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Sins Come Back
Sep. 22nd, 2012 03:44 pmMaeve senses them more than sees them. They hunt like a pack of dogs, spoiled enough to risk the losses of going after bigger, healthy prey. Or maybe they're just desperate and angry. She never gets a clear enough glance at them to be sure. They're good at that much, or she's really out of practice. Both, probably. Their presence annoys her more than bothers her. Whatever she used to be, arrogance is apparently a part of it. That and violence. Her heart beats more powerfully but not so much faster. Waiting, like she's waiting.
They come when she turns a corner into an empty street. They must have made sure it was clear, but they forgot she likes the shadows. Maybe they didn't actually care. They outnumbered her at least four to one. There might be others hanging back or invisible for the moment. Pretending to be human. Pathetic. As if she couldn't feel the heat radiating off of them like bonfires. She could find them in a crowd without any kind of effort. There was a scent to them, and it tugged at her memories. Seelie. These are the Seelie. She feels nothing but disdain for them as they walk toward her with a grace that would have been alien among humans. Maeve is unimpressed. They could have put on a much better show.
"What do you want?" she asks as if this is just an inconvenience. Her native arrogance does not shine too brightly. Maeve sounds entirely disinterest.
One of them comes forward and she doesn't even bother to distinguish them in her mind. They're all slender bright and shining things that are entirely interchangeable in attitude. Like a bunch of over-sized cats. "You honestly thought you could be left alone after all that you've done? Or was it someone else who thought they could leave you untended?"
Another chimes up, voice identical to the first, "Though you have manage to find some interesting protectors. Like you know exactly how vulnerable you actually are."
She is vulnerable right now, without weapons at hand. Bronze knives glitter in their hands, but all she has is the bag she's carrying with the new spindle of bone she bought. Not even a pair of knitting needles to stab them with. Her cold will not be enough with them. She needs something to cut and fight back given their numbers. One of their knives would do.
"You never should have left the city. They must have laid a gaes on you for you to have kept in this tainted city for so long. But you never did what you were supposed to do, did you Mab? You just had to go where you'd get big enough for us to follow."
One of them was moving too close. Too bold and too close without a tight hold on the knife. Maeve moves like the wind and they weren't expecting that. She is not supposed to be fierce and fast, but wary and waiting. Her hand is so cold it burn even as the heat of the other's skin threatens to scorch her. He cries out as he fights her, struggling and fighting. She bites down hard and he howls and drops the knife. The man had no expected that level of savagery. There's a freedom to her not having anything to prove, and everything vicious in her to let out. They came asking for it by name, after all.
"You've got the wrong woman if you're looking for Mab," she purrs, licking the still hot blood from her teeth, "But if you're looking for a fight you've found it."
"Savage," "beast," they cry and move closer, crowding her. They dart in with knives, sometimes liking over her, leaving red marks, and she catches them back, sending the cold through the knife. They could kill her with a thousand little cuts, and she can only fight off so much. Something must change.
She throws herself forward, wrapping herself around one of her opponents, cold and searing biting, clawing, cutting, stabbing. Her opponent doesn't know what to do half the time though he has two knives. Maeve is a feral vicious thing, and every time one of the others land a blow, she makes the one in her grasp pay until he stop breathing at all. Then she's up and panting, covered in blood and looking at them with something hungry in her eyes. Maeve wants the next one to come, and the others pause. She's a nightmare. Beautiful and cruel, living and oh so cold.
Others die. Maeve goes on.
They come when she turns a corner into an empty street. They must have made sure it was clear, but they forgot she likes the shadows. Maybe they didn't actually care. They outnumbered her at least four to one. There might be others hanging back or invisible for the moment. Pretending to be human. Pathetic. As if she couldn't feel the heat radiating off of them like bonfires. She could find them in a crowd without any kind of effort. There was a scent to them, and it tugged at her memories. Seelie. These are the Seelie. She feels nothing but disdain for them as they walk toward her with a grace that would have been alien among humans. Maeve is unimpressed. They could have put on a much better show.
"What do you want?" she asks as if this is just an inconvenience. Her native arrogance does not shine too brightly. Maeve sounds entirely disinterest.
One of them comes forward and she doesn't even bother to distinguish them in her mind. They're all slender bright and shining things that are entirely interchangeable in attitude. Like a bunch of over-sized cats. "You honestly thought you could be left alone after all that you've done? Or was it someone else who thought they could leave you untended?"
Another chimes up, voice identical to the first, "Though you have manage to find some interesting protectors. Like you know exactly how vulnerable you actually are."
She is vulnerable right now, without weapons at hand. Bronze knives glitter in their hands, but all she has is the bag she's carrying with the new spindle of bone she bought. Not even a pair of knitting needles to stab them with. Her cold will not be enough with them. She needs something to cut and fight back given their numbers. One of their knives would do.
"You never should have left the city. They must have laid a gaes on you for you to have kept in this tainted city for so long. But you never did what you were supposed to do, did you Mab? You just had to go where you'd get big enough for us to follow."
One of them was moving too close. Too bold and too close without a tight hold on the knife. Maeve moves like the wind and they weren't expecting that. She is not supposed to be fierce and fast, but wary and waiting. Her hand is so cold it burn even as the heat of the other's skin threatens to scorch her. He cries out as he fights her, struggling and fighting. She bites down hard and he howls and drops the knife. The man had no expected that level of savagery. There's a freedom to her not having anything to prove, and everything vicious in her to let out. They came asking for it by name, after all.
"You've got the wrong woman if you're looking for Mab," she purrs, licking the still hot blood from her teeth, "But if you're looking for a fight you've found it."
"Savage," "beast," they cry and move closer, crowding her. They dart in with knives, sometimes liking over her, leaving red marks, and she catches them back, sending the cold through the knife. They could kill her with a thousand little cuts, and she can only fight off so much. Something must change.
She throws herself forward, wrapping herself around one of her opponents, cold and searing biting, clawing, cutting, stabbing. Her opponent doesn't know what to do half the time though he has two knives. Maeve is a feral vicious thing, and every time one of the others land a blow, she makes the one in her grasp pay until he stop breathing at all. Then she's up and panting, covered in blood and looking at them with something hungry in her eyes. Maeve wants the next one to come, and the others pause. She's a nightmare. Beautiful and cruel, living and oh so cold.
Others die. Maeve goes on.
