iron / r o t s

Today has decided to just throw surprises her way and see how many can she successfully dodge - before they smack her right into her face. It’s been ... years. No, actually it’s been centuries - at least two, if not three - since she’s last seen someone she once loved as honestly as she’d love a younger, livelier sister. She cared for her that way, forgetting for a moment that they were no longer of the same specie ; that one was mortal and one was immortal ( well, immortal unless proved otherwise. ).

Now, they’ve been nothing but close strangers.

She hates the alienation between them, but ... she had had her problems back then when they met and dealing with a sisterly affection towards a human - with their limited lifespan - was not a good idea. It was a sacrifice she was unwilling to make, but a sacrifice that was necessary to make - Nara was a weakness she could not have, and over two centuries later, that weakness remains.

Ah, well now she’s older and wiser - and the once mortal friend is now undead.

For a general of her caliber, she still had it in her to freeze on the spot, when faced with things she did not expect would come bite her in the derriere. It was just like a scene from one of those moving picture things that mortals are going wild about lately - gazes locked and time halting ... or something equally idiotic. To be fair, it wasn’t destiny, or romance, or mind numbing joy she felt upon seeing Nara - it was surprise. A hint of regret, even. And not a small degree of apprehension.

Oh, this is going to be interesting.

Since they were now both aware of the fact that Cai was staring at her ( poor soul, she only hoped she wasn’t starting holes into Nara. she does like her, after all. ) there was no point in beating around the bush. With a grace of a general accustomed to moving silently, gracefully and hastily, Cai found herself in her friend’s vicinity before she managed to reason herself out of it.

What kind of a mother-hound would she be, if she did not venture to the Brawl to support at least one of her pups? What kind of a future leader - better said - would she be if she failed to observe the members of her House going at it in the ring?

A terrible one.

Unfortunately, this fight we had come down to watch had been... well, not quite terrible, but it wasn’t too great either. It seemed like the Cicada’s prized bloodhound was doing more bleeding and less hounding. Had it been a simple fight ( without the glory of their House hanging by an ever-thinning thread ), she would’ve been amused by it - amused and, damned her, pleased at the outcome. Right now, she was not pleased - or amused. She even bet on the asshole and this is what she gets? Is this a punishment from the Blood Gods for her betting? - not that she believed in any Gods ; but, it was easier to put her blame upon something that couldn’t quite fight back.

If the God did intend to smite her, then she’d like to see him try.

Deciding that taking a break from scowling at the battle in front of her, Cai ventured to the bar, leaning against the counter and ordering a strong drink ; Gods know she needs one right now. To be fair, she expected the bar to be fuller than it was, but disappointed that it wasn’t as empty as she’d hoped. Still, among so many familiar - and some unfriendly - faces, she noticed someone she did not have any problems talking to ; Valentine.

He found no amusement in her words, though he supposed that her smile was possibly less of jest, and more of prideful disdain. But her words held truth to him, even if he’d rather be found dead than agree with her outright: one could nibble. He’d much rather snap the whole hand off clean, though, he mused grimly. Whether that was truly what she thought, however, he could not say. And he was not willing to risk letting his own disloyalty show. Not to her.

“With fangs that sharp,” he mumbled, running his tongue along his protruding canines, “one ought to act with caution.” He met her gaze squarely. There was no malice this time, words earnest and genuine, a fleeting reflection of the truth of his heart. Distrust settled where capillaries webbed, utterance more a word of warning against the others, rather than a suggestion that Cai was unable to control herself. Vampires were nothing but scums, after all.

But as he refused to express the quiet respect she’s instilled in him, he too could not discern where truth and sarcasm meet in her own jabs. Did they see each other in the same light, perhaps only finding themselves on opposite ends of the war because of a bitter battle for the throne? Or was there something else in him that she truly hated, that transcended everything else? Did she hate him, whole? Her laugh stripped him of his thoughts, loose ends tucked further in the recesses of his mind for contemplation at another time.

