#venomvice

calming.  /  accepting.  /  @venomvice​

Soma is no tactician, but they are VERY, VERY STRONG and EFFECTIVELY IMMORTAL, which, together, usually preclude the need to be.  Why fight smarter when you can FIGHT HARDER?  But now —— WHAT A MESS.  Another to protect, always gets sloppy trying to keep others safe.  The both of them crouched and hiding from the forces that have far - outnumbered them, Catarina sitting because Soma cannot stand and they need the support to stay upright at all.  Because Soma has a HOLE IN THE STOMACH, which is the most obvious of the abuses to this body but by no means the most extreme, and she is no doubt wondering HOW SOMA’S EVEN STILL ALIVE ————

Ah.  So much for not drawing attention to the vampirism - by - proxy.

“R - Rina —— you need run.”  She blinks to clear her vision, eyes settling on that shock of pink hair.  Catarina’s expression, twisted into frantic thought, fades to something Soma can’t name when she looks down at her.  She’s hurt, too, badly.  Very badly.  The rage that floods Soma at the thought of her BEING HARMED is almost painful.  “Go.  I’ll b - be ——”

“I’m not going to leave you!”  Almost offended — as though what Soma suggests is not only impossible but HORRIFIC.  Soma wonders if Byleth will be angry if anyone else finds out.  There are few other options, though, and they only have so much time.  IF CATARINA TRIES TO SAVE THEM, SHE WILL DIE, AND SHE WILL NOT COME BACK.

Soma hates death.  They could not stand to be the cause of hers.

“I —– c - can’t die.”  She must think the pain’s made them delirious, if her expression is anything to go by.  They shake their head.  “I — I come back.  I - I’ve died lots ——”  She shifts and the gash in her neck cries out; Soma follows suit, trapping the sound behind her teeth lest it be loud enough to attract attention.  “Not human.  Rina, you c - can’t die for me — !!”

“What are you —— neither of us are going to die!”

“Watch.”  She can’t usually do this in front of others, but she does.  A hand presses to that gash on her throat, half - beheading (  ha, ha, ha  ).  “Watch.”  It’s hard to heal a SINGLE PART, and they only have the strength to do it once —— but it might just convince her that SOMA IS TELLING THE TRUTH.  Soma’s hand falls from their throat, and their eyes close as the familiar sensation spills.  Catarina can watch.  Muscle and marrow rebuild themselves, layer by layer, sparks at the edges of the flesh that restitches around the new internals.  A grisly sight, she’s sure.  This body is not human and neither are its inhabitants.  Soma feels the healing finish and touches at their throat; feels the new scar there.  Their next inhalation comes a little easier.  They wonder if their windpipe was nicked.

“Soma ——”  Horrified and small.  They’ve never heard Catarina sound like that before.  Soma feels a brief stab of guilt for causing it.

“Not human,” she repeats, turning to look at her.  Her broken hands grasp Catarina’s.  “I — explain everything, when I — get back.  But if y - you die, YOU DON’T COME BACK.”  And she couldn’t bear that.  “PLEASE.  Go.  Promise I - I’ll be back.  PROMISE.”

She’s so pretty, looking this sad and horrified and confused.  But she won’t be pretty dead.

“Trust me.”  Soma’s voice is desperate.  “Need you to trust me.”

Catarina swallows thickly —— and nods.  Soma smiles.

“See — you soon.”

As soon as Catarina is gone, Soma exhales, slumping back.   Three deep breaths.  Then she smiles, feels fangs extend.  THEY HURT CATARINA.

