Senkha & Oliver: June 27

Senkha has spent the better part of the night and day staring at the bars, save for when she wrote in her journal that morning. She hasn't eaten anything, nor has she slept all night, but she doesn't seem to care much. She just... -stares-.

Oliver has been doing much the same. His lit up his pipe a few times, the smell still lingering in the cell. His blade is propped against the wall opposite them, providing something of a light source. Every so often he looks at his wife, but he can't think of a thing to say.

"How did he escape?" Senkha asks suddenly, her voice hoarse and cracking.

Oliver looks away from the blade at the sudden sound of her voice. "Who."

Senkha glances around the cell, eyes finally resting on the manacles against the far wall. "Patrick Morgan. You can't stop thinking about this being his cell. Even if you don't mean to."

Oliver's gaze follows hers and he grunts. "Furthest cell. Didn' come here fer that." It's not really an answer to her question and he knows that, so he continues, "Fought out. Jumped."

"And he didn't die?" Senkha seems surprised that it's something so simple.

"You tell me."

Senkha hums thoughtfully and returns her gaze to the bars. She tries to close herself off even more, but the thing about closing off this much is that things slip through the cracks. Things like her thought of jumping.

Oliver isn't right up beside her, but he's close enough to reach out his arms and pull her over to him. His arms squeeze around her, but he doesn't say anything. That anger is still there.

It's that anger that makes it more vivid. Senkha tries to keep it hidden, but images flicker at his mind: the wind on her face, the ground drawing closer, a cracking sound.

Oliver's arms tighten around her, perhaps too tightly. "Stop," he says, a crack almost coming to his voice. Though he doesn't need sleep, he sounds tired. Possibly even afraid.

Senkha stops, less because he's asked her to and more because she needs air. She coughs a little bit, trying to shift in his arms, but doesn't say anything.

Oliver notices the shifting and lets her go, one arm falling to his side and the other lamely into her lap. "Please stop," he repeats, even though she has.

Senkha looks down at Oliver's hand in her lap and manages a weak, "I'm sorry." There's no telling what she's apologizing for; probably everything.

Oliver nods, letting his head rest back against the wall after. "Ah believe that."

Senkha seems to have no more words for that. She's trying to keep the images at bay, but they keep flickering past. After a while, she says (in a very thick voice), "Everything I've done for the past year or so has hurt the people I love."

"So y'think about hurtin' us th' hardest way y'can."

"Like you wouldn't all be better off without me!" It's a broken promise. Senkha knows it, somewhere, but this is the rawness of the wounds on her back and her heart screaming. "One small hurt compared to a lifetime."

Oliver scowls, lifting his head again and forcing her to look at him. "-You are not leavin' me-."

This forcefulness takes Senkha by surprise; whatever else goes on between them, she's not used to Oliver being like -this- because it's usually her desperation that shows. "...even if you wouldn't hurt anymore," she says quietly.

Oliver realizes how he's acting and lets her go. He rests back against the wall again, the scowl not leaving his face. "Ah wouldn't let you go."

Senkha exhales slowly as Oliver lets her go and brings a shaking hand to touch the spot on her arm where he'd gripped. "Why -don't- you hate me?" she asks after a long pause.

"D'you want me to? Would that make y'feel better, if instead 'a fergivin' you Ah wanted ta never see y'gain?"

Senkha cringes at these words and slowly shakes her head. "It's what I deserve, though. It's no less than what I deserve."

"Yer talkin' to th' wrong person 'bout not gittin' whut y'deserve."

"...you didn't answer my question, anyway." Senkha runs her thumb subconsciously over the flat of her wedding band, almost marvelling that it's still there.

"That's b'cause Ah dunno th' answer," Oliver sighs, sitting up again momentarily to reach out for his blade. The runelight comes with it, and he can see her better. "Jus' th' way it is."

It's far from comforting, and the same is probably true of the parade of words that begin to leave Senkha's mouth. "I'm sorry I thought about killing myself. I'm sorry I keep committing necromancy. I'm sorry I can't stand to see Dizzy any longer..."

Oliver rests the blade half across his lap, his hand briefly running over its surface before returning to his side. "Ah know y'are. Why y'think Ah don't mention it?"