“You forget I am nothing but an underdog,” brow cocked, he too found a chuckle on his lips, though his own was tainted with a hint of bitterness. “You, on the other hand… well let’s just say a leader who cannot guide her own pups to victory is something else altogether.” He cracked his knuckles, feigning nonchalance. “If I were you, I’d worry more about your standing in his good graces, rather than mine. After all, it is a very long fall.”

Cai had tried very, very hard to refrain from rolling her eyes. She succeeded, but it had almost been a losing battle ; still, if she had perfect control over anything in her life, she had it over her expressions - both facial and verbal. But, the warning was there - whether it was an unconscious decision or a malicious jab from Titus, she couldn’t quite say ( she’d have to use her power to sniff it out - but, the buzzing had been enough of an annoyance to render her unwilling to prolong the ringing. ) - so, she opted, for once, to view him in a more ... benevolent light.

“Words are sharper. Don’t you think we ought to extend some caution to it as well? It seems our ... cursed lives would be much more enjoyable if we spoke less ... maliciously. If only for the pretense of peace, if the real one is unattainable.” It wasn’t so much of a warning as it was an olive branch - or whatever the mortals nowadays called a shaky peace offering. She could certainly use a respite from incessant, relentless verbal daggers thrown her way - especially in these deadly trying times.

“Underdog, indeed.” She hums, lips pursed in thought. He was an underdog, alright - but, an underdog with the right appendage attached to his person ; and that made him a much better candidate in their Head’s eyes than she ever will be - no matter how skilled, no matter how many victories she leads them into. But, he speaks again and she arches her eyebrow, debating whether she should display annoyance or amusement on her face - she opted for the latter.

tw scar mention

little firefly, little thief, little frankenstein-monster running around with your mind half-screwed and your heart-ash littering the hallways —

you sit at the maw of danger and make a home out of it. does this make you brave or foolish?

soft blinking, then a stopping. papers still in their hands, then are carefully put away. the slight thing moves to sit on the edge of their head’s desk, and carefully presents outstretched wrists, pulling up sleeves to unveil the criss-crossing of patchwork scars of a human life.

“then imprison me.” not said as a challenge, but a welcoming. a pleading, if you wanted it to be. “but i am not a man, nor am i cicada’s. if you want to execute me, then have it done by tybalt.”

said simply, said clear. what respect that is known is given almost subconsciously to the man, with little left for anyone else. there is an ease to the thought of the head to be the one to deliver the gracious blow.

“poor cicadas. no wonder they’re all so stiff.” they muse, shuffling sleeves down arms again. smiles are almost light, if not for how eyes are almost too-blackened. “if you were to kill me, would you do so in a way as dull as simply drying me out in the sun?”

How dramatic.

“Tsk, we do not execute vampires for petty theft. Our numbers are already small, if we executed for petty crimes, we would all be long dead now.” Well, deader. Still, Cai eyes their hands with a quirked eyebrow, feeling the weight of her own scars - a whole arm. “You seem awfully eager to spend a day in our cells.” She would have said night, but vampires had a different timetable from the rest of the world - day and night inverted, like a photograph’s negative. “I would ask why, but I don’t think you would be inclined to answer. Like you implied, you answer to Tybalt.” A smile, something that - had it been her pup before her - would have been seen as motherly ; perhaps even affectionate.

“Shall we play fetch then? I call for Tybalt, and we bet how long it will take for him to answer. I think I can smell him somewhere down the stairs.” It is hardly a threat - a mere amusement. Once she would have fought tooth and nail - or, well, punches and fangs - for respect, but she’s grown older since that. Battle worn and wiser. As Tybalt’s friend, she is pleased to see some loyalty shown to him - even if from a thief.

“And I don’t bow down to you,” he countered, brow raised. Unlike that spineless dog, Zhan. Centuries under her belt meant nothing to him: it served no justification for her pride or derision, for he’d proven his mettle in less. Nine centuries against two. If anything, he should be the proud one, rising where others were still faltering, already running where others were still finding their footing. And where he lacked in experience, he made up for in spirit, ablaze where ember flickered, like a phoenix rising from the ashes. If she underestimated him, then that was her mistake. One that would cost her dearly.

