Sharp Edges

       Stepping into the streets where car motors ran and people stood slumped against graffitied walls, Jake felt a familiar itch sink into his sink. Just one bump. Just one hit. What would it do? Just to cope with being back here again. But he held true, mostly because his stomach did flips as he walked up to the old house he remembered a friend living in. Zea wasn’t exactly a friend. She seemed like the kind of girl who didn’t have friends –– just people she could snarl at consistently. But to Jake, she was a loose end. He’d left her hanging when he’d suddenly up and left –– following a family friend to the middle of no where for a cure for her Cancer. And he found a cure for addiction. Maybe not a full cure, but something that replaced the itch with something more pleasing.

       He knocks once, twice, three times. Nothing. He hears her in there –– suddenly grateful for his new found hearing abilities. He shuffles his feet, a hand pinching the skin at the back of his neck the way you might scold a puppy. He debates leaving, even looks over his shoulder at his car parked on the street. But then he knocks again, and again, and again until –– she opens.

         He smiles, expression nervous, head hung a little bit. But those blue eyes aren’t hazy. His skin isn’t tinted pink and grey. It’s soft –– he’s soft. He’s gotten rid of the messy locks he never took care of and opted for a shaved head. He’d gained weight –– beefed up a bit. He looked good. She looked better.

         “Hey uh… Long time no see.” His eyes pinch and he shuffles nervously again. Not as nervous as he’d been on drugs. His body is stiller –– less agitated.

It took a lot to bring Zea to silence, to still her ever agitated energy. Jake showing up after months and months stunned her. She stared, drinking in this new Jake. The on who’d disappeared had been sallow skinned and sunken eyed, sickly and fidgety. But this Jake was warm and full, looked whole, looked far healthier than any day she had seen him.

Green eyes meet blue and for a moment she thinks she doesn’t know him. He’s just so different, but still the same Jake. Slowly a fire creeps into her own eyes, barely held in check by a scowl. Zea doesn’t bother to respond, or welcome him inside. She just walks into the kitchen, leaving the door open. She doesn’t bother to offer him a coffee or drink. He should remember where everything is, she fumes to herself.

With every intent of making noise, she swept aside old plate and dirty cutlery from the counter and into the sink. Before the clanging and crashing has ceased, she has hopped up and seated herself on the counter and crossed one leg. You should ask him how he is, be nice, a little voice in her head encouraged. No, she thinks. He left, no explanation, no message. But try as she might, there was a tiny bloom of happiness at seeing him, glad to see him alive and very well.

“No. No. Shit. Rubbish. No. Oh come on, that’s not even worth selling!” She was scrolling and trash talking. A nightly ritual for Zea, after her scalding shower and gourmet dinner of Doritos and salsa. As the modified bikes flicked past on her screen, she groaned and threw her phone across onto another chair. Siting up, she ruffled her still damp hair, sending up flyaways which would dry into frizz.

The fridge beckoned from the other side of the room. Zea wandered over, her far too big hoodie swinging abover her knees, and slippered feet brushing the floorboards. The house was mostly quiet, the sounds of the road outside providing ambient noise, neighboring houses muffling the sound of their occupants and their televisions. A knock at the door.

Zea opened the fridge and scowled inside, willing something more appetising than a jar of jam and half a tin of sardines to appear before her. Another knock. “No one’s home,” she called sourly. The fridge did not materialize any new food. The door knocked persistently.

        Daeton watches the dragon with careful eyes. They flicker and watch every twitch from the animal. From it’s long snake like tail to his big jaws and slit eyes. Everything in that creature radiates power. He’s met some dragon’s who’s aura is delicate. Their wings made of leafs and their eyes big glowing balls of light. Their talons smooth and their scales perfectly polished. But this red beast was the embodiment of a broken spine. Painful, frightening, and easily striking enough of both those sensations through you to leave your feet halting.

         But not for Daeton. Even with a snarl from the Dragon, Daeton presses on with an unrelenting confidence.

         “I can’t give you all my secrets, big guy. But I suppose I can share some –– especially because neither of you are strong enough to do shit about it.” His lips curl upwards into a charming grin that is fit for a teenage king. He stops a few feet from Zea and her beast. he draws his hand up, holding his palm open and facing the sky. His eyes burn the same colour as Zea’s soul, and the glowing flames soon wrap around themselves. Slowly, but surely, something begins to take shape in the palm of his hand.