"...I'm sorry that I tried to die in Silithus. I'm sorry I didn't trust you. I'm sorry that I have a hard time trusting you. I'm sorry I tortured you. I'm sorry I whip myself. I'm sorry I manipulate you into do horrible things. I'm sorry that I bring out the worst in you. I'm sorry that I'm not the woman you d-deserve..." Senkha finally finishes her tirade with a choked half-sob.

Oliver just sits against the wall and listens. He's aware of all these things, he knows she did them, but he's never heard them presented so bluntly. And yet, all he says is, "... Ain't whut Ah meant 'bout not gettin' whut Ah deserve."

Senkha exhales, seeming somewhat cleansed by having blurted all of these things out to Oliver. "What did you mean?" she asks after a moment of trying to regain some calmness.

Oliver gives her a flat look that almost says, 'What do you think'. He answers anyway, though, lifting his arm again- gesturing to the dungeon and the ziggurat containing it. "Ev'rythin', Senkha. Ev'rythin' except somethin' Ah kin depend on always bein' there." His hand lowers and he nudges her shoulder with it.

"...something you can always depend on being there," Senkha repeats slowly, looking Oliver over with no small amount of worry, as if he's just saying these things and then will Blightreavertrollfase and run away.

Oliver gives a hint of a smile. " 'Least Ah thought so." He reaches out again for her, pulling her against him in a more gentle, less desperate manner. "Y'did that, it'd never stop hurtin' me."

Senkha swallows hard and takes a deep, steadying breath, only it sounds more like "Whuhuhuhuhhh" than anything actually steady. "Likewise," she murmurs after a beat, resting her head against Oliver's chest.

Oliver rests his hand on her head, holding it there against his chest. Her blood still stains his tabard, now visible to her in the runelight. There's a lot of it. After a while, he admits, "Ah ain't sure ha' Ah'm gunna get you outta here in one piece."

Senkha looks up at Oliver, not lifting her face from his chest. "I could hold my breath?" she suggests. "Or we just make a run for it?"

"Are y'ready ta leave? D'you feel a'rite?" As she rests against Oliver, he has a good view of her back, and he leans forward to inspect the wounds he inflicted.

The wounds are as healed up as they could be, only a new crosshatch of scars remaining. "Physically, I'm alright. But..." Senkha doesn't say it aloud, but something inside of her admits that here feels safe to her as well. It's the darkest, ugliest place they've ever been, but they're still here, and still -together- and that's beautiful.

Oliver runs a hand over the scars, his frown returning. Her response, though, brings him out of it. "... Y'don't want t' leave." He doesn't sound surprised, but at the same time, he doesn't sound like he was expecting it.

Senkha shakes her head just barely, closing her eyes again. "There's a world out there. I'm not sure we're quite ready to face it again."

"Y'think we ain't? Ah face th' world purty well, most th' tahm. But if y'wanna stay here, we'll stay raht here." Oliver pauses. "Ain't nuthin' fer you ta eat, though."

"I'm not hungry," Senkha confesses and then, for reasons that probably only make sense -because- it's them, she reaches up and kisses Oliver. It's a long, firm, aching kiss, like they so often exhange.

Oliver is still just a bit too bewildered by the entire situation to meet her kiss with as much life as she's putting into hers, but he smiles. "Y'will be."

"Then we can leave when I'm hungry," Senkha states decisively. "For now... I like that it's dark here. And cold. Light, I'm a peculiar person that such things comfort me, hmm?"

Oliver makes a sound, something between a grunt and a short laugh. "It's no wonder y'lahk me."

"Must be why they're comforting. They remind me of you." Senkha does not add that the rank smell of death pervading the air here also reminds her of him. It kind of goes without saying.

"Well," Oliver says flatly. "Welcome t'my flyin' treehouse, Ah guess." He sags a bit, relaxing. They're going to be here a while.

"I wish I had a flying treehouse," Senkha states in a bit of a whine, before adding, "if you'd like to leave, go home or something, we can. Just... feels safe here."

"It is safe here. Ain't no place safer. If y'can ignore th' fact that a lot 'a these folks is two eyetics away from bein' skurge."

"What stops them? What keeps them sane?"

"Don't know," Oliver admits. "If'n y'watch Stormwind fer a day, y'kin see sometahms they dun' always hang on. Ah think most, though, jus' fear death."

"Or damnation," Senkha suggests. "Or do you think they fear death because they remember it?" And then she squeaks slightly. "I'm sorry, I know you hate it when people talk about death knights like you're not even there."

