[Allegiance] Make your choice.
Jun 17, 2021 8:34:25 GMT -8
Krakenbox, Kai Rose, and 3 more like this
Post by Riley Sorsa on Jun 17, 2021 8:34:25 GMT -8
You have been a fool.
Riley sat silently at the table, a whisky sour half-drunk before them. Their finger idly pushing the lemon peel along the inside of the crystal. Their dark eyes stare across the club towards the VIP section; their focus is fixated upon the silhouette of the large, boisterous man, his voice no more than a dull tone in the distance.
They had delayed vassalage for too long. The summer court was already forcing their unsworn members to knights; spring was sure to follow. It seemed with each passing week, the tension in the courts grew like a fester wounding. Raising their glass to their lips, Riley ponders the choice they are making.
There was no justice within these walls of wards. The oath that each of them swore protected them from the keepers. But among themselves? These days It felt little more than a formality. Justice? Order? They were no more than mere shadows, false niceties strangled beneath the weight of power, of violence. The taste of the whiskey sour only accentuates the morose thoughts.
Last fall, Riley considered swearing to Nimbus, similar interests, a love for social events, a disarming charm. But what protection did he genuinely offer? What power would that service bring? Riley set down the glass, reminding themself, he had done nothing at Beltane.
The Twilight Dancer knew this before but had hopped beyond reason it was false; this last year made sure to remind them otherwise. This choice was not a mistake. It was a hard step, a precaution for the days to come. After all, there was a line between the winner and the losers. It was a line one had to choose to cross.
Riley raises a hand to the passing waitress, asking for another drink. The meeting of the Knight was still going, the laughter from it distant and like a low pulsating drone.
The door to the VIP section opens as a gaggle of men in suits, drunk with laughter and their cheeks red from drink, stumbled out. Riley watches quietly and patiently as they leave before looking to the door. There stood Marina, wearing an evening dress; the sea-swept woman gives Riley a nod. It was time.
The darkling glanced down at their table; their second drink had not arrived, but no sense in keeping the Knight waiting. Slowly they stand and take a long deep breath.
So much had happened, and they feared the worse was yet to come. It was time they met the challenge. Violence had haunted their every step since their return. Perhaps once, they thought they could hide from it, but they had been a fool to think so.
Riley flashes a smile to Marina as they move to the door. There is an exchange of knows best. Smile, shine, dance, be what they wanted to see, be who they desire you to be. Give them what they want, and they will never see it coming.
The Brighton would rise, and no one would hold them back.
Riley sat silently at the table, a whisky sour half-drunk before them. Their finger idly pushing the lemon peel along the inside of the crystal. Their dark eyes stare across the club towards the VIP section; their focus is fixated upon the silhouette of the large, boisterous man, his voice no more than a dull tone in the distance.
Dust coated the inside of their mouth; it felt caked, cracked, tight, and small. The heat discomfort had been replaced with searing pain as the nerve endings in their flesh had begun to die. The skin peeled in sheets of painful blistered white sheets. Their mind a drunken slur of pain and a crushing sense of defeat.
T̸̢̂h̶̻̅ḙ̸̈ ̶͔͝f̸̠̈́l̴̏͜e̸̪͛s̸͓̆h̷͉̍ ̴͈͘i̶̪͌s̴͔͐ ̴͕̏a̸͓̅ ̶͖͑c̷̪͆ö̴̡́c̶̨͗o̶͕̓o̷͍͠n̶͉̓
They had delayed vassalage for too long. The summer court was already forcing their unsworn members to knights; spring was sure to follow. It seemed with each passing week, the tension in the courts grew like a fester wounding. Raising their glass to their lips, Riley ponders the choice they are making.
The fluid was vicious and hot; it clung to their hand like a scarlet sticky stain. The Wisps palms pressed firmly on top of the flesh oozing wound. Mitch was hardly awake; Riley couldn't imagine the pain. They had focused on the pulse, that slow throb of the heart that pushed the blood against their hand. Even the best intentions seemed soaked in blood.
̶͔̈́͝T̷̹͋͛h̷̉͜e̶̦͈͗̒ ̴͛͛ͅp̸̛̳͍̈́á̷̪͍t̵͙͆̌h̷̜̰̑ ̶̗̗̏̀i̸͇̝̒̍s̷̱̪̑ ̵͉̟͑ë̷͔́c̵̘̔s̶̨̬̊̃t̸̲͊͆a̸̧͛ͅt̸͈͚͋͠i̵̜̙̊ć̶̛̹
There was no justice within these walls of wards. The oath that each of them swore protected them from the keepers. But among themselves? These days It felt little more than a formality. Justice? Order? They were no more than mere shadows, false niceties strangled beneath the weight of power, of violence. The taste of the whiskey sour only accentuates the morose thoughts.
Last fall, Riley considered swearing to Nimbus, similar interests, a love for social events, a disarming charm. But what protection did he genuinely offer? What power would that service bring? Riley set down the glass, reminding themself, he had done nothing at Beltane.