Her eyes flash bright blue.

venomvice said: “I like this, being so close to you.” (x)

they’re closer than two people looking over a battle map would usually be, shoulder bumping into shoulder when reyna has to lean across the table to point out that positioning a group east of the hill would keep them from being flanked. but that’s just catarina’s vibe, really. she’s earnest, and candid, and has very little regard for the concept of personal space ( and reyna knows she didn’t really come here to talk battle strategy ). but in the privacy of the praetor’s office, late into the night where the likelihood of someone bothering them was little to none, reyna doesn’t protest.

she’s caught off guard by catarina’s confession, a sincerity there that she isn’t expecting. and there’s a flush in reyna’s cheeks and she swallows down the urge to step away, put space between them. not because she doesn’t like what’s going on, but because she does— and maybe a little too much.

   if anything can’t go unnoticed, it’s the lilt of her voice khalid would dare to call unusual for catarina. he lowers his bow, tip of his arrow still glistening from the whetstone, in favor of getting a good look of that pretty face of hers. its smoothness doesn’t run without tension, same as her hands, he finds, and suddenly, nothing else matters. she has made quite a pointed question, after all.

    and anger isn’t easy to talk about.  “  𝗈𝖿 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾.  ”  not when khalid understands it so well, it becomes something past the understanding of words.  “  i can think of a couple things just by looking around here, for starters.  ”  distantly, he remembers three———  no, four now, four little faces at the monastery, who have been denied of anger. he counts himself in, as well; the heads of the monastery don’t want to see rightful indignation from them. why would they ?

   “  and you know what i realized ?  ”  he takes a step forward as a matter of give and take. khalid doesn’t waver, but there’s something behind his eyes when he thinks of anger.  “  𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐧. which isn’t necessarily bad, not if you ask me. or you, for that matter,  ”  a bit of levity comes back to his expression.   “  you have to build an immunity for it to work in your favor, but you know that. it’s easy to forget what isn’t poison for us is for others, though. and anger can be deadly all the same.  ”

  the root is, khalid works through and past an anger, never under it.

   “  what i’m saying is, we have to be clever about it.  ”  because there’s no other way they can get away with it here. khalid moves to set a hand on her forearm,  “  i did say anger is poison,  ”  he echoes himself,  “  and an animal. one you’ve got to take care of.  ”  the same way love is.  “  good news is, you’re one, if not the strongest person i’ve met here, catarina.  ”  his hand moves to place atop hers, the one bandaging the knuckles.  “  i don’t doubt i can learn a thing or two from you, if you’re willing to let me in.  ” he speaks, this time not as the enigma behind the mask.

   he speaks as khalid, the boy who can’t do this alone.

for her to approach him out of her own accord —— rare. for her to approach him with such an emotion gracing her features —— rarer still. an unsettling something dares to crawl up his chest and settles in the center of his neck / takes root and spreads and makes it near impossible to utter a single sound. a cough / a clearing of the throat does nothing against the emotion and he continues to act carefree ; offers a smile and a nonchalant tilt of the head at her advance and prepares for the usual flattery that coats his tongue ( but it tasted different today / a blame he throws onto that stone that’s clogged his throat — ) she approaches and offers him the delights inside the box. there’s a subtle change in her expression and that darned something closes up / makes it hard to swallow / makes it hard to breathe.

how infuriating.

     or is that all just an excuse? a cover-up for something as trivial as laziness? here’s a better question: who cares? this doesn’t do anything for axel. it’s just another day of trying to find his way in the dark; of fighting a war he has no stakes in and doesn’t even try to wrap his head around. he’ll get what he wants, someday. until then, this is something to do. a way of biding time.

     he slips into the shadows of the foliage surrounding the mansion and feels someone’s gaze on him. “great. just what i need.” chakrams at the ready once more, blood on them still fresh - he turns. it’s not like the higher-ups will care about some guard’s life. “no offense, but i’m kinda in a rush over here, on account of takin’ your boss’ life and all.” a grin; a smile with cruel eyes. “let’s make this quick.” 

❝   what do you mean you  do not like lances ?   they are the most effective weapon from horseback;   no other weapon has the same reach !   ❞   he pops his hands on his hips,   an indignant stance.   his chin sways with the momentum.   ❝   not to mention  spears can be thrown from great distances.   i cannot think of a  single drawback.   ❞