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Post by Deleted on Jul 2, 2016 23:02:42 GMT -5
About Twenty Years Ago
Standing behind Seon had been easy. Too easy. It had been as easy as breathing. For someone who sometimes forgot to breathe simply because his head was teaming with a myriad of other necessities (like analyzing the way the colors and textures of this room successfully seemed both threatening and welcoming, or how loose his poisoned tooth had become, or even how best to put an end to every life in the room before anyone could strike him), that was saying a great deal.
Sasha was strangely preoccupied with Seon's entrance as Official Puppet Master of the Asian chapter of the Puppeteers. He felt a strange sense of pride in her, and it was not a pride he could openly admit to. Pride in her accomplishment. Pride in her intelligence. Pride in her flawlessly executed ascension through regicide. Most importantly, pride to follow her in this pursuit. He had felt honored that she had seen him not as an obstacle, but as an effective tool in this endeavor. She was fit to take her place above the others. He would proudly stand at her back and do whatever it was she asked.
Without her, his head would be teaming again.
As she closed her opening reasoning for why she had committed the crime she had, his gaze fell on the other Official Puppet Masters and their Grand Editors and beasts. The African chapter remained as ambiguous as ever, noses upturned as though they were wasting their precious time. Perhaps they were. The two were not interested in worldly affairs, only in their own affairs. The African beasts were too large to be brought into the summit they were holding, which was fine by Sasha. He and Seon at least had the agreement that anything they couldn't handle on their own should not be handed over to their beasts. The European chapter, however, had their beasts practically hanging off of them as their masters listened attentively. The South American and Australian chapters lost his interest quickly. They were merely observers, and the beasts they had brought (in the Warden's case none) were . . . unimpressive by Sasha's standards. It wasn't until his eyes landed on the rarely seen Official Puppet Master and founder of the North American chapter that something truly held his attention.
Conversations pursued and he heard them. He simply chose not to participate, as Liam Evermine held his attention for a great deal of time while Seon dominated the summit. The almost albino looking man held his hands folded across his lips, watching and judging Seon with as much intensity as the European chapter. Sasha smirked. Rarely seen and determined not to let this be a wasted trip. He could respect Liam Evermine, if not for the endless bragging Lance Nichols tended to do of the man and his puppets. He acknowledged Seon's criticisms of their methods, but ultimately what they had done had been successful for over four hundred years. They would simply wait until their time had run out before seizing the long coveted North American chapter.
When the summit closed, Seon had effectively convinced every Official Puppet Master and Grand Editor that she was the optimum choice for leadership over the Asian chapter. Standing at her side as they watched from the wall, they continued to observe quietly. "Do you see what I see?" Seon asked Sasha.
The Russian Grand Editor snorted. "I see a herd."
Seon's eyebrow lifted as she looked up at him. "Herd, you say?"
"Of . . . asses." Seon's eyes narrowed on him and he could see her taking the comment as both a joke on his favored anatomical part of the human body and a criticism on the rulers of the Puppeteers. She shook her head quickly, letting out a disappointed sigh. "It was a decent jest, myshka."
"Perhaps. But," she glared at the Puppeteers surrounding them, "I see a bunch of foolish old men." Sasha's grin widened even more, knowing that while he was included in that number she was not speaking of him in particular. "Foolish old men, set in their ways and unable to change." Her head tilted down in thought, eyes still focused on what she very well could be considering prey. "They simply don't understand change is necessary. I plan to show them that."
It was as she was muttering to herself why she was the perfect fulcrum for said change that Sasha's gaze fell on a something he had not seen before. Of course, his eyes immediately took in the shape of the person's rear, still clearly seen despite the coat covering the majority of his body. An involuntary hum escaped his throat as his gaze ventured upward on the beautifully rendered specimen. The hum deepened as he started taking in the creature as a whole (surely it was a creature, as he had not been seated at the table or behind an Official Puppet Master). This being had . . . such an aesthetic. It was almost breathtaking.
Then he saw a face partially covered by a tall collar and he was stuck staring at a blonde . . . lapochka. Truly that was the first word that came to mind as he looked upon that face. There was nothing cruel about that downturned, partially hidden face. Downtrodden, perhaps, but not cruel. Sasha's vision tunneled, and the noise that usually plagued his brain suddenly started to rise up in response to this absolutely gorgeous beast he was laying eyes on for the first time.
He might have even unleashed a gasp of both disappointment and want as Liam Evermine's hand lurched up to grip the beast behind his neck. It was then that he truly saw the creature's golden eyes and realized . . . this was the long disputed half skinwalker the North American Puppet Masters oft boasted of. This was the one of a kind beast that had survived the destruction of his people and culture.
This was Rowan Alder Sverre.
Sasha was not prone to favoritism. He was not prone to attachment to simply one beautiful thing at a time. However, he saw the way Lance and Liam stared at this beast (who barely blinked at their handling him, oh what a poor, wasted mind) and he felt the desire to . . . to . . . .
A hand slapped onto his forearm and gripped it roughly. "No," was Seon's firm assertion.
Sasha's head started to clear of the noise (though this time he fought to keep it alive). With a pleading smile, he began, "Myshka, just—"
"No," she reiterated. "We have a goal. A goal that doesn't make way for any distraction."
Sasha wanted to argue, but it was too late. The noise had dissipated under her influence and the North American chapter was already speaking of departure. He did not allow himself a parting glance at the thing . . . the lapochka he had become so transfixed by. They had a goal. The goal was change. Change for men.
Not beasts.
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Post by Deleted on Jul 4, 2016 3:18:57 GMT -5
Present
The beasts here were adorable. There were so many strange beings (and gorgeous physiques) just begging for his appreciation. How could he say no?
