IC: EVENT

[bossman]

A TERRIBLE THING IS HAPPENING

reference books detailing myths and legends stolen from libraries...
wikipedia pages wiped clean from the face of the internet...
ancient stained glass windows smashed and destroyed...
historical research centers burnt to the ground...

Someone out there is trying very, very hard to erase all of the possible sources of power and belief of the ancient gods and goddesses. And it hurts. Whilst the powers of the minders are unharmed by the attacks, the gods and goddesses will be certainly feeling the toll: it's now painfully clear that even the simplest of miracles are now becoming almost impossible to perform.

deities, you had better have gifted your minders with some decent blessings! Because now you're going to rely on them more than ever. Someone is out to get you.

Comments

[violentia]

[Marlon is good at following her orders, with or without hesitation, knowing fully well that her promises of punishment and reward will never be broken. As much as he does his best to get to her quickly, however, there is only so much he can do.

Twenty minutes later he's letting himself in, fully alert, looking for signs of her presence in the house.]

Holly.

[quarreling]

[ He says 'Holly' and Hysminai's insides scream like he's just raked a bird-hook blade across her belly, six-inches deep. Holly isn't her name, Holly isn't worship, and that's exactly what Hysminai needs right now. She needs fighting and quarrel, she needs blood on both of her hands.

With difficulty, she pulls herself up to standing, her back hunched and her lungs panting like she's just finished a fight. Hysminai's hair hands in sweat matted strands around her face; her spine stoops almost feebly; she looks just as feeble as she feels and she's both hateful and relieved that Marlon sees her like this.

Though gritted teeth, her hand trembling and her tendons tense as she braces herself against the back of the couch. ]

Hysminai, [ she hisses, her voice low. ] Fucking pray.

[ It's something she hasn't told him to do since the very beginning. But the words of worship of Hysminai and her discordant family were necessary for Marlon to learn as an act of faith. Her gift couldn't have been given, otherwise. ]

[violentia]

[He can feel the changes in him happening -- the space where his personality usually lies being quickly replaced by the minder's, adjusted to fit Hysminai's needs. Marlon walks into the room where he finds her, eyes narrowed and puzzled, trying to fit in some of that concern that feels so out of place. It feels demeaning, even, when felt towards a deity has never shown him weakness. That's part of what made him so terrified of her in the beginning and what turned him into a blindly devoted hound -- the certainty that she wouldn't change, the certainty that she would always be more powerful than he ever could be. And her infuriated hissing only makes her look desperate.

Marlon makes his way, lowering himself down to one knee in front of the couch, searching her with questioning eyes. There is someone else's blood on his bruised hands; his lip is split and a mark gains color on his jaw. It takes him another moment to begin. His tone changes when he speaks her name.]

... Beside them Hysminai incarnate onward pressed yelling, and from their limbs streamed blood and sweat.

[quarreling]

[ She inhales sharply as he drops to his knees, the smell of his sweat (wrung in combat) and of another man's blood (shed in her name) filling her lungs like much-needed breath. There's a tepidness to it, like the way smog muddles what could otherwise be a bright-cutting breeze, but there's enough for Hysminai to glean some strength from it. Worship is worship, however middling, and the fanatical devotion of a single man is worth more to her than a room full of heathens all throwing punches without a second thought to her name.

She forces herself to straighten; the way he speaks her name twinges along her nerves like pleasure mixed with pain and Hysminai reaches out to curl her hand along the back of Marlon's skull, cradling it with tensed fingers. ] Someone's trying to fuck with us, [ she tells him, through gritted teeth. ] The others are gonna find them. And when they do.

You're gonna tear 'em limb from fucking limb for me.

[ Hysminai wants to bring her knee up into Marlon's nose and see blood, wants to sink her thumbs into both of his eyes and gore until he starts praying again. Her nails dig into his scalp, holding him there. ]


Won't ya, champ?

[violentia]

[He doesn't show her his teeth; doesn't hiss or show alarm in his eyes. Marlon is too absorbed by her words and by her glare, like a man dazed by the Sun that blinds him.]

Yes, Hysminai. I won't stop until it's over.