small. His face changed for the better. Fiadh laughed lightly back at his response, and couldn't help herself. "You're much more handsome now if anything."

It was true in the ways that concerned her. She saw a man now, one with his own smile. Not a boy who had seemed as scared as she had been but a man who came with his own history. One who managed a joke in the face of a ghost. And she liked that. She liked the way his face changed.

His compliment was odd and it made her smile wider. There was only one other creature that had witnessed her in that state and Doran would have agreed. She was well fed and cared for, even if Doran was convinced she had an eating disorder. Her hand had floated to her cheek, fingers brushing her cheek absentmindedly as she thought about what she might have looked like at her worst. It was her turn to jest, "Thank whatever gods may exist for that. No one would sell books to a corpse."

He laughed, wondering what he had seemed to her before if he was handsome now. He'd been so young then, just a boy of ten and eight. He'd been more slender certainly, probably near as starved as she was, maybe she'd tasted it in his blood, or maybe was so hungry then she hadn't noticed. In the past few months of partial freedom he'd tried so much food though, it had made him bigger, the training he had now sustained by something. Yes, he probably was more handsome now.

"In a few years maybe you'll say otherwise," he offered, because age would come for him, unlike for herself.

There’s no hesitation now. There’s nothing but movement and the glimmer of sharp steel and the sound of wind fracturing as his katana cuts through air cleanly. He only needs to now flick the blood off his blade, it splatters in a crimson streak against the floor, before he sheaths the katana with a soft click.

The restaurant holds its breath.

People should have screams, should have cried and wailed, but the fight was more interesting than the death and death has become so customary it's almost boring now. No intrigue to it either, a silly boy making a silly choice and getting himself killed for it. Lesser things got those in Destarin killed, many just for the sake of being a meal. People would no doubt utter of his idiocy, his inability to know when to stand down. None would remember what he'd said as anything beyond false vulgarities. Hiro the understandable victor, Hasbaki the witch who knew better than to engage over someone as weak as the boy who was now dead.

He was still dying technically when everyone's attention had passed, still dying when the coven members picked him up, but no one attempted to save him, and within moments his pulse had stopped. His body would simply be proof to his Uncle that the young man had set back his efforts. That the coven needed to stop intervening or he'd never get the information they wanted.