He eyed the candles, eyeing the people running the place even more. There was one clerk (a human, he presumed) cheerily talking about all of the merchandise being sold by this cover for the notorious Candle Cult. He was quite taken with her. Precious, this human called Yin was. Yes, quite precious. Not fully developed into the woman she was meant to be yet, but with grand potential.
“Is there something specific you’re looking for though?” she asked after running through the list of sales and specials they were having.
Sasha gave her his most charming grin. “How about something relaxing?” His beasts could go for some recreation, and if these candles were made by the rumored tenebra the town of Eventide feared, they must be worth the purchase.
Yin jumped cheerily. “Right this way,” she said, leading him around an aisle. She glanced over her shoulder at him and he noticed her squint right away. He met the look with a wider grin, and was about to ask for a reason why it had popped up when she said, “Sorry, you’re just,” she bit her lip. “I thought Tea was tall, but you might actually be taller.”
His interest was mildly peaked. “A tall friend named Tea. Pray tell, would he be interested in a cup?” He wiggled his eyebrows. Perhaps this Tea also had lovely features.
Yin stopped in front of a particular section. “I’m surprised he didn’t come running from the back at the offer. He practically lives on the—”
They were interrupted by a door opening on the other side of the shop and the drop of something heavy on the register counter. The loud sounds were coupled by the petulant, “I heard that.”
The human waved a hand. “Case in point.” Then she held up a finger. “Actually, he’s bringing in a new batch. Wanna go take a look before settling here?”
“It would be my pleasure,” Sasha said, following the excitable human back to the front. Her conversation was pleasant. Almost worth the continued lack of evidence that he truly was in the right place.
His evidence came in the form of a blonde man unloading a cardboard box full of candles. At first, Sasha blinked and thought the other looked familiar. Then their eyes met . . . .
And noise began to drown out Yin’s sales pitch.
Sasha’s gaze remained fixed on the only just smaller man, who was too busy setting out the merchandise to pay attention to his coworker or his customer. The noise manifested in a series of sentences blending together until he could only pick out a few. He was alive. He was here. He had not died as had been rumored. He was physically changed. He was going by a different name.
He was.
Alive.
Sasha almost whimpered as he reminded himself of such a beautiful body with one sweep over Rowan’s—Tea’s—torso and rear, gaze lingering on the latter as he turned and unpacked and worked while Yin chattered away. A stuttered breath escaped his lips and he actually felt, through all of the noise, a blessed amount of excitement. He was alive. Scarred (hideously so), but alive.
And he was speaking.
Sasha had never heard him speak or look so animated, would not have thought it possible just going by how he had seen him before. It occurred to him then that . . . this might not be Rowan. He scoffed internally. It had to be. There was no way it was not Rowan. But the possibility . . . .
Sasha took action and bumped into the counter, knocking an item to the ground and hardly flinching as it shattered. “Oh my goodness,” he said, placing a palm over his chin at his ‘mistake’ as the human leapt back with a yelp and Tea straightened bolt upright. Wide, golden eyes. Him, it must be him. “My sincerest apologies, allow me—”
“No no, it’s okay,” Yin hastily reassured. “Lemme just get a broom, okay?” She started off for the door as Tea crouched down to start scooping up the glass and wax with his hands. “Be right back.”
Then they were alone.
Kneeling down, Sasha proceeded to get on Tea’s level. There was a desperation in his teaming mind that demanded absolute assurance, and he could only receive it one way now. Starting to help pick up the pieces with his bare hands, Tea held out his own tightly gloved palm and declared, “You’ll cut yourself, don’t—”
“As,” Sasha began, catching the hand in his palms and holding it there as his wrist brushed intentionally against clothed claws, “will you.” Though he did not want to, he let go of the hand as soon as he felt those talons. Gazing up at Tea’s eyes, he was met with what almost seemed like a glare. Tea was uncertain. Maybe . . . no. He would not recognize Sasha. He had not looked up and he had not heard the Russian speak when last they met. He could not know him.
But Tea knew he was bad news. He saw it in the suspicious look the skinwalker was giving him. “Um,” he began, murmuring incoherently, “look I just . . . there’s liability . . . you can’t—”
Sasha shushed him, taking Tea by the elbows and pulling him to his feet. “I see now, yes,” he replied softly as the stiff former puppet stood slowly with him. Sasha looked down at the other as he sought for an excuse to touch him and found it. “Yes,” he said as he adjusted Tea’s collar. “Yes, of course,” he whispered as he caught himself, standing toe to toe with Tea with hands lingering on the shorter’s collar as a small, very small, yet recognizable portion of Tea’s brand revealed itself. His head tilted as he stared at it, noise intensifying as his eyes traced the black scar cutting through the heart and strings of the so poorly done brand. “To hurt oneself,” his voice was almost inaudible as his stare traveled from neck to jaw to cheek to eyes, “would be a tragedy.”
Eyes locked on Tea’s, he watched as realization bloomed in the other’s eyes. He watched as they started to open and widen until they were almost complete circles. He watched as though he had never before glimpsed this creature in his life. In a way, he most certainly had not.
And Seon, for all her and respectability, was not currently there to tell him no.
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Post by Deleted on Jul 4, 2016 23:38:30 GMT -5
Afternoon
The mysterious accented man left, and Tea felt a tremor of fear. Everything inside him screamed heartless, begged for him to pursue and to ensure he was not looking for the Candle Cult. He must be, though. He must be out to get the Candle Cult, infiltrate and discover just as he had. Tea didn’t know the man’s affiliates, but he knew that he had been a walking void.
Just like Liam.
Just like Lance and all the rest.
And perhaps the most disturbing fact . . . he had known Tea.
Tea stayed on edge for a good chunk of that day and into the next. His behavior disturbed several, especially Aiden. He knew straightaway Tea had seen a ghost of sorts, but he couldn’t tell him. He . . . he didn’t know why. He just couldn’t. The lack of instruction or advice led his mind down a very dark path.