His hands were bandaged, and he sat at his office chair staring out at the hot, dry city beyond. They observed his face, which looked older now than it had before. It was tired, pained from the still-healing wounds. That wasn't what made their heart sink and their blood turn cold. It was the look in Archies eyes; the Moth had seen it before on the strip, with the girls, the loss of hope, the death of dreams. Nothing was going to be the same again, was it?
̸̺̭͉̊̈́̑B̵̤͉͖̞̅́é̶͎̫͎̹̃͝y̴̡̗̩͐̕ǫ̴̮̙͕͐n̶̬͇̂ď̸̤́ ̴͍̬̜̐̋b̸̧̫͋l̴̪̑͜͠ọ̸̤̌́͆͒o̵͔͐́͝͝d̵͍̻̱̙̿̇̽ ̷̡͕̠̂̄̈́̚ã̵̧̝͙̲̄́̚n̶̯̿̔͘d̵͓̰͝ ̸̯͎̥̀͜f̷̼͕̹̦̀̈́̕l̶̢̨̮̺̄͊͛͐e̷̡̋̌̇̀s̸͍̭̀h̴͙̩͈͂
Riley looks down at the empty glass of liquor in front of them. Considering another one before the meeting. Their eyes trained again to the silhouette. Nimbus had done nothing, but he hadn't even been there. Had he known? Could he be trusted? Of Course not; this wasn't about trust. It was about security.The cellphone sat in their trembling hand. The Moth considered the next moves as they scrolled through their call history, 73 calls to fire and no answer. They were mentally exhausted as their anxiety led them down every dark crevice of their mind. Riley tried to slow their breathing, focus; their chest was tight, their heart felt constricted, and their hands burned. That was when they got the call. Riley couldn't remember who it was that called; had it been a freeholder, or was it just hospital staff? The memory was a fog; the only clarity was the words. "Dani's been shot."
̷͕̇̍̿͠S̶̭̿̔́͌ȃ̸̡̟̅̌̚c̸̯͠ȑ̴͎̮̗̾͗í̵̩͛f̴̭̯̝̓́͝į̸̠̫̀ͅç̷̻̇̎ě̵͇ ̸̛̩̭̹̹̓̅͝f̵̹͈̈́̕ȏ̷̧̜͊̓r̷̫̫͓̯̐ ̴̹́̓̓b̴̭̹͚͙͗e̸̲̪̿̌ä̷̱̤͕́̊ũ̵̡͚͙̌̓̕t̶̬̘̳̅y̶̰̳͋͐̉
There was a sick comfort, even a feeling of vindicating to know they had been right all along. Those with value had power; those with power did as desired. If you did not have your place, you were consumed. The Twilight Dancer knew this before but had hopped beyond reason it was false; this last year made sure to remind them otherwise. This choice was not a mistake. It was a hard step, a precaution for the days to come. After all, there was a line between the winner and the losers. It was a line one had to choose to cross.
Riley raises a hand to the passing waitress, asking for another drink. The meeting of the Knight was still going, the laughter from it distant and like a low pulsating drone.
The ogre was always the quiet type. The two friends sat at the salt bar, a beer in hand. Linden stared at the door, lost to whatever thoughts they chewed on. The Moth's black eyes stared at the ogre's wrists and hands. The peeled wounds and veins of iron that glinted beneath the angry wounds made their own flesh crawl. Linden did not speak much about the hunt, but it had left its painful mark. They called it a necessity; Riley knew it for what it was, a cost. Did they have the strength to pay such a price?
̸͈̆̀ͅḇ̴̮̲͆̑̋́̚͝â̴̪̮̑͆̒̀̉̑̐n̴̲̻̥̅͜a̴̭͍̣̣̣̤͕̟̿́ļ̷̳̱̪̳͔͒̈́̄̾̐i̷̧̠͑̓̃̽͊̈͝t̶̮̻̅̊̚̕͠y̷̧͚̻̤͕̘̼̾͒̑̔́̒̂ ̶̗͍̠̈́̄́ị̴͂̂̆͝͝ͅş̴̧̜͉̲̼̗̐̀͂̏͂ ̴͇̖͔͐̊͜ḑ̵͓̼͖̞͚͙̳̈̂͌́̇̏ẹ̸͖̯̤̹̔̍͊̈́̄̓͜͠͝a̷̛̼͉̣̗͈͚̗̍͆͊͂̾͜͠t̵̛̙̎̀̒h̴̨̘̱͈̔͊̓͂̆́͝
The darkling glanced down at their table; their second drink had not arrived, but no sense in keeping the Knight waiting. Slowly they stand and take a long deep breath.
So much had happened, and they feared the worse was yet to come. It was time they met the challenge. Violence had haunted their every step since their return. Perhaps once, they thought they could hide from it, but they had been a fool to think so.