         “This pretty little orb I have right here is well–– you’re soul, love.” He casts a glance towards Zea as the burning ball made of shimmeringly orange glass is finally fully formed. His grip on her tightens, and yet she manages to choke out a few words. Impressive. He smiles even still. “I only need to close the palm of my hand and––” he demonstrates, the sound of glass beginning to break sounds crystal clear. A thin crack is seen now on the side of her soul His now pupilless eyes focus on Zea as they burn red, watching for the gasping reaction she may have. “–– oop.” He releases his palm again, fingers relaxing as he turns the soul –– hovering there –– side to side. The crack fades as he pushes healing magic into it –– repaired good as new.

         “One wrong move from either of you, and I’ll turn your soul into a shattered vase in a matter of seconds.

          “And no, doll, I don’t hide behind anything. I’d best both of you in a match with ease –– even without my gifts. I’m just impatient and I want my shit back.”

Zea had been so drunk she couldn’t remember the night, so angry she’d gone blind with rage, and so exhausted she’d fallen asleep as she walked away from a fight. But this was a new sensation. She was terrified of the immobility he caused her. Yet she could not scream. Nor was did she really had the will to. She was a passenger in her own mind, not fully present, but still aware of the man, and Dornvaarg, beyond the curtains of hair which hid her face. The only part of her which shone through the mist of numbness was a grain of fire. I’ll break his nose if I ever touch him, part of her whispered.

@ruptorune

   “My point still stands.” He wiggles one of the knives as if to emphasize his point. Daeton Rune was not a good teacher. He taught his men by throwing things at them. No word but the word ‘again’ would fall from his lips for the first few months he trained them. Over and over until they taught themselves. People are foolish. But her self-taught skills left her obvious openings. Turn your back on something? Well it’s something Daeton would do, but not something that’s smart. Daeton is a lucky man, who’s invisibility complex allows him more… Liberties.

       He watches as she leans into the knife. Surprised and amused but he’d never show it. His face remains even except for the slight pull on one side of his big mouth. Though inside he realizes he’s dealing with someone who just might take as many risks as he does. And that… Is something he’s never faced before.

      “Very well. But I want this on record that you challenged me to do this, lemondrop.” With a twist of his wrist the daggers fall away. He casts a glance to the Dragon then, a smile still in place. “She did dare me.” His attention away leaves him open –– but he’s confident nevertheless. His eyes go white and lack all pupil–– blinding and frightening against his soft skin. He narrows them to her, lips curl but it’s still a grin. His hand lifts up and the world buzzes with magic. The rocks on the ground tremble with the flow of it. And when he finds what he’s looking for –– her soul, which she so bravely left unattended –– his icy fingers coil around it inside her chest.

         He squeezes –– makes her dizzy, makes her want to vomit. To hold someone’s heart in your hand only angers them. But nothing makes you writhe like holding the very thing that makes you… You.

         Her soul is red. Beyond red! It burns and is almost hard to hold. Almost. Slowly, the palm of his hand burns red, and just like that, he leaves her unable to move.

         “I’ll be taking my things back now.” He lowers his hand, through his palm still glows. He whistles as he walks slowly towards her.

It was like a warm, sickening jacket was wrapped about her. A sense of being held so firmly down to her core, that it made her lurch with a gag. Zea’s knees quivered, threatening to giveway and throw her into the dust. Something held her aloft though, she could not fall, but could not stand firmly. Dornvaarg’s mind flared with sickly yellows and oranges, concern and panic winding their way into his words.

Zea! What is it, stand up lass. Heavy scaled paws took the dragon forward, bringing him close behind her. The stranger was forgotten, and he hovered his skull by her shoulder with the watchfulness of a broody hen. The soldier’s words cut through the smoke of worry, bringing Dornvaarg back to the world at large. The advancing steps brought his anger to the fore, sharp as a scalpel and seething like oil.

Reluctant to leave her in a state such as this, the dragon planted his feet and stared down the man. Closer, closer, he walked, infuriatingly confident. The big square muzzle crinkled, drawing right up in an unabashed threat. The red kept his ground beside Zea, knowing the stranger would have to come withing inches of his teeth to get near her. What did you do?!

Daeton takes her words to heart. He’s met married couples who speak ill of one another. Probably one of the many reasons Daeton’s never been too keen on the idea of marriage. He watches as she seems to saunter forward. She’s almost merry and he can’t help the way it seeps into him. Someone who enjoys a good fight –– even if she’s lost.

        Though it becomes very clear, moments later, she doesn’t think she’s lost at all. His smirk widens and he watches with a relaxed posture as she turns and begins to walk away. He sighs, loud enough for the two to hear him before he lifts his wrist and a rock lifts as well. He flicks his fingers towards her, sending the stone flying into the back of her head. Hard enough to draw blood –– but not knock her unconscious. A decision he made. With a little more force he could have easily shattered her skull.