And Aren . . . he couldn’t believe what the other was going through. He couldn’t believe . . . .
He was already jumpy with this man named Ant around. With Ashanti around. He shuddered at the thought of Bellamy, and grew sick to his stomach. So when he found the tall foreigner lurking around outside of the manor with some other cultists who ran the shop, Tea was more than a little pissed. Granted, the majority of Tilӓ was hidden by enchantments and kept for the most part invisible to those not cultists. However, the man had still been brought to their primary base of operations. Had the cult learned nothing from Tea and Aiden? Irritation and panic didn’t even begin to cover it.
He concealed it to the best of his ability, approaching with a smile and a very calm, “You all realize we have strict rules about outsiders, right?” He knew because he was the reason for these rules. “Only members of the organization, got it?”
The cultists quickly apologized and left, leaving a very smug man in a Hawaiian shirt standing with Tea. Once alone, Tea turned his attention to the other and was forced to keep his face as unreadable as possible. Why? Because the taller (that was the worst part, he was taller) was looking at him like he’d just found something shiny.
Tea almost flinched when the man gave him a soft grin and asked, “So I am not a welcomed guest after all?”
Tea’s eyes narrowed. “We’ve had enough problematic welcomed guests I’m afraid. My apologies for the inconvenience, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
“Oh, it is no inconvenience of mine.” The amount of charm the man turned on was staggering. It was no wonder the other cultists were so easily fooled by him. Fooled into leading him here. He was going to have to explain to Tapi that security detail needed to be addressed and made stricter (though he was constantly being reminded he was no longer allowed to rule that section of the cult duties). “Will you do me the honor of escorting me away?”
The Chandelier couldn’t even begin to describe why he absolutely did not want to get any closer to the suspected Puppeteer. He managed to keep his voice steady, managed to keep his collar popped, as he uttered quietly, “Did you forget the way that quickly?” Perhaps he would get lost in the woods and never return. That would be almost too perfect.
“Oh no,” the other declared, smile only growing more attractive. “I simply would enjoy the pleasure of your company.”
Tea’s skin crawled. Everything in him screamed no, don’t do it. Disappear and let him get lost. But . . . he would also be ensuring the man actually left cult property. Reluctantly Tea nodded, and was even more taken aback when the man offered him his arm. “Uh . . . .”
“It’s just one walk. What harm could befall you?”
A lot, Tea silently thought. He sucked in a breath and let his arm slip through the other’s. “Just one,” he murmured to himself.
He didn’t miss the dark leer the other made as they headed for the path away from Tilӓ. With a stiff gait, he knew he was being led into a trap of some sort. He just had to trust that he was in fact capable of escape. No more masters. None that cared enough to keep him under thumb, at least.
Edging away from the manor, Tea felt a certain numbness rise up inside of him. He swallowed hard, shoulders rising and falling with each breath as the man’s void threatened him in ways only those without readable emotion could. He cast his eyes down, watching the path and moving with such care and precision that if he tripped, it was because he had failed to measure out his steps far enough in advance.
The dark leer turned into a low hum and Tea’s head lowered. “Do not do that.” Tea was about to ask what the other meant when there was a finger under his chin, pushing his head up. He grit his teeth hard before he snapped his jaws at the larger hand, stomach flipping as the other declared, “You look so much better with your head up.”
The very little that was within Tea’s stomach started to boil from the anxiety welling up in him. “I’m not here for you to look at.” He was here to make sure the other left and didn’t return.
Tea let out a startled gasp as the other suddenly jerked him closer, arm tightening around Tea’s while a palm gripped his hand. Tea started to pull away, but the foreigner held fast. Tea was now stuck walking with his side connected to the taller’s and he was . . . he was . . . .
Tea gulped down his nerves as started to focus. Yes, these feelings were incredibly familiar to him and what he had endured. No, this was not the same. This man did not own him. This man’s control over him was purely physical. As long as he stayed outside of Tea’s head, Tea was safe. With an unsteady sigh, he closed his eyes and they continued walking straight in spite of the extremely close proximity.
The man hummed again and he whispered almost inaudibly. “Purple is a good color on you, my friend.”
Tea glanced away, body so rigid he was surprised he had not yet broken something from pure stress. “I’m not your friend,” he murmured, trying to hide the pallor of his face from the other.
“Red would have looked excellent on you too.”
Tea started to jerk away then, ripping his arm from the other’s hold only for the larger man’s hand to wrap around the back of his neck and yank him about. Tea was disoriented from the movement, all thoughts falling loose as he was slammed into a nearby tree. He let out a grunt as the other pressed into him and his only means of staying upright were the man’s hands grasping the back of his neck and the collar of his button up. Wrapping his hands around the other’s forearms, he gasped and tried to reorient his head.
Only for his thoughts to fall askew again as a thumb stroked his jawline, moving up to trace the scar Liam had left on his lip. “What do you want?” was his only question, the last logical thought in his mind.
He just opened his eyes to see that once charming grin, which was now a very clear and present danger to him. “You would love to know, wouldn’t you?”
Tea let his eyes glow and his fangs bare as he hissed out, “Stay away from—”
“Oh lapochka,” Tea recognized the Russian term, but did not know the translation. Nor did he know how to feel about the continued stroking of a thumb over a scar that still left him jumpy when touched. “Seeing you here . . . that is enough to give me some peace of mind.”
“The fuck are you talking about?” Tea could hear how Aiden had rubbed off on his vernacular as he spat the mixture of question and accusation.
The man’s brow furrowed and he made a clicking noise with his tongue and shook his head. “When news spread that Evermine was no longer, it was assumed you had gone with him.” Puppeteer. Puppeteer. Confirmed Puppeteer. “But you live. And are . . . available.”
“Like hell I am.” While free of one master, he was still very much belonging to another. One who could snuff him out just because he was annoying her. “Get off, go away.” The Puppeteers had done enough here.