Words were not his forte: he did not fashion weapons out of syllables. There was no point in the obtuse, no point in circling one’s prey when it was time to sink one’s teeth in. But if this was her chosen battlefield, then he’d fight–and win– by her rules. He’d show her just how sharp his teeth could get. “Is that contempt for a long-standing tradition I hear?” he taunted, voice low, “Careful not to overstep: we don’t bite the hand that feeds us.”

House mantra echoed like a broken record, he was careful to hide his own disdain.

His laugh rang hollow, almost mocking. “I proved myself decades ago, without the need for vampire powers,” he spat, implication laced between the curves of his speech. Though he knew little of Cai’s history, if she prided herself in what she could give in her vampire years that much, perhaps there was little substance to her human ones. He cracked his knuckles, corner of his lips raising to mirror hers. “I am happy to lose,” he paused, finding the right words, “You’ll find merit goes beyond bloodshed.”

And I don’t bow down to you.

There it was, again. For a while, she wondered what it was, exactly, that made him so hostile towards her - is it the age thing? she does count as one of the oldest vampires. Or perhaps something less... comprehensible to someone with a functioning brain, a reason so profoundly male and idiotic that her eyes would remain lodged in the back of her skull should she succumb to the urge to roll them. But, then ah! there it is! That little... tremor in his usual arrogance. Fleeting, perfectly veiled, yes, but with her gift she could... smell the change. That is how pheromones work - drawing someone in, sending them running for their lives, changing, manipulating or declaring the mood ( how flowers draw in bees to aid in their procreation ).

Interesting.

The smidgen of the power she used, no matter how brief and diluted, left a dull, ringing sound in her right ear - a tiresome mosquito buzzing just there - ah, at least it is not total deafness this time. “True. But, no one ever said we cannot nibble on it.” The amusement which tugs at her corner of her lips is evident - a private joke. She is rigorous, yes - but not blind. Law might be absolute, but it is fluid - and some outdated, barbaric habits should be grown out of - just like newborn vampires grow out of their consuming thirst.

“Indeed you have, and what a sight it was.” Cai says, though not all of it rings with mockery. He is a good soldier - perhaps one of the best. Unlike him, she would never spit on someone’s talent. Her own rise in the ranks also came from her skill rather than her scent - aside from the Head only few knew of it, just like only two knew of her metal arm. A low chuckle leaves her lips as he talks again - undoubtedly another taunt - but, it is simply hilarious.

He had intended on resting for the day: weary muscles were ready to give way to slumber after a particularly taxing training session. The rest of the House had found entertainment elsewhere, and while he did miss having Rakshasa as a sparring partner, Titus didn’t particularly mind the solitude either. It seemed almost rare to come by, outside of his own quarters, and even then he could often hear quiet murmurs from his neighbours creeping along his room walls. So when the sound of heaving, and particularly heavy hitting punches greeted his ears on his way to the showers, it certainly piqued his interest.

It wasn’t difficult to track the sound, but he hadn’t expected to find her. The villain of his nightmares, finding physicality in this real world. Perhaps in another universe, he would have respected her. The grit and determination that left men on their knees in her wake, commanding attention and esteem amongst those who saw her kind beneath them. She was everything he valued, except when she was not. Eclipsed by her striking flaws and misplaced ambitions, there was nothing left of her he could revere, no iota of deference he could give.

“No, glad I found you,” he scoffed, hospitality already abandoned, “Noticed you’re not up for the brawl.” Eyes never leaving her back, he took a few steps forward like a predator stalking its prey. If anything, though, she was no prey. She was an equal, his match, and he knew it. It was a pity he hadn’t met her in the ring for the fateful match that would seal his punishing fate. But it was wishful thinking. “In fact, I don’t think I’ve seen you in a brawl before. Afraid to embarrass yourself?”

