Virgilâs No Good Beary Bad Day|| Crow & Virgil
TIMING: A few days before Solomon was turned young LOCATION: Deep in the woods PARTIES: @corvidaecrowâ and @virgil-achylsâ SUMMARY: Virgil is pursued by a Gumberoo. Crow sets it on fire, but Virgilâs hatred for fire and spellcasters makes him reluctant to be grateful. CONTENT WARNINGS: animal death, violence (Virgil gets punched), domestic abuse (very briefly mentioned), sibling death
Virgil had become accustomed over his year and a half in White Crest to some very strange wildlife. With his previous wanderings through the woods, heâd call himself pretty good at not attracting attention from the wrong creatures. To be fair, the vast majority merely scattered before his feet, spooked by the way the darkness seemed to deepen where he went. The bright, maddening beam of his eyes was something that beasts of all kinds tended to avoid, whether it was tempered by glasses or not. Heâd gotten very good at silently passing through the woods unbothered by the creatures within. The only real trouble he had was with humans, but he very rarely met them face to face.Â
That was why he felt safe to come out here on his own. He didnât think heâd had a moment alone since he came back from the disastrous trip to the Mirror- how many weeks ago was it? He couldnât say. But he was enjoying the attention. It felt good to be with the two people he loved the most in the world, and who loved him enough to help him through the effects of being possessed by a demon, and halfway turned into an angel. Nassus and Solomon had made sure he didnât die.Â
Nassus was dead, yes, but his ghost had been following Virgil ever since he died. It never occured to Virgil that Nassus might be here with him; heâd thought that whatever remained of his brother would just stay in the Mirror, unable to follow him across dimensions. But Nassus was here, still watching over him. The consuming grief which had colored Virgilâs life had lifted. Nassus had taken over the body of his human so he could get Virgil through his separation from the demon. For the first time, he felt as though he could accept Solomonâs kind words and manner of love without it being poisoned by Virgilâs grief. Nassus had raised him, and theyâd been the only ones to love each other, always having each otherâs backs against their mother and neighbors (and, unknown to him, the demon and their followers). His loss had hit hard. But he was still here, looking after the little brother who heâd tried so hard to raise well, loving him too much to ever leave him behind. Death had not separated them.Â
He thought that he mightâve scared Solomon somewhat, though. He remembered very little of what happened after Hekakleidi left him. Just a growing pain, like theyâd been pumping acid through his system, and he only felt it when they left. Heâd been so tired and sore that it was all he could do to cry when Nassus or Solomon woke him up to medicate him. All he wanted to do was rest as a shadow in the cracks of Solomonâs chest, lulled from nightmares by the steady drum of his heart and voice. But the way that Solomon acted around him made him think that heâd seen something that frightened him. He treated Virgil like he might break if he touched him or spoke to him in anything less than the gentlest of tones. Perhaps his recovery had been rough. Virgil did appreciate it, though. He found it endlessly soothing, though he didnât want his Leshy to feel like he might hurt him, or feel like he had to tiptoe around him.Â
Nassus was less flapped, having had perhaps too much experience with nursing Virgil back from the brink of death.Â
Everything was different now. He was so very different. He felt⌠not himself. The demon Hekakleidi was gone for now, but it was only a matter of time before they came back for the body theyâd claimed. And Virgil could still feel the restless form within him, staining his thoughts and insides with its writhing.Â
It wouldâve been a perfect few weeks if not for the knowledge that heâd done something that he wasnât supposed to. Heâd killed. Heâd given the demon the minds of his friends. Heâd been ready to eat Solomon alive. He was not his mother, and he didnât enjoy violence. He loathed it. So far, heâd failed to develop the taste for it his mother said all Lampades had. In short, Virgil needed a break to try to work through some of the guilt that came from being helped by someone heâd hurt very badly. He didnât know how Solomon truly felt since they hadnât exactly had a chance to talk one on one. And he knew his love had a very good, kind heart. But Virgil had hurt him. Virgil had killed humans. And it was him doing it, not just the demon in his body. Heâd wanted to prove his devotion, to earn the prayer marks that now refused to fade.Â
And with the demonâs magic making him eager to please her, uncaring of who he hurt in the process, heâd come to think of those words again. The old reassurances that he could be a monster like his mother if he merely killed enough times. Virgil didnât feel like it was true. All of his humans back home had died on him, either by his inability to care for them or his mother killing them and leaving them for him to find. Violence and blood made him ill after all this time spent sitting in it.Â
Or, that had been true up until Hekakleidi got into him. Heâd killed. And now, he couldnât get the words of his mother out of his head. Do it enough and youâll become cruel like me. We might even learn to get along. He shuddered.Â
This little foray into the woods was going to test that. Virgil just needed to make sure that he was not like his mother, or the demon. He thought he could handle not feeling like himself if he could just prove to himself that he wasnât cruel. And while a walk through the forest at night alone wasnât exactly going to show whether heâd picked up his motherâs worst habit, he felt like itâd be a good start. Heâd missed this. Slow walks through the forest, wandering, yet familiar enough with the forest to be able to find his way back home.Â