“You have already denied me sight of the place where the infamous North American Chapter fell. Would you deny me the pleasure of greeting,” the palm left his neck as the taller brushed his knuckles over Tea’s cheek, “an old flame?”
Tea jerked his head away from the hand and he tasted blood from his fangs digging into his gums. “I don’t know you.” How the fuck did he know Tea? He’d never seen him in his life.
Or so he thought. Tea flinched back and squeezed his eyes shut as lips neared his face. Turning away, those lips landed on the corner of his eye and he shrank away from the taller. The man’s breath blew hot across his face as he whispered directly into Tea’s ear, “You were so quiet, so . . . distant. Your master did not take very good care of you did he, lapochka?” Tea felt himself shrinking more, body frozen in place as the hand holding his collar pulled it aside to reveal the brand he had caught the other staring at. “You spent all your time looking down. I doubt you would have seen me. That is alright, though.” Fingers rubbed across his brand, struck through by a scar, and he held his breath and set his jaw. “Sasha Zharkov remembers the first time he saw Rowan Alder Sverre.” Tea’s eyes shot wide. The summit. The ascension of Seon Kyu Ri as Asian Official Puppet Master. This was the Grand Editor.
In a flurry of movement, Tea shoved him off of him. Shaking, he was surprised when Sasha didn’t lurch forward in retaliation. “Why did you really come here?”
“You’ve grown bolder, lapochka.”
“Why not just send a beast?”
Sasha’s smile was radiant and horrifying and it made Tea side step away from the tree lest he be pinned again. “Why send a beast to do something I can do just as well?”
“And what are you doing?”
“I,” he extended a palm which Tea quickly avoided, “am simply taking inventory,” he didn’t want to be touched again by the Russian Grand Editor, “of all the lost puppets.” Not if he could help it. Still, the other pursued him. “You, lapochka, are a very lost puppet.”
Sasha’s fingertips were just within brushing distance before Tea slapped it away. “I’m not a puppet.” Not anymore. “I am a Master. Always have been.”
The Russian’s eyebrows raised and his smile grew smaller. It did not lose its charm, but it certainly did gain a new element of amusement. “A Master. Those are some impressive ambitions for one who was a beast.” Before Tea could comment, Sasha asked, “Can you handle such a grand responsibility?”
“Are you going to stop me?”
Sasha’s eyes shone bright in light of what the Russian Grand Editor probably deemed a challenge. “It would be a beautiful experience to see you succeed, lapochka.” His expression took on one much more intimidating, more indicative of his status as a Puppeteer. “Even more beautiful to see you fail. I’ll be there when that happens, lapochka.”
“It won’t.” His reply was clipped and cold. He would not let it happen.
“I see.” Sasha took a step forward, Tea remaining still this time as the Grand Editor approached. Tea balled his fists and closed his eyes as the taller placed his palms on his shoulder and held him still before planting a light kiss on his temple. “I would like you to keep this fire you’ve found,” Sasha uttered against his head. “But life as a beast . . . it is not as terrible as they made it for you I can assure.” Tea’s claws dug holes in his palms as his breathing grew uneven. Palms slid down his arms before translating to his waist. They were coming to rest on his lower back just as he whispered, “You would not want for anything were you in my care, lapochka.”
“I don’t,” Tea snarled through gritted teeth, “want to be taken care of.” He wanted freedom.
“If you change your mind, lapochka,” he was beginning to loathe the Russian nickname, “you know where to find me.”
“You’ll never see me again, then.” Tea’s eyes opened and he glared up at the Russian.
He was met with a conceited grin just as the hands on his back dropped down to squeeze his rear ever so lightly. “We shall see.”
Sasha Zharkov let him go, then proceeded onward alone. Tea stood there, watching the taller leave as he casually shoved his hands in his pockets and whistled a tune the man must have picked up off the radio.
Tea felt sick as he contemplated what the last statement could have meant. He prayed to every deity he knew that it had merely been the Puppeteer’s confidence that Tea would not succeed as a freedman and not a promise of more trouble. He prayed that when next he spoke to Tapi she would listen to him.
And that, more immediately, he would stop shaking and wanting to scream himself hoarse.
Tea collected himself long enough to tell Tapi of his experience. She was about as receptive as he had expected. Still coughing from the smoke, he made his way to his room and sat on his bed. Rolling up his sleeves, he considered going to the kitchen and making himself some tea when he saw the dirt on his palm. He glared at the mess, starting to rub it on his jeans and wondering where he had received such a mark. When it occurred to him, his palms slowed to a stop and he found himself staring at the floor.
He had been shoved against a tree.
He had confronted a Puppeteer. Not just any Puppeteer, but a Grand Editor.
The Russian Grand Editor wanted him.
He shook his head. No, he hadn’t said that. He hadn’t said those words. No, he’d said much worse.
“You would not want for anything were you in my care, he had said.”
“Lapochka.”
The word was spoken tenderly, but it wasn’t Sasha’s voice he heard when he thought it. It wasn’t even that word. It was the voice of another Grand Editor, moaning his name.
“Rowan.”
“Lapochka.”
They sounded the same. They sounded the exact same in his head.
“You would not want for anything.”
“I really wanted you, too.”
Their voices sounded the same.
Tea’s hands threaded through his hair and he gripped hard, rocking on the bed and trying to bring himself back to the present. Only the present wasn’t safe. It was as safe as his memories, and his memories frequently tried to kill him in their own subtle way, knifing him where it hurts when the sore was already throbbing. He started whining, canine whimpers escaping his throat and making him quake more. He couldn’t escape. He could stay in the manor all he wanted, under the house arrest Tapi had put him on. He could hide for the rest of eternity, but they were going to find him. They had already found him. They hadn’t even been looking for him and they’d found him.
Sasha Zharkov had found him.
Sasha Zharkov had wanted him. Had always wanted him from the first time he saw him.
