✪ Finweald Wrath-Like

[Nyx]

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"My, my, my. Lookit what the cat dragged in."​

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It had been two long weeks since the capture of Sznoshit and the disappearance of one Madison Morti—Freebird. There was chaos in every corner of the globe, bandits on the roads harassing caravans, and Nyx found herself without her favorite Sheriff to guide her slightly wayward attention. ​

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Until now. ​

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The last rays of sunlight skitter across the wooden floor of the tavern and Nyx's long shadow seems gleeful as she approaches her friend. Heh. Friend. The word, echoing between the buzzing and skittering and gnashing of a million insects within Nyx's mind, makes the muscle in her shoulder twitch and the fingers of her right-hand clench against her will.​

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Was that…anger?​

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She didn't have a reason to be angry at the woman, did she? Madison only left for two weeks without a word, without a single lick of evidence that would confirm or deny her being alive. And, well, Nyx had visited all the fucking shrines in the vicinity around the battlefield looking for her only to come up empty handed day after day...after day. ​

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But surely, Nyx wasn't angry. Her craving was fear, wasn't it? And the stink of it had clogged her nose whenever she visited another shrine, asked another guardian or maiden about the lanky woman with the skull painted on her face and, no, they hadn't seen her or heard anything about—​

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—Her fingers curl around the chair opposite the darkly dressed woman and she yanks it back, the legs screaming against the wooden floor. The vampiress doesn't seem to notice the harsh sound and her lithe frame is slowly to slide into the seat, her right leg crossing over left, her hand ducking inside her jacket for a deck of cards. Meanwhile, those violet eyes remain trained on Madison's face, watching every nuance that might (or might not) cross across those familiar planes. ​

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"Does death's little raven remember how to play cards?" Nyx asks, the corner of her mouth lifting into a smirk before falling into a stoic, slightly puzzled expression.​

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[ @Madison Freebird ]​

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[Madison Mortiere]

Two weeks.

Two weeks I had spent away from this stupid goddamn death game, recovering from the trauma of feeling--actually feeling--my left hand be crushed by the renegade magia, and then having my body fried by the rays of energy that peppered the wreckage around the Dragonship. And then having to watch it happen all over again; my entire life as this world supposed it would happen. A younger me, skin as smooth and pale as porcelain, entire decades passing by like seconds as it yellowed and crumpled like paper and strands of jet black hair turned gray and my lungs rasped in agony, desperate to draw breath one final time before waking up again, the burn marks of Szofrit's weapons healing into raw red splotches on my arms and face and chest while someone I didn't know lifted me off the ground.

I had left without a word. Astor made his declaration of abdication because he couldn't rule wearing a crown of shame forged from not being able to do the correct thing. Those asshole mages dumped the bitch's body in a fucking closet, saying everything was going to be okay and they were going to study her. Rumblings of dissent within the ranks of the Lions began immediately after the battlefield was secured. The whole known sandbox is in an absolute state now, and I simply took my toys and went home.

Home. Back to my shitty apartment on Lake Ontario, back to the red tape keeping me from my insurance payout, back to the long mornings arguing with suits over the value of a burned-out husk of a corner bookstore for their franchise. Back to cheap pizza, noodles, and alcohol killing me from within while the uncertainty of my real life crushing me on the outside.

I wish I had a better excuse or story to tell you about why I picked up my headset again. Honestly? Most of it was to escape the bullshit of reality. The fantasy of escapism--for all of its many very obvious and glaring faults, in the case of this particular one--at least allowed me some sort of reprieve from all that. For a few hours a day, I could be whatever the hell I wanted. No cares, no worries--pure, absolute freedom.

Also, part of me felt a little rotten about leaving people behind. Again. Just a little bit.

I had found one such person--or, rather, she quickly found me once I logged back in and found myself in Finweald. Hunkered down over a solitaire pile deep in the shadowed corner of a tavern.

"Hello, @Nyx," I said as the vampiress yanked a chair for herself a little harder than necessary. As much as she tried, I could sense the tsunami of emotions that churned just underneath that stoic visage of hers. And my immediate instinct was to apologize. For what? I don't know; let's start with "everything".