"Senkha. Yer talkin' -at- me." He looks down at her, his brows pressing together in concern. He goes on, though. "Some's jus' happy with whut they is. They enjoy th' power. They enjoy th' immortality. They enjoy th' killin'."

Senkha doesn't know how to react to the first, so instead, she just asks, "But you don't? I mean. I know you don't. I know you love and hate it. But." She frowns. Her question came out all wrong.

Oliver continues to look at her worriedly, eventually sighing and letting his hand drop from her head to her shoulder, which he squeezes gently. "Yer a'rite. An' yes, Ah do. Th' skurge made me a damned sadist, an' Ah hate it more'n anythin' else. They fergot t' take away my regret, Ah guess."

"Maybe they didn't forget. Maybe they just remembered that they had regret once, too." Senkha reaches up and takes Oliver's hand, turning her head to press her lips to his fingers. "Is it strange for you, coming back here?"

Oliver snorts at that assessment, his memories of the Scourge do not depict them as sympathetic beings. He feels the pressure of her lips on his hand and leans forward to kiss the back of her head. He rests his good cheek on top of it after he does. "No. Don't mind it here."

"It's safe here," Senkha repeats and relaxes against Oliver.

Mairèad, Lius, Bryn, & Shepard: June 23

Mairèad sits quietly, eyes closed. She is apparently trying to meditate.

Lius glances to his left, head tilting in slow and jerky movements. It lingers there for a moment before turning back to Mairead, a small chuckle escaping the veil of shadow.

Mairèad 's cheek twitches slightly at the laugh, though she doesn't open her eyes. "You've come back to th'city," she observes.

Lius sighs, rolling his head to scan the sky. "So I 'ave, little sister."

Mairèad 's expression flickers for a moment to one of pain, though she still doesn't open her eyes. "Have you recovered from yer madness? Are you done hurtin' people?"

Lius takes a single step forward, his fingers toying with the hilt of his blade. "Hurt people, little sister? I 'ave 'urt no one, I fix them. I 'ave fixed ye all at one time or another. Ye seem quick t'forget tha'."

Mairèad finally opens her eyes, staring at the tree rather than at Lius. "I haven't fergotten. Walk with me?"

Lius says: Fine then, we shall walk.

Mairèad nods, letting her libram fall at her side. She doesn't look either to the right or to the left as she begins, well, walking.
Mairèad -finally- looks at Lius. "Lius, what are y'doin'. Yer actin' like you've been alone all this time, but we've been -here-. I've been -here-. Meditatin', prayin', but here. And you've jest... gone -mad-."

Lius stares ahead of him, still toying with the hilt of his blade. "Ye've been as far as gone as any of th'others. I 'ave nae gone mad, little sister, I 'ave merely found m'self."

Mairèad says: And -where- have I gone? I've been -here-. I've been waitin' fer alla you t'come back.

Lius says: An' none will. They're all gone, we're all gone. We're all ghosts.

Mairèad shakes her head. "I'm more alive than I've evarrr been before. And y'ent a ghost. I saw yer ghost... this ent it."

Lius tilts his head, staring at the lamp post. His hand slips away from the knife, a line of shadow perfectly mirroring the movement of his arm. "M'ghost 'as yet t'escape, dear sister. It claws an' bites, all it wants is t'be released."

Mairèad watches the shadow, looking up to Lius' face. "You wish fer death, then," she guesses quietly. "Yer ghost came to me when I was sick. He laughed at me, said he was gunna kill people and there was nothin' I could do."
Mairèad says: Is that true? D'you wanna kill people? D'you wanna die?

Lius lets out a condescending chuckle. "Do I wish fer death? Nae...nae." He shakes his head, the shadow appearing again. "I cannae die, why woul' I wish fer it?"

Mairèad says: Everyone can die, even the dead. Answer me question: d'you wanna kill people? D'you wanna cause more pain?
Mairèad 's voice shakes just a little on the last word.

Lius says: I only cause pain so tha' people may enjoy pleasure. Wha' is life withou' contrast? Bleak, colorless, without scent. We wander mindlessly.

Mairèad says: If people wanna contrast their pleasure and pain, that should be -their- choice, not yers. If they wanna be bleak and colorless, that's -their- choice, not yers. It ent up t'you to decide who's hurt and who ent!