She had usually been the lenient one - the one who did not quite enjoy, unless necessary, to pick a fight with the hounds in her house. But, he was testing her patience with every tick of useless minutes. She turn to face him again, gaze cold, but with a hint of dark amusement lacing it as she spoke, the metal arm coiling around the punching back, steadying it with a hug - and with a promise she’ll rip it off its chain and hurl it Titus’ way should he continue with the same level of blatant disrespect he is currently approaching her with.

“Small dogs truly are the most vexing.” Cai purrs, the watchful gaze turning from amused to annoyed as he continues to speak. “Watch yourself, Titus. I do not answer to you.” a quiet warning, a whisper of a growl bubbling in the pit of her throat. It there is one thing she despises, it’s when others assume her cowardice. She’d seen nine centuries of warfare - seen it long before Titus’ human ancestors were even thought of, let alone conceived.

She knows it is his attempt to vex her.

Had it been anyone else, she would’ve sliced off a limb or two, in reprimand of course. But, it has been a long while since she’s learnt to not be tempted by a youngling’s attempt of provoking her. So, she simply smiles. “Forgive me for failing to see the point in bloodless bloodshed. One tires of petty fights after nine centuries of carnage.” She rolls her shoulders, ignoring the question completely - and countering with a jab she was certain would get to him ;

It was a quiet day. Too quiet. Usually, there would’ve been some noises to accompany her ; the sounds of her fellow housemates traipsing about, arguing, training or enjoying a lazy moment. Now, there was nothing - not even a fly to annoy her with its incessant buzz.

It was a little suspicious.

Good things, such as a quiet moment of undisturbed serenity, rarely last for too long - comprehend them, and they fall apart, scatted like ashes on a windy day. Training was her way of venting, or calming down, and it was a good opportunity to head to the barracks without being followed by a pack of yapping pups. Her good graces of tolerating yapping pups extend to just the one pup.

as expected, her punching-bag induced serenity did not last for long - approaching footsteps and the annoyingly familiar scent breezing in moments before he entered. Aye, the wind has certainly changed and it reeks of hollow innocence - and of sweet, but naively idealistic, ideas.

“fireflies have a lifespan of a year. with that, i’m over a century overdue. at this rate, perhaps my lifespan will run backwards.”

the scientist does not look up as they speak, hardly perturbed at being caught at their head’s office. fingers continue to flip through the papers on the desk before moving to the drawers, pulling them open carefully.

“a creative threat, albeit not effective. i’ll die as a consequence of my actions one day, but it won’t be by tybalt’s hand — at least, not over this. i do quite like the metaphor, though.” they finally look up, flashing cai a quick wink before resuming their search.

“i know he has the research findings somewhere… fucking… old geezer couldn’t have put it somewhere that difficult to find…”

a light pout, tresses of hair ruffled when they stand up straight again.

“well? wanna help me out while we wait for tybalt? he’s not here — well, clearly. want me to pass on a message?” a slight tilt of heads, smiles almost friendly. “i think he’s got a box of crackers here somewhere, if you’re planning to stay. interested?”

Cai admires their audacity, truly. Though, given the younger vampire’s blatant disregard of any propriety, shame or self preservation, she kept wondering just how their lifespan endured for as long as it did.

Not effective? There is barely a soul in existence brave enough to disregard her purred out warnings, not when the tone is as hushed as it was mere heartbeats ago. This little thing has some balls. “Hm.” she hums, a hint of amusement igniting her eyes, before the little audacious thing spoke again - and Cai’s last nerve started to become strained.

“And I thought herding the men in Cicada was a tiresome task.” Tongue clicks, a displeased tsk echoing from her mouth as head tilts to the side - displeasure of the vampire’s initial mischief now turning into a long overdue lecture.

Crackers were probably the last straw straining her already frail nerves. “Aid you? In stealing? From your Head, no less. You know this is the third offense you did in less than a minute? First, breaking and entering. Second, an attempted theft - of classified, medical information, no less. And third,” she pauses, a mockery of a soft smile tugs at her lips before she continues ; “attempted bribe of a high ranked, military officer. I head the prison is lovely at this time of year. Plenty of sunlight.”

This whole Blood Brawl thing was certainly getting out of hand. It was pointless carnage, gladiator games that did not even end in a glorious death. She fails to see the point in vampires tearing at each other’s throat without actually tearing at each other’s throats.