I didn't get the chance to.

She motioned towards the cards arranged on the table between us and asked, quite foolishly, if I knew how to play. Maybe my insult was worn a little too obviously. I mean, come on; what kind of fake-ass cowboy in a world of anime swords would I be if I didn't know how to sling fifty-two around in a variety of flavors and styles?

"Sure do. The question is, do you?" I deftly scooped up the deck and began shuffling. "What's your fancy? Rummy? Old Maid? Crazy Eights? Egyptian Rat Screw? Conquian?" While I kept dancing around the obvious subject, I motioned towards a barmaid to bring us two drinks. Preferably the finest and most expensive. I had a feeling we were going to need them.

 

[Nyx]

Her hand stills, the cards tucked back into the interior breast pocket.

Madison's question hangs heavy in the air and Nyx continues to stare, her head dipping slightly, her eyes narrowing just so as she watches her favorite sheriff from beneath her lashes. She is preternaturally still, like a large cat just waiting for a mouse to move, to give up the ghost so that the chase can finally begin. But there is no chase to be had here. After all, they are friends, working buddies, individuals who, when the shit inevitably hits the fan, can turn to one another in need.

The Hive buzzes their discontent and the tip of Nyx's nose twitches. Her lids close to half-mast and a long, slow sigh tumbles from between her plump red lips. An answer would be a show of good manners, of water beneath the bridge, of camaraderie and friendship, and all those warm feelings that echo between the syllables of such words.

"Can't be forgetting how to play cards," she tells the other woman, the words twanging just enough for Madison to know that Nyx was mocking her. And when she smiles, her fangs flashing in the dim light, it is too broad, showing too many teeth, and all the cracks in what little bits of sanity she had left. Less now perhaps if she had died during the last raid...

"Do you know Sailor's Hand?" she asks, her own hands lowering to the table, her fingers spreading and pressing into the stained, sticky wood. It grounds her enough that the cacophony inside her head quiets a little and a few memories have the chance to bubble to the surface. Her tongue peeks out, the piercing tracing the cupid's bow of her mouth before retreating, her eyes snapping up to Madison's pale features.

"They play it in Dunnstads, in a little port town called Freehold. Lots of...ex-pirate types there. Plenty of gambling. Pretty women. Expensive clothes." She hums a note of interest while the fingers of her right-hand drum against the table, the nails clicking with every tap.

"Can't recall if the Sheriff is a betting woman, but I'm willing to put peanuts to pennies if she is~" The chuckle that leaves Nyx is low and hoarse and completely devoid of humor. "A truth for every hand won. Whaddya think, partner?"

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[ @Madison Freebird ]​

 

[Madison Mortiere]

God, that's a lot of teeth. I shudder--and not in the good way--to think about how many necks they've plunged into. Nyx is UI locked, I know that much. But was she recent? Or from before we were shut out of the game? The handful of vampires I've run into while traveling this world were rather... voracious. Both the lander variety, and the players who just wanted to go a little crazy with their Dracula kinks. How many shriveled-up husks did she leave in her wake to stay alive?

"Sailors Hand." My attention snapped back to the person behind the teeth. "Yeah, I'm familiar."

Draw three cards, pitch one, draw a replacement, and start bluffing your ass off. Nice and easy to remember when you're in port and you're drunk off your ass but the three other people won't shut the hell up and you can't really afford to humiliate them with a good right hook to their glass jaws so you decide to take their gold instead.

"I used to live near Freeport! Back when I was more... Witchy, I guess." Had a nice little yurt on the shore overlooking the bay, it was a very relaxing way to spend my days to de-stress after being treated like shit by customers and the manager of my old bookstore in the real world.

And while gold would have been fine to bet with, it seems that Nyx wanted something a little more valuable. A little more intimate. "Betting with truths, eh?" I licked my teeth as I contemplated this. I'm not really a sealed tome stashed in some dark and dusty corner of a library. "Now that's some real risky gambling. Sure, I'm game."

With deft hands, I shuffle the deck and deal the first hand.

@Nyx