In true White Crest fashion, it didnât remain a peaceful walk for long. Something was following him. Something large, if the footsteps were anything to go by. Virgil realized too late that he just didnât blend in like he used to. While heâd attempted to conceal his hair with a sunhat, it just wasnât effective. The demonâs magic was still causing it to glow, lighting up exactly where he was with an almost bioluminescent glow. He was used to being somewhat illuminated because of his eyes, but he had ways of concealing those and disappearing if anything did try to get him. It was easy enough to dissolve into the shadows and become incorporeal, impossible to touch or track. That was no longer an option.Â
The frightening thing was that heâd been trying to lead whatever was following him astray. He was incorporeal, passing through the dark noiselessly, nothing more than a misty white-black vaguely person-shaped shadow, yet the creature followed, snuffling through a wet nose. Perhaps he smelled like char. Perhaps the aloe-based salve Nassus had been slathering onto him was making him smell like a meal pre-seasoned and prepared. Perhaps the creature had hunted lampades before. But for whatever reason, it just wouldnât leave him alone.Â
The confidence Virgil had felt upon returning to the forest was starting to fade. Solomon had wanted to come with him, and Nassus also wanted Solomon to go with him just to make sure he didnât get into any trouble. But heâd wanted to make sure that he could still do the things that used to bring him peace. True, it was a lot more peaceful to go on night excursions through the forests of White Crest with Solomon at his side. But heâd wanted to give Solomon a break; he knew it was taxing to do what his caretakers were doing.Â
Virgil was even slower than before, dizzy and achy in his joints. There was no running from whatever was following him. He doubted he could fight it. He couldnât throw it off his trail. There was no fighting it.Â
Presently, Virgil passed into a clearing, daring to look over his shoulder to see precisely what was chasing him.Â
A bear stepped out of the thick foliage after him. Or, it was similar to a bear in size and shape. But it lacked the thick fur that bears usually had, looking completely bald except for a strange fuzz under its chin. It had dull brown-gray skin, and its brown eyes looked⌠well. There was no animal curiosity, or anger there. Just a deep, almost mindless hunger. The not-bear snarled, low and booming, opening its maw and showing its long, yellow fangs to Virgil. Terror bloomed in his guts at the sound, thoughts racing as he tried to come up with something thatâd let him escape. Â
He was going to have to hit it with his eyes. Maybe if it got scared, itâd run? That didnât seem likely, though. Somehow, he doubted itâd make a difference to this ravenous thing. But he had to try something. Why did he let himself get into these situations? Why did he suddenly forget basic fucking survival? Nassus was going to kill him if he went and got mauled by this strangely smooth bear after he and Solomon had spent so much time helping him recover. Solomon would worry, and he didnât want to cause the leshy any further stress.Â
He willed himself to be solid, taking on his true form, and hissed at the sting the shift brought. It hurt to be in his body. The clearing was lit up red by the glare of his eyes, safely hidden behind his sunglasses. As if sensing his weakness, the bear snarled, stepping towards him with something akin to victory, certain that itâd won.Â
Virgil was so focused that he missed the sharp snap of twigs nearby which came from neither him nor the bear, and the pinging of his senses that there was a powered human nearby.Â
Crow was coming home from a day of busking when he heard someone shuffling around in his woods. Normally heâd leave them be and go about his way, the only problem this time was they were in his way. Crow huffed a sigh and set down his bags along with his guitar case and started stretching. Itâd been awhile since the cult had attacked him and he was going from crashing at the lighthouse to staying with Rhett to going back to his camp. He would have stayed with Emilio as well if the other didnât keep looking at him like his face brought bad memories. It made Crow uncomfortable the way Emilio seemed to worry a little bit more than the others. Like the older man didnât have as much faith in him as Rhett or Correy. It made him feel weird and he didnât like it. Not weird in the way Rio made him feel, that was confusing but not bad. Not bad at all. In fact the only reason he was going back to camp instead of just going back and forth between Correyâs and Rhetts was to write music, something he hadnât tried before but something he wanted to do for the man who had helped him in the aquarium. He let out a small smile but was snapped back to reality when he heard the bear moving again. âFucking bears.â
Crow started to run towards it full tilt, lighter in his hand as he flicked it and coated his arms in flames. He could call them forth without the lighter but the small tool certainly made it easier. He brushed past the stranger, not seeming to notice the red light forming in the clearing as he stepped out and slammed his fist into the weirdly smooth ursine. Then something happened that he hadnât expected. The damn thing caught fire, too easily. Normally when he punched a bear the thing would get singed and run away, but this one just lit up. His eyes widened as the creature pulled away making distressed sounds. This was dangerous. If he didnât control the flames not only the bear would light up but most of the forest would as well. He closed his lighter and moved his hands to try and will the flames to die when the bear offered up another surprise.Â