It was certainly an upgrade from the mindless bloodshed back in the day. But a downgrade in any sense of propriety or, well, good ideas. Honestly, they could’ve just played cards. Or Go. Have a sprinting contest. But no, their eternal lives will get so pitiful and dull if they don’t - within the bounds of law - attempt to rip each other to shreds.

Men.

And now not only her favourite pup is attending, but also probably her only friend and had it not have been for the blasted arm ( the secrecy of it ) she would’ve participated herself. Her plan was to visit Tybalt again and give him some more advice on fighting - if only to do her duty as a friend ; and a fighter - but something smelled... different in his office. It was a somewhat familiar scent ( in a way that scent of all vampires she’s seen at least a couple of times in her long lifespan ), but not as familiar as to pin it to a face.

Cai had long since kissed her manners goodbye, especially when intruders are concerned ( and not having smelled her friend’s presence meant someone was intruding ), pushing the door open with an ominous creak. Wolfish smile tugs at the corners of her lips, gaze fixed upon the vaguely familiar vampire.

Zhan Lei remained silent, watchful. He watches every tick in her expression, her every move, taking note of the amusement in her eyes and the sudden flash of worry. He briefly wonders if the mother hound is worried for him because she thinks he is still too weak. I can never lose. She will be very disappointed. He meets her eyes, and the reply was a curt: “Understood.” With an obedient nod, he places the blindfold on himself as she circles around him. He had her scent memorized, and his nose senses her far better than touch, hearing, or sight could, and yet…as powerful as it is, Cai is right — his nose is also weakness. Not to mention the fact that most of vampirekind knows about it.

Zhan Lei is immobile for a few seconds, brain concentrated on her scent, trying to locate her. He suddenly bursts forth, not wasting time to throw a punch her way.

Cicada’s pup is certainly eager to prove himself. She knows how that feels - even after nine centuries of being honed in a battle, she still has to prove herself, prove her worth as if she had not already done so centuries and centuries ago - over and over again. She nods, a quiet dip of her chin in acknowledgement, and remains silent while little carnage fastens the blindfold.

It was one of her brighter ideas - developed completely out of her own fear.

Zhan lunges forward and, had it not have been for her military training ( and centuries of living with men who think they can tackle her down to prove a Point whenever they please ) taking over her senses. She dodges, but a wave of approval coils around her spine. “Good. Again. Don’t lash out, calculate. Hone your skill. It will be harder but more effective. Never forget the speed of a vampire.”

Shifting on her feet, Cai inches further away, slowing down her breathing and movement. Rely on your scent. Use it. Track. Pinpoint. Do what you do the best. She stills, waiting, head tilted to the side and eyes narrowed, briefly wondering should she use her own skill - that could serve as a good lesson in expecting the unexpected.

location: cai’s home. with: @ircncrowned

He spends what some might call an inordinate amount of time with Cai, at least, in the grand scheme of the time he has that’s available to be spent. At her home or in the hospital, ensuring that things are running well – it’s become peace to him as much as any other routine. He shadows her doorstep without intent, this time, needling for conversation but not really knowing it. He doesn’t let himself in, because it’s not polite, even if he knows Cai wouldn’t think twice of it.

When she answers the door, he lifts his doctor’s bag. It’s leather, always with a shine to it that leans towards perfection, with tools that he’s tailored specifically to the best usage when it comes to working with her. She deserves it, he thinks, more than anyone else among their kin, as blasphemous as that might sound. “Sorry for dropping by unannounced, but I wanted to speak with you about something.”

Her sense of smell might be her strongest suit, but she’s not completely deaf, either ( well, not yet, at least. not if she keeps a lid on her rosy power ). She could feel the... resident veterinarian of the war hounds ( and other blood thirsty beasts ) lingering on her doorway ; as if she had not repeated for over two centuries now that he is allowed to enter her premises without a polite, human knock.

It is not like she can’t hear him without it, anyway.