           Though magic is faster than she is. He anticipates that she’ll turn around, and in a moments notice his palm squeezes together. The black stone firms and then… Splits. Three perfectly pointed stones aim towards her neck, hovering in anticipation. Sharp as talons on an eagle, and just as eager to part flesh. Eyes move towards the Dragon. If he moves, he’s got a plan for him as well. Already he’s pulling at the earth’s core, pulling a massive black stone to it’s surface so that he can threaten the dragon much the same as he threatens the woman.

            His rich, dark eyes hold a solitude and ease in them. They’re soft compared to the acts he’s suddenly conjured up with such a pathetically small amount of magic. It’s clear, he’s comfortable and not threatened in the slightest. No fear. He laughs again, and whistles while he shakes his head at her foolishness.

             “Who ever trained you ought to be shot.” Daeton says, smug as can be. He waves a small rock dagger closer to her throat, pricks her softly just to show her they’re real. “Your skills have made you over confident. Now, give me what’s mine and I’ll drop the knives. Might even let you keep one; to remember me by.” His lips twitch at his own joke. Those who remember him write about him in stories. They change all but his horse and his talents. Remember? No one remembers shit. Certainly not the right way, anyway.

There was no end to it. Like the way a midge constantly evades a quick palm. And there was nothing Zea would love more, than to give this man the hefty slap he deserved. The rock to the head killed a little more of her playful attitude, making her more and more irritable at being on the losing side. She felt the trickle of blood running down to her hair line, and put a hand to it, fingers coming away bright as cranberries. Zea sucks the blood off her finger, face darkening more and more.

“I taught me,” she snarked, “And it’s worked so far.” The shards at her throat prick delicate skin. Behind her Dornvaarg was livid. Had she not been in such a precarious position, he would have simply rip the stranger in half. Perhaps fire? Stop it, the pair of you, he intones to them both, Zea your pigheadedness will not serve you here. And you stranger, desist.

A mouthful of fire sits caged behind his ivory fangs, and Dornvaarg widens his stance. Every barbed inch of the dragon is poise to wash fire on the man. Though she was stubborn, Zea was not dense. Survival had it’s benefits. Death did not. Shell white teeth smile at him, and she leans her throat onto the rock blades. It was very painful. The cords in her neck stand out, as a thin line of blood wells and spills from one.

“And you are?” Daeton draws out the last word with it bores him. Though his intrigue is easily hidden in that sweet and rich voice, his eyes betray him as gaze flickers back towards the angry red head. She seems to storm and shove the dragon. For a moment, he thinks about whether of not she was a dragon herself. Perhaps even this big red-beast’s sister who’s been turned into a human. It’s not the strangest thing he would have come across.

        Daeton takes every ounce of his will not to laugh at the way the red head protests the dragon’s interference. “Almost? You’re dreaming.” Daeton interjects, though he can hear their bickering take precedence over what he had to say. It was amusing, and he did nothing to hide the grin that curled those lips and drew laugh lines along his cheeks. “Other than that, she’s right. Let me kick her ass in peace without your scaly self getting involved.”

        One look at her as she turns towards him in the heat of the moment and he knows she’s made of lava. He swears he can feel the heat coming off of her. Black rocks encase her outer layer and every now and then a chip reveals the burning under layers of that kind of rage. Daeton’s inside is cold and easy to misjudge. Though he knows she doesn’t, his calm demeanour has often fooled some into think he was only a diplomate in Knight’s armor.  

        His brows raise and despite the heat of her words, he offers a small chuckle. “This is starting to sound more and more like you’re a married couple. In my experience, it’s best I not get involved in a couples quarrel.”

His laughter was infectious, and try as she might, Zea couldn’t deny the smirk that tugged at the corner of her pretty scowling lips. “I’d rather slash my knees a thousand times than be married to someone as horrid as him.” Her temper recedes a little, the heat of fighting more prevalent now than her displeasure at being interrupted. Dornvaarg hated how easily he spoke in their presence. The beast snapped his thick teeth together and made a noise like bacon rashers frying.

If he is so great a swordsman, then he would be elsewhere, with an entourage and people to follow him. Great men don’t wander alone, the red pointed out. Zea laughed openly, striding away from the dragon, towards the stranger. “Of course not, look at us. We are cretins.” She stooped to pick up her blade from she had left it in the dust. Continuing on, she stopped not six feet away from him. There was a hardness to her eyes, she was still pissed, but willing to talk.