Lius says: My blades say otherwise, little sister. They hum an' they sing as they meet flesh, th'world comes back through their chorus.

Mairèad closes her eyes, her face tensing in pain. "I cannot let you go down this path...me brother. I cannot let you fall so far from grace that the Light can't touch you."

Lius snaps his head towards her, nearly to the point of his neck breaking, it looks rather painful. "Th'Light? Wha' do ye know of th'light, little sister? Ye only made it out of tha' fuckin' mess of a drop because of me, nae th'Light."

Bryn can't be invisible, even though she wishes she could. Instead, the girl has been silently watching in one of the far shadows of the odd tunnel-thing. "Don't kill m'Surgeon, Mair."

Mairèad was going to make a big speech about the Light being her shield and such but Bryn interrupts her train of thought. She hasn't even reached for her sword yet. "If he is a danger t'you or to the Alliance, I will do what must be done."

Lius turns his body to face her, the constant echo of shadow mirroring every inch of movement. "Ye think ye can kill me, little sister?" He laughs, small bursts of shadow pushing against the veil.

Bryn says: ... Lius, don't kill 'er. Please.

Lius rolls his head, crazed laughter and a singsong voice coming through. "Buuuttt we're all ghooossstttssss~"

Mairèad 's hand rests on the hilt of her sword, finally, though she still doesn't draw it. "The Light will give me th'stren'th to do what must be done. I won't let you fall to the shadow, brother."

Lius says: A shame tha' ye view it as falling, rather than th'ascension tha' it is.

Mairèad says: An ascension doesn't end with people dyin'. An ascension doesn't end with pain. That ent enlightenment; it's madness.

Lius says: If ye wish t'break yerself against me, little sister, we shall do it where guards will nae aid yer cause. If ye can still tha' tingling between yer legs long enough t'pull a blade, if ye can quench tha' lust tha' ye've always felt fer me.
Lius breaks into laughter again. He amuses himself so.

Bryn remains silent, watching. When did he bring his knives? When did she let him slip?

Mairèad shakes her head, looking disgusted. "Yer madness ent appealin'. We've all failed you, Lius. I shan't fail you this time. I shall give you what you deserve."

Lius says: Ye know m'home, little sister. Ye'll 'ave nae 'elp there, shoul' ye wish t'kill yer salvation, it will be there.
Lius gives a sharp whistle. ROCKETS RESPOND TO WHISTLES.

[at Lius' home]

Mairèad breathes softly, shivering in the rain. He's in his shadowform; this can only end well.

Lius says: Nae hallowed ground 'ere, Paladin.

Mairèad says: Gilneas wasn't hallowed ground either.

Lius says: Others are nae 'ere t'keep ye alive, t'stop th'nightmare from claimin' ye.

Bryn says: Mair, please walk away. Let it be anybody but you.
Bryn 's gaze flickers between the two. Obvious inner turmoil is obvious.

Lius says: Pull yer blade an' claim yer prize, little sister. Pull my skeleton from me, smite m'soul away.

Mairèad says: I've no intention 'a doin' somethin' so demeanin'. I wish onleh to redeem yer soul fer the Light. If I can do so and spare yer life, I shall.
Mairèad still makes no move to draw her sword; if she's scared or angry or anything at all, she's hiding it pretty damn well.

Lius sighs, a surge of shadow taking his right arm. "Yer as mindless as th'rest, a shame tha' it is I tha' will 'ave t'set ye righ'."

Mairèad draws her shield and sword. "Are you that blind, brother? Have y'lost yer way so completely?" With her voice cracking on the last word, like a twelve-year-old boy to his hot teacher.

Lius says: I see a little girl defendin' somethin' tha' she doesnae even fully understand, an' striking out against those tha' protected 'er.

Mairèad says: You hid behind me and stuck thin's in me that made me mad fer blood to th'point where I couldn't see. And then you healed me, for which I thank you. I've sat idly by too many times, though, while you've threatened good people.
Mairèad says: And I've heard what you said about people like Bryn. About how yer wife and you fell in love makin' them scream. Y'said it to Emi.

Lius says: My little shadow understands me. Perhaps if ye did, it woul' be yerself at m'side instead of 'er. Is tha' wha' this is all abou'?
Lius chuckles, bringing the arm up, shadow errywhere. "Ye an' yer little wolf, aye, I 'ave 'eard."