She might be the only one who forgets the nuances of such human coded rituals - they meant something when she was in the human army, and they meant more while she clung to what’s left of her humanity when she was turned. After nine centuries of living among vampires it became... pointless, tedious nicety. A way for the vampiric hounds of Hell to cling to whatever humanity they failed to mock. “Do not doddle and come in.” She calls out, the iron in her words ringing with a friendly warmth she held for, perhaps, only two souls in this universe - three, if she counts someone she has not seen in a very, very long time.

“Of course, mother. I have vowed to appear before you as promptly as I can whenever you call for me,” was the sterile reply, devoid of any emotion. Though the glint in his eyes and the minuscule quirk on the corner of his lips betray his understated playfulness. Zhan Lei is confident, however, that Cai knows he meant every word. “I am participating this time,” he declares, off-handed. Matter-of-fact. His hands work quick to unbutton the dark Cicada uniform, anticipating grueling hours of hell under his mentor-slash-mother figure’s harsh tutelage. After a brief pause, he adds: “I assume you wanted to know.” At these words, he looks up at her, looking to meet her eyes and wondering if he’d been right to assume. A heartbeat passes ( or whatever the equivalent was for creatures like them ), and quick to move from one topic to the next, mechanical and methodic in his ways, he speaks again: “I brought a blindfold, as per your request.” He tosses aside his discarded uniform, leaving only the thick black piece of cloth in his hands — his blindfold. Shirtless and bared of any weapon, his hands clasp behind his back, he stood patiently awaiting her instructions, like the obedient pup he was, and will always be. For her.

Mother.

It was a title she only allowed him to use. Had anyone else uttered it to her, she would have turned them into a blood smoothie within a minute. She was born and raised in a military camp devoid of any and all maternal instincts - it was a surprising, if not a little ironic, twist of events that made her take the Cicada’s little carnage under her wing ; and so the Cicada’s hound became her pup.

An amused smile tugs at the corners of her lips, the fond exasperation evident in her ever watchful gaze - yet, the amusement soon fades into something akin to approval ; mixed with only the faintest hints of worry. It was... a reasonable decision and not at all that unexpected ( though, being nine centuries old she finds very few things truly surprise her nowadays ). “I suspected you might be inclined to join the ruckus. That is why I summon you here. We ought to practice.”

Watchful gaze briefly skims over Zhan’s slender figure - careful to note any possible weakness, the military upbringing making her a perfect mentor to hone his skill. She still thinks he could use a more physical approach, tactics and good old fisticuffs when weapons are forbidden - or if his ability should overwhelm him. “Good, that is good. We will combine our usual practices. In the ring, you will not be allowed a weapon, unless it comes from your ability. Your nose is your advantage, but also a weakness.” She circles around him, inspecting, lips pursed in thought.

Time is relative in an eternal lifespan ; yet, considering how memory works, even nine centuries can seem to fly by in a heartbeat. If a century is a short time to her, then half of it is even shorter. It seems like it was only yesterday when the last Bloody event was hosted - and this marks the 24th instance of her politely declining any physical involvement in it. Once, she despised herself for it, for the secrecy of cold flesh being swapped for a colder metal, rendering her unwilling to fight for the glory of her house.

Now? Nine centuries old and, arguably, slightly less keen to beat the crap out of everyone in her line of sight, she is rather content to be on the sidelines, watching the event and judging the techniques of not only the Cicada’s contestants, but everyone else participating in the event. However, there was one member of the house she wasn’t quite certain would be submitting his name - and she rather wondered if he was up for it.

Normally, she wasn’t the one to voluntarily fraternise with the majority of her house, but Zhan had been one of the select few exceptions to the solitary rule she’s put on herself. If she was truly honest, she’d be inclined to admit she’s rather fond of the boy - but, she’s always had a soft spot for troubled, lonely souls, especially it the said souls were often overlooked, or neglected. The curiosity over the impending Blood Brawl wasn’t the only reason she’s summoned him for a quick spar.

----- red hot B L O O D. -----

Hear ye, hear ye! The Iron crowned queen to be is about to set a house on fire.