It exploded. Crow was able to push the flames down and contain them but the flesh of the creature whizzed by him. He was coated in blood and guts and a stray tooth scraped his cheek. When all was said and done the only thing left of the ursine was the large blood spot on the ground and some singed meat scattered about the trees. Crow looked down at himself and huffed, falling back onto the ground. He was exhausted, controlling that amount of flames drained him rather quickly, the chronic pain in his shoulder had started to flare up as well. He tilted his head from his spot on the ground to get a look at the stranger he ended up protecting. What was someone so sickly looking doing out in the woods at night? âWho are you?â
A human strode out from the depths of the night. For a split second, they stared at the bear, as if this was merely a fact of life, like running into a pest they saw regularly, instead of a deadly monster. Virgil watched them through his peripheral vision, not quite willing to take his attention off the bear, yet unspeakably glad not to be alone against this thing. However, his gratitude disappeared when he saw the orange-yellow glow flicker to life in their hand. Fire from a lighter, though it didnât stay within the confines of the device. It crawled up the arms, surrounding them like a pair of gloves. The human did not pause in their approach, they just aimed a punch directly into the bearâs head.Â
The beast exploded into a shower of gore and flames. Virgil stumbled back, arms raised to shield his head, ears ringing from the concussive sound, vision blurring. Somehow, he wasnât roasted, or full of holes. He actually didnât think heâd been hurt by the exchange at all. He was covered in bear insides, which wasnât pleasant.Â
The human was on the ground a few feet away, panting, as if exhausted.Â
Virgil was frozen, staring at the human, whoâd come out of nowhere and killed the not-bear. The flames which had coated his arms only seconds ago were the very same kind that heâd seen in his nightmares since the death of his brother. He hadnât had it since Nassus was back, but the memory it stemmed from remained. Heâd seen the way the captive spellcaster had latched onto his brother in a madness-fueled death grip, gibbering out that theyâd rather die fighting than live as a captive any longer. Their arms had lit up in flames, and then the rest of them, and his wounded brother had been unable to get away. Virgil had watched him burn, frozen, too shocked to be of any help. There was nothing he could do. The house had gone up. Nassus had died in agony. All because some stupid spellcaster had gotten it into their head that the only way out was to kill his brother, the rest of the humans, and Virgil himself. Virgil had never truly loathed humans until that moment. Heâd been on their side his whole life, suffering with them when his mother wanted to make someone bleed, trying to keep them alive in the poor conditions of the Mirror. He wanted to make it easier for his brother, who went with their father to White Crest to hunt down humans and bring them home. Heâd genuinely cared about lessening their suffering. But that meant nothing to them. A human had killed Nassus in the most brutal, painful way possible. And a human had mercilessly killed Solomon too. Virgil hadnât been present for the burning of his Leshy, but heâd found his burnt corpse.Â
It was something heâd been trying to get over. Virgil knew that all humans werenât the same. This one hadnât killed Virgilâs dear ones. He did love the humans still, somewhere very deep inside. But spellcasters were simply not trustworthy. Heâd never thought that he might have to confront the exact type thatâd killed Nassus. He didnât quite know what to do.Â
The human turned to look at him from his perch on the ground. Flicked singed bear guts off his face.Â
Who are you? The question was so casual, as if the human was harmless, as if he thought he might draw Virgilâs attention away from the fact that heâd just lit a bear on fire, and might light up Virgil and the rest of the forest if he was so inclined.Â
Instead of answering, or making the decision to do anything, Virgil moved with a dead blankness. He stepped into the humanâs space, ignoring the protests to his joints. Even if he stood out visually from the gloom, he still moved as silently as the shadows. Darkness fell around them, blocking out the moonlight, deepening until it was just the two of them in a featureless void.Â
Virgil bent as far as he could, cupping the humanâs face in his hands, as if he had something very important to say that could only be imparted in this manner. Red light from his eyes fell over the angular features. Instead of speaking, however, his skin stuck immediately to the squishy human flesh. He felt the spark of magic deep within, like a current in the blood, tapping in, and drawing it into himself. The magic drained in an instant from the human to Virgil.Â
He didnât usually do this, since it was risky to put himself so close to humans he didnât know or trust, and he had his medium Lucas to feed off. In fact, the thought of feeding from a spellcaster had seemed revolting to him in the aftermath of Nassusâ death. Now, after being overloaded by that acidic demonâs magic, he had no appetite. Lucas just didnât appeal to him anymore. Nothing did. Not even the thought of the demonâs magic. Nassus and Solomon had tried their best to find something thatâd appeal to him, but he just couldnât bring himself to do so. Now that heâd drained this human, he did feel a bit ill. He couldnât tell if he was satiated. The magic tasted strange, though that was to be expected when heâd gone for so long without it.Â