Tea hadn’t howled so loudly since discovering he was capable of using the strings Liam had employed to tie up the cult. Eyes squeezed shut and tears staining his cheeks, he was doubled over on his bed and helpless. Terrified. He wasn’t free. He was never going to be free. He was stuck and someone else wanted him.
Wanted to enslave him.
Wanted to own him.
Why? Why couldn’t he want someone else? Why did it have to be Tea? Why did it always have to be Tea?
“Rowan!” the shout sounded distant, like the person wasn’t even in the same room with him. That couldn’t be true, because someone was shaking him. “Rowan, look at me!” Hands on his face, near his neck, where he had touched him, where Sasha had . . . he jerked out of the person’s hold, only for the palms to return and turn his head to look back at him. “Rowan, it’s me. Look at me.” Tea froze, Aiden’s hands holding his head still and forcing their eyes to meet. Aiden was shaking. He was shaking just like Tea. Probably because of Tea. It was his fault. “Now tell me what’s wrong.”
Tea’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. He . . . couldn’t say it. He couldn’t tell Aiden. He couldn’t he couldn’t, “I can’t. I can’t.”
He had started to shake his head, but Aiden held it still. “Say the first thing that comes to your head. I don’t care what it is.”
His head went completely blank then. Blank, like even his body was rejecting Aiden’s attempts to help. That is, until the words, “They won’t leave,” passed through his lips.
Aiden sucked in a loud breath, palms still pressed to Tea’s face but gentler than before. “Who won’t leave?”
The Puppeteers. They wouldn’t leave Tea alone. They wouldn’t leave him behind. “I can’t hide. Th-they won’t let me leav-ve.”
“Who won’t let you leave?”
“They won’t let me g-go—”
“Rowan—”
“I can’t go back, I can’t—”
“Rowan, calm down—”
“But they’re gonna come back, I know they will—”
“Listen to me—”
“Won’t let me go, won’t let—”
“Rowan!” Tea went silent, and realized for the first time that Aiden had climbed onto the bed behind him and curled his arms around Tea’s chest and shoulders. Leaning back in the hold, Tea let the older quiet him and rock him from side to side. Settled against Aiden so that the raven haired man’s chin rested against his temple, he sought to make his breathing match the other’s. Though Aiden’s own breaths were sped up, they were much slower than his were currently. He felt the smaller’s heart (his heart) pounding against his shoulder blades and tried to focus on that. He focused on Aiden. Aiden, who was holding him. Aiden, who was comforting him. Aiden, who wanted him but did not want to own him.
Aiden, who in many ways actually owned him. Who was worthy of owning him.
Now steady enough, his tears fell freely like a facet had been opened. Turning his head into Aiden’s chest, he murmured, “I’m sorry.”
Aiden shushed him. “You’re fine.” A hand started circling his chest. “You’re fine, kid.”
Tea sank further into Aiden, shivering as the dust started to settle over his still shattering world. Aiden kept him quiet, tried to help him be calm, rubbed his chest and held him tight as Tea did everything in his power to put Sasha’s (and Lance’s and Liam’s) words out of his mind.
He felt shame for what he was about to ask of Aiden. “Say . . . I’m yours-s? Please?”
Guilt mounted as his partner stilled and silence dragged on. Tea squeezed his eyes shut and was on the verge of pulling away and curling up when Aiden kissed his wet cheek. “You’re mine.” He nuzzled the back of Tea’s head, then added, “And I’m yours.”
Tea’s breath hitched and he turned completely around to bury his front against Aiden’s. The smaller adjusted his seat to accommodate Tea, holding him tight and rubbing his back now. Soon matching his breathing and heartbeat to Aiden’s was paying off, as they were both slowing down and coming back down from the coaster Tea’s head had decided to jump on.
Periodically Aiden would kiss particular regions of Tea’s face, and in Tea’s mind he was erasing the touch of all the others who had kissed him. All the people who had used and hurt him. All the people who had wanted him before.
He was Aiden’s. And Aiden was his.
For the time being, everyone else who had wanted him could fade away in his mind. He was with the only one who mattered.
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Post by Deleted on Jul 5, 2016 23:09:15 GMT -5
Goodbye
“They’re back.”
A pregnant pause. “Yes.”
“And . . . you knew.”
He didn’t respond. He heard the argument in Aiden’s voice. He felt the accusation in his heart. And it . . . it hurt. “Only—”
“You. Knew.”
Tea sighed. There was no reason to try to excuse himself. He had known. “I did.”
Even with his back to Aiden, he could see the scene playing out in his head before the man even stood. He didn’t flinch when he heard the nightstand leave its place and smack against the wall. He heard the breaks against the floor, the cups they hadn’t cleaned up, the newly replaced lamp. He kept his back to his angry partner.
But he did flinch when the next accusation came. “You didn’t tell me.” It was quiet. Demeaning. It made Tea shiver in ways he hadn’t done in a very long time. He had just gotten done sobbing over this, and now . . . it sounded like he was getting blamed. “You didn’t. Tell. Me.”
Tea’s stomach roiled. He lowered his voice, forcing the other to be quiet and listen. “I only just found out.”
“You went to the old bat first.”
“She’s our leader.”
“Your leader.”
Tea’s teeth dug into his gums at that statement. He clenched his fists, eyes starting to water. No Tea. No, you need to stay calm. Be the calm one. Be the reasonable one. Sucking in several harsh breaths, he closed his eyes. Then he managed to utter, “She needed to know—”
“And I didn’t?”
Emotions started to ram into one another, causing friction and disturbance. The air was heavy and everything was indiscernible. Movement, feeling, everything. He remembered the conversation as if it were taking place outside of his own head.
He remembered only words.
Words and snippets of feeling.
Softly. “I was going to tell you.”
Bitter. “When? When they took you away again?”
