#marcain

Marcain flicked another invisible speck from his jacket, choosing this small rebellion from stoicism over tapping his foot. The urge was there. But when dealing with this particular Fragment one never knew where he was, or how long he had been watching and waiting. 

He did know that Death was doing this on purpose. Fine, let him play his games. It was several minutes and a few barely contained cane taps later before he made his appearance. 

The form he chose to take was that of a decently coiffed dandy, dressed nearly as kindly as Marcain himself. The borrowed body had dark hair cut close to the scalp and flinty eyes but was otherwise not particularly interesting. He took a seat with a wide grin.  “Am I to congratulate you on your nuptials then. Shall we drink?” He put his hands together and began picking at a fingernail. 

“We will not.” The cane twirled in disapproval. “It seems the ring you gave me was a little more than empty.” 

“Oh did you not like that? I thought gifts were customary for a wedding.” Maldectus didn’t blink as he removed a fingernail. “I thought you might enjoy having an easy point to manipulate. I was being THOUGHTFUL.” 

“Rage? I think you chose the least directional on purpose.” 

“I can only work with what I have, chap.” Another fingernail joined its partner and that seemed to be the tipping point for Marcain. 

“Must you do this at the table. Do you not feel that?” Death stopped and blinked blankly at the other man. 

“Oh, Sin, I forgot how preoccupied you are with feeling.” He swept the scraps into his pocket and folded his hands. “Well our bargain is met, Seine for the ring. If you only called me to complain...” 

“Seine is yours.” 

“She is not for sale.” She was so calm, repeating over and over to this man, this character with which she often brokered deals and traded information over casual meals. Bandying about the fates of mortals and kingdoms over noon tea.

“So you have said. Yet you have also told me that everything has a price. I have often wondered why you cling to her.” He spoke in that fluid way of his, the tones that could deliver compliments and threats and comments about the weather all with the same quiet film of power. The voice that formed words with entirely different meanings to how they sounded, tiny tests to ferret out information and test the boundaries of those victims to his speech.

“I have sacrificed much to bring her here, to make her what she is.” She gave a delicate sniff as if holding back the tears that they both knew would never come. Dramatic. “She is like a daughter to me.”

He would not roll his eyes, that would be entirely too crass. The idea of this woman, this paltry schemer, barely a pawn on his board, let alone the queen she fancied herself to be. The idea of her, sacrificing more than the creature who had been forced to shed essential parts of her being in order to survive. Definitely worth an eye roll. He knew for a fact she was all to happy to sacrifice her daughter for the chance to control one of his kind. He knew what she had done to keep her from warping.