But the human had no means of burning things now, and the immediate threat was gone. Virgil released his grip and backed up out of his space, looking for the first time at who he was really meeting.Â
As was the case with most humans, he couldnât pin down an age, or anything substantial from the features. He was covered in tattoos, which almost looked like⌠for some reason, Virgil looked at the ink and saw intent. Not unlike the prayer marks carved into his own face and body. They were not the marks of Hekakleidi, but there were apparently many dark forces in the worlds. Virgilâs mistrust grew, and the shadows reached out to blanket him, further surrounding him, curling at his feet and around his shoulders. If he could not be comforted by the presence of his brother or love, the impermeable night would forever welcome him.Â
âThat is a casual question for someone who just set a bear on fire.â His voice rasped as if heâd been drinking glass. Heâd saved his life, and Virgil was grateful for it. But he was also very dangerous. Or, he had been. Hopefully they were a bit more evenly matched now. âWhat are you doing all the way out here?âÂ
All of him was tense, and it was starting to hurt. He drifted back a few more paces, keeping the human within his sights. Took a deep breath, and then another. The ache to his body was returning in the form of a faint burning. Heâd overexerted himself in the slow chase with the bear, and the prospect of dealing with this human on top of it was exhausting. Heâd do it if itâd let him go home. But he didnât want to. His mind was once again blank for how to proceed. Heâd spent too long being coddled, and he could no longer just snap back into the mindset of the person who could think of a hundred ways to run away, or distract, or intimidate the human long enough for him to get out. He paused for another long moment, and then opted to continue in a smoother, more friendly tone, as if he had no reason to doubt that this person had anything but the best intentions. It might not work, given that heâd just drained him, and was obviously not human. But he had to try something.Â
What had the human been saying before? His rage had made him unable to listen, and he couldnât quite recall the meaning. Something told him that the human had asked something about himself. Who he was, perhaps.Â
He refrained from thanking this stranger, not wanting to be bound in a promise to a human spellcaster with unknown intentions. However, he was glad that the bear was dead, even if the method of dispatch showed the humanâs nature a little too well. âYou may call me Virgil. Whatâs your name?â He still sounded brittle and wary. Oh well.Â
The stranger grabbed Crowâs face and at first he was confused then he felt it. His flames were being drawn out of him and he couldnât stop it. Then the stranger was off him and backing away talking as if he hadn't just violated Crowâs space and took the flames. He tried to call them just to make sure and when they didnât respond he stood. Virgil was backing away from him but a threat was a threat and this man had made the mistake of proving himself dangerous to Crow. He might not have his flames but that by no means meant Crow couldnât defend himself. He easily closed the distance between the two, grabbing Virgilâs shirt to keep him close. âGive it back.â He was past niceties and small talk.Â
Crow had never been without his magic and he wasnât going to let some freak in the woods take it from him so easily. He needed it to keep safe out here, not something that was possible with just his fists regularly. He didnât have superhuman strength and heâd learned that some things were better not touched with his bare skin. The flames were his safety blanket and theyâd just been ripped away. He felt vulnerable. He didnât like feeling vulnerable. He decided it wasnât worth waiting for an explanation, fist coming up quickly as he punched Virgil.Â
The humanâs face went from shock to fear as he reached for something that wasnât there anymore. Give it back. Virgil would not have given it back, even if he could. These woods were no place for some spelllcaster to start fires. Anger shut down everything else like shutters closing.Â
Virgil knew well enough that there was nothing he could say now that would reach the human, to make it pause, or stop outright. Perhaps heâd overstepped, but he didnât think heâd been wrong to take away the magic. It was dangerous, and heâd be a fool if he let him just walk away. For Solomon, the guardian of these woods, which had been burned before. For his brother. And for Virgil himself.Â
It was difficult to keep in mind as the human grabbed him by the shirt. He could feel the rage coursing through, feel the heat of his body and the trembling of his body as he tried to decide what to do. Virgil did not try to retreat, he just bent into the movement and waited.Â
It didnât take long for the human to snap. The blow was fast and hard. For a split second, white-hot pain and sickening lightheadedness competed to see which would overwhelm him first. It hurt less than it did with his mother, but the blow against his burnt skin smarted.Â
The world spun as he fell. He could feel his body dissolving under the force of the blow, a formless dark mass spreading out to stick to the shadows. To the human, it would look like heâd disappeared into thin air.Â
Merciful unconsciousness followed. Virgil slept. When he woke a few hours later, the spellcaster was gone, and he made a shaky journey home, unmolested by bears or humans.Â
