Gritted teeth. “I wasn’t going to let that happen.”
Growling. “You always do.”
Lowly. “Not this time.”
Harshly. “Every time.”
Pleading. “Aiden, stop.”
Snide. “You said it yourself.”
Helpless. “I was panicking.”
Louder. “You are always panicking!”
Matching pitch. “And you’re not?”
Sputtering. Shouting. “You’re just going to sit there?! Let them come?!”
Snapping. “What else am I supposed to do?!”
Stomping. “Fight! Run! Anything!”
Snarling. “I have run. Many times.”
Snarling back. “Then fight back.”
Talons in his own skin. “I’ve tried.”
“No you haven’t.”
“I. Have. Tried.”
“No. You. Haven’t.”
“I am not damning the cult by fighting.”
“But you’re hurting yourself by freezing? You’re hurting—?!”
Repeat. Louder. “What else am I supposed to do?!”
“Save yourself!”
“I can’t!”
“Then you’re a coward!”
Feeling returned to his bleeding palms and he glared at Aiden through tears. He was angry. Anger only made Aiden struggle harder against him, fight harder. But he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t stop the boiling in his blood at that comment. “You have no right to call me a coward.” He spoke so softly even he had to strain to hear himself.
“I’ll stop when you get up off your back and do something,” Aiden snapped. The fury in his eyes . . . it was familiar. It was something Tea had seen before, something he was used to. Something he used to fear. “I’ll stop when you stop taking everything lying down.”
He wasn’t afraid anymore.
He was enraged.
“What do you want me to do Aiden?” The other didn’t answer. “Leave behind the people who saved me?”
“The monsters who saved you—”
“I am a monster too!” Aiden jumped at the shout. “Thank you for the reminder!”
“Quit acting like it’s an ins—!”
“Quit pointing it out like it’s supposed to be!”
“Anyone who makes you stay in the face of these bastards is a fucking mon—!”
“Stop calling them that! They aren’t making me!”
“Then you’re just stupid!”
“At least I’m—!”
“Stupid and asking for it!”
That took Tea aback. That knocked him down several pegs. The hurt in his face reflected back at him as Aiden got angrier. “You . . .,” he couldn’t believe he would . . . that he said that.
“You are,” Aiden snapped.
Blur. Everything was a blur. His vision tunneled on that face. That angered expression. Inside he was screaming. He was screaming so loudly. I thought you understood. I thought you finally understood. I thought you . . . I thought you . . . .
Cared.
He did. Tea knew he did. He knew he cared. Why else would he be so upset? Why else would he be trying to cut the Puppeteers out of their lives so thoroughly? They had hurt him. They had hurt them. But . . . .
Tea couldn’t leave.
“This is my home, Aiden.” I thought you understood.
“It’s a prison.”
I thought you understood. “This is my family.”
“You’re my family.”
You’re mine too. “Then why can’t you understand?”
“Because I’m not going to watch you get torn apart again.”
He was crying. He was actually crying. Goddammit, he couldn’t stop the tears from flowing.
Again.
He shook his head. “I thought you understood.”
“I guess you were fucking wrong about me.” Again. He heard it. He heard it in the words.
But he didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want to believe it.
Boiling.
His insides . . . were still boiling.
And his gums were bleeding. “Do you . . . ever . . . think about what you’re asking of me?” Did anyone? Did they ever think about what they were asking of him? “Do you ever think about it?” Aiden didn’t answer. And that pissed him off. “Do you?!”
“You think I don’t?!” The shout was less of a comeback and more of an exclamation of shock.
Fear.
Good, uttered a voice in the back of Tea’s mind. Good, fear him.
He bared his teeth. “Then what are you thinking?”
“That you like the trouble you cause.”
That he caused. That Tea caused. Tea caused the trouble . . . .
Him . . . .
He laughed.
He fucking. Laughed.
The fear was starting to grow. He let it. He didn’t try to assuage it. “I like it. I like the . . . trouble.” He liked the pain. He liked the abuse. He liked the unwarranted beatings, the unwanted touches. He liked screaming until he was bleeding all over and under. He liked keeping quiet until he didn’t think he could speak anymore. He liked being forced to his knees every day of his life. He liked being a slave, an object.
A beast.
“Tea,” Aiden uttered, his fear tangible as well as his anger, “don’t—”
“Oh no, I like it.” He couldn’t stop laughing at the notion. “I like it.” He had the marks to prove it. The long, black, permanent marks that reminded him of his place every time he looked in a mirror. “I fucking like it!”
Aiden looked at him like he was looking at a man gone mad. “Don’t make this about—”
“It’s always about them!” Tea cut him off. Aiden jumped, and the mocking smile on Tea’s lips were gone. “Always! Everything about us, it has to do with them! Everything begins and ends with them, and you say I like it!”
“Tea—”
“Well I guess you’re right. I must really fucking love it. I love it so fucking much, I just let them come back over and over and take more and more. All I do is give them more—”
“Tea—”
“—that’s all I will ever do.”
“Rowan!”
“WHAT?!” He needed to stop. He needed to fall back. Aiden was shrinking. He was shrinking before him. But he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t reel back in. He was angry. He was so. Fucking. Angry. He was fucking purple he was so angry. “Isn’t this the answer you wanted?! Not what you were expecting, huh?!” He wasn’t expecting it either. He just . . . he couldn’t stop. “Is this what it feels like?! To walk around regretting everything you’ve ever felt, seen, heard, done?!” Oh God, there were tears in Aiden’s eyes Tea stop. Stop now. Stop before—, “Is this what it’s like to be YOU?!”
He flung his hands out.
He felt them.
He felt them leave his palms.
He didn’t have to look to see the red strings dangling like webbing from the walls . . . because . . . .
He saw them enough through Aiden’s eyes.
Everything filtered out of him in that one moment. That one moment when he saw the roles in their eyes officially reverse.