 She trips and his grin surges to play at his features. He looks young and excited for such an event. To fight with someone who could match his level was always exciting. To see them fall to his attacks and trickery made it all the more fun. He aims to take a step forward, hoping to hold his blade under her chin and claim victory but it’s cut off by a growl and heavy red paw stepping in the way.

         Daeton has always been impressed by Dragons. Contrary to what many thought, Daeton was not exactly a dragon slayer. His first act as a knight was to negotiate with a scaly beast, and even offer it protection. Though the hot look this one gave him made Daeton doubt negotiation was going to happen. He sees the paw lift and he turns his blade towards it. There’s no stopping a Dragon’s wrath, that he knew. So all he can do is hope his sword will pierce it’s paw and send a message that perhaps he isn’t as easy to kill as he thinks.

        Magic pulses the moment he’s struck, sending body flying and rolling until back bends around a tree. His face is snarled as he falls forward to lay on his stomach, a grunt coming loose. He stays down for a time, magic working with each steady heart beat. Luckily the pain is the first thing to go. And he laughs as he slowly pushes himself back to his hands and knees.

         “Underhand? I wasn’t aware this fight was taking place in a Royal Guard with a King and Queen sitting and watching with silver spoons up their asses.” Daeton spits, blood filled saliva clinging to the grass before he pushes himself to his feet. Shoulders roll, and much like Dornvaarg had predicted, Daeton Rune stands unharmed, sword still in hand. “You’re only mad because I was winning. You have to win with whatever you’ve got.” He looks at the woman then, smug as can be. “Besides, you must have magic of your own if you have a Dragon as a pet.”

Dornvaarg was not impressed with the knight’s words, and even less with how he holds himself before them. Seemingly uninjured and arrogant as ever. It made the dragon’s already hot blood boil over. He swelled his chest and neck, seeming to grow in size as he arched his crowned skull and hissed at the man. Whatever she has? She has me. It was true, there were many times Zea could not have been bothered to engage a fellow opponent, and let the dragon sate his ever present blood-lust. But now?

She stormed up to the red’s shoulder and gave it a shove, which did nothing, as a midge is to a mountain. But it helped her express her displeasure. “I was enjoying myself! I almost had him! You’ve got no business butting in where I am doing perfectly fine.” she snapped, slapping his scales again and again. The stranger’s words stopped her.

She’s swift and easily meets the arch of his sword. His strength is an asset here. While there is no doubt about her strength, his added bit of height seems to give him a slight upper hand. To keep her from moving quickly will be the way he wins this swordplay. Because that’s what it was to him. Play.

      The shriek of metal sliding against each other until hilt stops them is a glorious sound. It leaves his ear drums buzzing and his smile all the wider. So close, he can see the flecks of her mossy eyes. She’s almost frightening to look at. Eyes of a beast, hair untamed, lips curled into a snarl. Her nose maps the stars that will settle in the sky tonight, and it’s almost eerie that in such a quick flash of vision –– he can see lines of well known constellations. Divination is a gift his mother gave him –– and when he sits down tonight by the campfire, he’ll read what her red-freckles tell him about what’s to come. Right now, he doesn’t have time to muse on the future, even if those dots would help him win this fight.

      He gives a laugh before he twists his blade. Rather than disarm her he pulls back to make her force push her forward. Hilts still locked as he tries to put her off balance, he only pauses for half a heart beat before he rams his body into their hilts, the force shoving her backwards, and hopefully creating a distance between them. He doesn’t move forward, stays where he is with sword ready. This was too fun to win just yet. The momentum of his shove he hopes will work in his favour. He tilts his head, fingers twitch, and behind her a small rock juts up from the ground where it hadn’t been before. Common. Trip.

The world slowed down in a matter of seconds, and in just as many it sped back up. The screech of metal had sent the dragon’s tail swishing, annoyed that his human was playing like this. He knew she could beat even the heaviest of other fighters, however this man was different. Very different. He should have been hobbled by Zea’s slash. But he was still sound, and unhindered. Angry copper eyes narrowed. Dornvaarg could smell magic and trickery afoot where Zea was oblivious.

He was quick and strong. Zea liked and disliked him more with every passing moment. The stranger’s shove back had her weight disrupted, skittering back on her heels when her feet should have been flat, her center grounded. There is a sickening feeling which occurs when one misses a step in the dark, or falls from a great height. It bloomed in Zea’s chest as her heel connected with a lump and her center of gravity tipped beyond recovery. She landed on her rump with an undignified plop, dagger dropped and clanged on the pebbles. Her green eyes look up with a mixture of disgruntlement and fear, concerned he will surge up and strike her while she is vulnerable.