Riley flashes a smile to Marina as they move to the door. There is an exchange of knows best. Smile, shine, dance, be what they wanted to see, be who they desire you to be. Give them what they want, and they will never see it coming.
The Brighton would rise, and no one would hold them back.
Ṱ̸̹̣̼̩̖̖̇̆͗̐̂̐̀͝h̵͓̲̱̹̒ȩ̶̨̭̝̫͍͔̠̾͆̑͌͂̍̚ ̵̖̪͕̜̭̯̥̦̑̽͑̇̓f̴̗͎͝l̷͈̣̯͇͖̪̩̈́͋̉́͆̇̚e̵̻̙̺̤̯͓͊͘͠ͅs̵͙̫̭̈̓́̈́̓̑̍̚h̵̰͑ ̴̙̰̺̖̑i̶̱̩̾̆̎̀̉̈́̚͝s̴̙͉̞̒̄̌͊́͗͐ ̶̨̡̩̟͔̣͎͕͝͝ḁ̵̛̦̱͔̖̪̄̔͝ ̴̹̞̼͕̹͒̃͋c̷͔͉̜̙͙̍ȍ̷̜̦̋̄̎͋͆̚ͅc̵̖͒͑̍̓͊o̵͙̯̦̜̪̊̃̀̏̀͝͝ǫ̴̺̟̙͕̖̠́͌̓n̶̨͇̝͓̦̉̾͆
̴̢͇͕͓̦̲̩̦͐͆̓͋̑̓T̴͓̖̘̪̣͐͊̃̀̈́͑̊ḧ̵̼̫́́̀̆̈́͐͝͠ė̶̪̱͓̪͇̬͈̈̉̈́̈́͜ ̷̣̖͓̦̬͒̃p̷̨̢̛̺͖̖̰̆̈́͒̈́̚â̴̧̫͔̲͇̓̄̌͗́͑̕t̸͍̩̣̫͙͈͑ͅḧ̴̻́͠ ̷̥̞̝̟͇̝̦̈̀̆̈́̌̈͂̕į̷̼̬̝̲͖̎̽͌̿͠ṣ̴̘͎̰͎͍̂̾̓ ̷̩̇̎e̸̬̯͎͌̃c̴͈̟͓̅s̸̹̲̩̖̜̯͓̑̋͒̅͝ͅt̸̡̲̙͇̰͈̓̑͝â̴͎̲͖̲̮̔̀t̷̡̟̩͂̄̊̅i̷̧̧̧̛̼̖̘̹̿͐c̸̯̳̭̘̮̽̾̄̅̂͝ͅ
̶̢̡̬̦̆͛͆̑̆͆͘ͅB̸̡̧̯͎͗͆̍͊́̑̿ę̴̝̪͂̌͛͒͝ͅy̴̩̖̳̰͚̤̓͌͋͊̎̈̚͘ͅő̷͔̯̠n̴͎̼͉̪̈́̕ḋ̷̥̝̪ ̷̩͕͍̱̠͛͛b̴̧̢̫̯͎͇̣͊͒̍̌́͘͜͠l̸̡͙̥͒͒̓͑͂͗͝o̴̧̢̩̐͂̀̈̋͘͘ö̴̮́́̈́d̶̻̱̹͝ ̸̨̡̮̺̬͔͍̎̔a̶̛̼̘͛͋̽̊̉̚n̵̢͚̘͍̦̍̐̌̍̏̆̾͜͝ͅd̶͎̦͕̻̖͔̒̿̓́̉͘͠ ̸͖̥̖̦̫̃̌̾̀̐͒͛̕f̴͖̦̘͔̰͖̓̾̊̂̌̋̚͠ļ̶̧̗͎̼̊̈́͒̌̊̚͝e̴̫̟̐̋͋s̴̪͔͓̫͈͆̒͘̚h̸̨̛͔̥̠̄̽̆̏͗̎̽ͅ
̸͈̆̀ͅḇ̴̮̲͆̑̋́̚͝â̴̪̮̑͆̒̀̉̑̐n̴̲̻̥̅͜a̴̭͍̣̣̣̤͕̟̿́ļ̷̳̱̪̳͔͒̈́̄̾̐i̷̧̠͑̓̃̽͊̈͝t̶̮̻̅̊̚̕͠y̷̧͚̻̤͕̘̼̾͒̑̔́̒̂ ̶̗͍̠̈́̄́ị̴͂̂̆͝͝ͅş̴̧̜͉̲̼̗̐̀͂̏͂ ̴͇̖͔͐̊͜ḑ̵͓̼͖̞͚͙̳̈̂͌́̇̏ẹ̸͖̯̤̹̔̍͊̈́̄̓͜͠͝a̷̛̼͉̣̗͈͚̗̍͆͊͂̾͜͠t̵̛̙̎̀̒h̴̨̘̱͈̔͊̓͂̆́͝