Who was the beast?
Who was . . . the real monster?
They were frozen. Frozen staring at each other for a long time. Tears streaked their faces as horror filled them entirely. Both of them. It enveloped them where there once was rage. One question repeated in Tea’s mind: What had he done?
He knew what he’d done . . . .
He knew before he held up his hand and reached out to Aiden, only for him to . . . to . . . .
Aiden turned away abruptly, slamming the dresser down between them before he ran. He ran, leaving obstacles in Tea’s path. Obstacles that told him he shouldn’t follow. He shouldn’t dare follow.
He knew what he’d done.
Tea whispered the name of his lover before his knees buckled and he was the one on the ground. He covered his face with both hands as Aiden’s thundering footsteps disappeared in the distance. His chest felt like it was caving in. Everything felt like it was caving in, like he was being sucked into a vacuum. Like he was being demolished from the inside out. He sat on the ground, the footsteps no longer echoing through the halls but he still heard them as if they were.
He knew what he’d done.
He’d gone too far.
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Deleted
Deleted Member
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Post by Deleted on Jul 7, 2016 11:28:07 GMT -5
(This takes place on July 10. Posting in advance.)
Things didn’t go back to normal. Not for him. How could they? Somehow everyone tried to act as if they did, though. They tried to act as though everything were normal again and they could go about their business without worry. Like none of the events had happened.
Like Aren hadn’t been taken.
Like Tea hadn’t been the target of not one but many Puppet Masters.
Like the Puppeteers hadn’t come back.
Like Aiden . . . .
His first day back on Candle Shop duty he had picked up a box . . . then promptly set it back down. He stared at the contents, head blank but . . . .
The rest of him was so heavy.
Yin noticed. She noticed his heaviness. Noticed his dragging. She asked if he was sick, though she knew that Tea hadn’t gotten sick in almost fifty-five years. She asked if maybe he needed some time off. No, he thought as he shook his head. The last thing he needed was to go back to that empty room.
It had been hell setting all the knocked over objects back on their feet again.
It had been hell willing the strings on the walls to disintegrate.
Get back to reality. Get back to your duties. Get back to your life. Get back to normal.
He repeated these words to himself over and over again in spite of the ocean tossing within him. He couldn’t take off. He couldn’t yet acknowledge all of reality. The only reality that mattered was the reality that kept him moving. The reality that kept him busy. That reality he could manage. That reality he needed. He needed to get back to his routine. His life.
His life . . . .
His . . . .
It was his.
Wasn’t it?
Stop thinking. He had to stop thinking. Unload the box, Tea. Unload it and start shelving the items.
He’d given Aren and Amaya space. Space with Aren’s family. Perhaps he should have stayed with them. Perhaps he should have taken the time to get to know them better instead of returning to cult work. Cult work was supposed to soothe and stabilize him. It was supposed to be cathartic. It was supposed to be easy. He could do it endlessly and not get overwhelmingly exhausted or feel drained.
Or so he thought.
Lola was eyeing him. She was about to make her way to him, but her attention got pulled away from him. Good. He didn’t know if he could answer the question, “Are you okay?” one more time that day. He’d lied enough times in his life, he wasn’t sure he could keep doing it that day. This was especially true when Lola knew he was lying. She knew all too well what had happened.
She was left picking up the pieces.
Tea closed his eyes and swallowed hard before taking a deep breath. When he opened his eyes again, he started pulling the candles from the box to shelve them. If only they didn’t feel so heavy too . . . .
The doorbell dinged and he could feel himself jumping internally, but outwardly he dragged. He slid the candles into place, picking them up two at a time. Usually he carried them by the armload. He feared he’d drop them if he tried that, however. Carefully placing each candle, he kept his eyes down and ignored the customer. Yin would take care of them.
But they didn’t go to Yin.
They slid towards him.
Like a . . . fucking snake.
He didn’t even have to say anything before Tea was bristling. He felt the hairs on his body rising in protest, felt the growl in his throat forming. Before the Grand Editor could drag so much as one fingertip over him, Tea had already hissed, “Get. Out.”
A hum. Digits grazed Tea’s shoulder and he wound up flinching. He squeezed the candles in his hands tight. “Something is the matter,” the Russian murmured.
Tea ground his teeth. “Yeah,” he snapped. A lot of somethings. One of them is, “You. Leave.” His eyes were starting to glow. “Now.” The digits rested on his shoulder, but did not go. Sasha did not go. He must be thinking. How was Tea supposed to know, the bastard was heartless? How was he supposed to know any of what he was thinking, feeling, planning, doing? How was he supposed to trust a word he said? And the hand stayed put. “Get off of me.”
“Lapochka—”
“Get. Off. Of. Me.”
“Alright.” The hand receded.
But that wasn’t enough. “There’s the door. Go.”
“Why don’t you take a walk with me? You look like you need—”
“I need you to go,” he snapped. “I need you to go, and I need you to leave me alone.” Rage boiled his blood. Rage and agony. His vision blurred as he squeezed the candles tight enough he felt them starting to give in his palms.
“Tea, is it now?” Oh God, for some reason just hearing someone say his given name brought a sick feeling onto him, let alone hearing Sasha say it. “Tea, you don’t seem well—”
“I’m not.” He snapped his teeth once following the words and he felt his ears twitching with his need to vocalize.
“Then why don’t you—?”
“Why don’t you just do what I’m asking and LEAVE?!” The candles in his palms shattered. He dropped the remains on the floor as he spun and met the other’s gaze with his own glowing one. Sasha didn’t look afraid. If anything . . . he looked intrigued. Smug. Fascinated. That made Tea snap his teeth again, fangs bared and on display. “I didn’t ask you to come here. I didn’t ask you to be here. I didn’t ask for a single thing from you, or anyone!” He was forcing Sasha back, the other watching him carefully as Tea backed him into the counter that bore the register. “I didn’t want anything from any of you, but you keep coming and coming and I just want you to stay AWAY from me! How hard is it for all of you to stay away from me?!”
“Tea?” Yin’s timid voice shook him. He ignored her. He ignored what she had to say.
What he had to say was a little more important right now. “All your presence has done is cause problems and hurt people. How can you expect to get anything done if you keep hurting the ones you’ve already done enough to hurt?”
“You are punishing us for the actions of the North American—”
“Have you met yourselves?! Did you meet Bellamy, or are all of you that STUPID?!” Sasha was bristling now. Good. Get angry. Show Tea the truth. The truth was that they were only as good as their worst, and they had some terrible people among them. “None of you mean well and I want you GONE!”
“Rowan—”
“YOU DON’T HAVE THE RIGHT TO SAY MY NAME!”
“ROWAN!” But the person who screamed over his half snarl half shout did. Lola immediately started tugging on his arm, pulling him out of his challenging position before Sasha. He hadn’t acknowledged how close he’d gotten until she was pulling him back. “Rowan, Tea, baby—”
“Get out,” the skinwalker murmured again at the Russian, who made like he was going to follow Tea but Lola stood in his way. She had to continue pushing Tea away to get him to actually go himself.
“Go calm down, baby,” Lola pleaded. “Go, you need to calm down.”
“Get out.” It was barely audible. For the first time he realized his face was wet. Just how long had he been crying?
He made it to the backroom where he managed to get himself to the tunnel that led back to Tilӓ. Once there he collapsed. His back hit the wall and he slid down to a sitting position. He felt the ocean roiling within him.
And he let it spill out of him in a gut-wrenching howl.
--
The following day, Gemmy and Luster followed him into the alley. They hissed and hummed and purred to one another, Gemmy even yowling if Tea looked his way. Tea had half a mind to tell the earwig to shut up. After all, Gemmy had ripped off his own antennae.
Why couldn’t Tea for a time?
He was full to the brim. He swung dangerously between numb and overwhelmed. A pendulum. He was a pendulum.
He needed to stop swinging entirely for a time.
Kneeling, he hesitated before wrapping his knuckles thrice on the pile of stones. He’d read about this god, but had never dared approach or summon until now. He figured the repercussions of doing what he was about to would be less . . . less than those of begging Tapi to snuff him out again. He didn’t want to forget. He didn’t want to lose anymore.
He just didn’t want to feel the loss for a time.
He didn’t want to think of what he’d seen . . . what he’d done . . . what he’d . . . .
“What’s cookin’ good lookin’?” Tea turned slowly, Luster and Gemmy backing away hissing and yowling at the person who had appeared behind them. They backed up until they were on either side of him. “Your roaches sound bothered. Can I offer you lot something to drink?”
Tea looked down. For a god, they weren’t very . . . imposing. In fact, the woman who appeared before him was downright precious in comparison to the gods he had in fact met. Don’t think. Don’t think Tea, just . . . ask. “Actually,” he began, “I was going to . . . ask the opposite.”
“Gimme the skinny minny. What can Senti do for you?” She winked. “And what can you do for Senti?”
“I want you to drain me of emotion.”
At any other point in time, he might have grinned and shared in her overwhelming (almost pure) joy. The gasp she gave was exaggerated, comic. The declaration of, “For serious?” was endearing. Almost. There was a hollowness in her expressions and being.
Or was it him?
“Yes,” he said as he nodded. “I need a . . . break from feeling.”
“Let me take a look at you.” She took his hand and stared up into his face. Her hands were so small, running over and holding his. She massaged his knuckles as she stared at him. “Oh my stars . . . you have enough to fill me for quite a long time.” She was so enthusiastic. She even started bouncing. “Are you an empath? Tell me you are. You must be.” He nodded. “Of course! Why else would you be so scrumdiddlyumptious?!” She stopped bouncing. “Something’s happened hasn’t it? Too much for you to handle alone?” He saw no reason not to, so he nodded to that as well. “Ole Senti will take care of you now. Darling, is that all you want from me?” He nodded once more. “Hold on tight, peach blossom. Get ready for the finest rest you’ll have in this lifetime!”
Tea cried out as she grabbed his waist and spun him about. “Okay whoa—!” He stopped as soon as he was about to hit the ground, the god having dipped him so they were now face to face.
“Now you’re going to feel a pinch, sugarbird.”
“A p—?” His back arched. That was no pinch he felt. It was a needle. A gigantic needle, pressing between the bones of his spine and diving into the cord painfully. His eyes were wide and he was squirming in her hold. That she held him up at all was incredible. There was a pull, like he was leaking out through the area where he had felt the so-called ‘pinch.’
And then . . . .
Slowly . . . .
Ever so slowly . . . .
There was nothing.
There was no ocean.
There was no boiling in his blood.
There were no tears waiting to spring.
There was no pain waiting around the corner for him, no anger, no self-hatred, nothing.
Nothing.
This wasn’t numbness.
This was complete emptiness.
“Oh dear me, you are large. And you’re limp, are you going to get back alright?” She sounded strange. Almost like . . . he wasn’t picking up on her emotion at all. He wasn’t picking up on anything. Everything was completely and utterly . . . void.
Empty.
So empty.
His eyelids drifted shut as Luster lifted him out of Senti’s arms, off his feet. Tea didn’t fight it. He didn’t struggle at all. He let the Phobia hold him aloft as he told Senti for Tea, “We take it from here.”
Tea had the fleeting thought he should thank her . . . .
“Well it was a pleasure doing business darling, don’t stumble to your death okay? Tata!”
He was drifting to sleep too quickly. Rocked by the gait of the butterfly, he was very swiftly falling asleep. He descended into much needed rest.
A long rest.
Yes.
That was . . . that was a good thing to need.
(Tea and I will be on break until August)
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