Mairèad says: Yer 'little shadow'? D'you know nothin' about her? D'you know what yer -doin'- to her while she "understands" you?
Mairèad says: And Shep's got -nothin'- to do with this.

Lius says: I am givin' 'er a fresh view on life, allowin' 'er t'be 'erself. Unlike ye an' yers, who woul' see her kneelin' in th'church.
Lius says: I will tell ye, little sister, she kneels plenty.
Lius chuckles. blowjobs are funny.

Mairèad says: I'd have her -livin' her life- and not feelin' she needs t'be yer playthin' to earn love! I'd have her see that she has a family what loves her already, what won't turn her purple with burns! I'd have her understand that y'don't fix somethin' by lettin' it hurt you! And what of you? D'you know that th'onleh reason she comes around is 'cause she thinks you need her? 'Cause she doesn't realize that it could be anyone willin' t'let you burn 'em?

Lius shakes his head. "Perhaps she likes th'burn, little sister. Perhaps ye will as well? Let us find out." With that, he releases the buildup of shadow, sending a stream of the energy towards her head.

It's always the fucking head. Mairèad brings up her shield in the nick of time, the shadow colliding with it in a shower of golden sparks. The time for talking is now over. With barely a word of blessing breathed, she charges in, bringing her sword in an arc for Lius' side.

Lius blows his usual load of Dispersion, exploding into a fine mist of shadow. It only lasts a few seconds, the medic appearing on the fence. His entire body pulses with shadow, a single word spoken under his breath if the spell works, PSYCHIC HORROR, Mairead's world would become her worst waking nightmare.

Mairèad 's palerdin aura -mostly- does its trick, a burning pain searing right back at Lius. The world becomes hazy for a moment, though, and there are Liuses everywhere, all of them laughing. "Fuck hallucinatin's," she mutters, along with a word of prayer that sends jolts of holy Light in every direction.

Lius catches a bolt of holy pain in his shoulder, nearly losing his balance on the railing. His right hand flicks to the side, a shadowfiend poofing into existence before launching itself at the paladin. Lius is busy still trying not to fall.

Mairèad catches the shadowfiend on her shield, hissing as its tendrils lash at her arm. She drops her sword a second, a hammer of glowing Light appearing in her hand. This hammer she releases with an explosive BWONG into the shadowfiend's body, and even after that, it has enough energy to rebound straight for Lius.

Lius was too busy trying to gain his balance again to notice the hammer of fucking pain coming straight at him. He catches it in the chest, dropping to the ground. A low groan escapes, his hands groping for a vial along his belt, making no attempt to get up.

Mairèad grabs her sword and stands, the remains of the shadowfiend dispersing as she does. One step and she's closer to Lius; the next, and the ground below her glows golden with a consecration. And then she leaps for him.

Lius crushes the vial in his hand as soon as she's airborne, throwing his hand out at her as she comes down. The plague is infused with shadow, a mixture of the liquid and shards of glass flying towards her.

Mairèad is pretty glad to be a paladin at this point; the plague burns at her face and arms, but not nearly as much as it could. Now, though, her face is streaked with blood, tiny cuts appearing where the glass settled. And in her attempt to block the vial and keep herself from inhaling bees or something, she's turned herself into a flying ball of plate and Light that's falling straight down on Lius' groinal area.

Lius ' SHADOW EYEZ OF PURPLE ORB go wide at the sight of his dick nearly getting plowed into in a horrible way. One leg comes up to block the falling paladin, a loud snap sounding off as it breaks against the weight.

Mairèad grunts as she connects with Lius' leg, falling to the side. She's no more than landed on the ground than she brings her shield about to try and slam into his other knee.

Lius reaches a hand out for her face, screaming out as her shield takes out his other knee. He attempts to pretty much smother her face with his hand, shadow licking out towards her.

Mairèad gives a snarl of pain as the shadow licks out towards her face, attempting to smother her. Among her cries is a word of blessing, pushing an aureate shield out from her body for a few seconds, enough for her to scramble backwards, holding her hands to her now purple-burnt face.

Lius rolls, his legs useless. He lets out a sharp whistle. The rocket picks him up and rides into the sunset.

Mairèad roars as Lius rockets away, cursing her inability to ever wear a helm that covers her face. With shaking hands, she begins to try and mend the damage done.

Shepard totally comes running from the muddied road. He didn't materialize from the guillotine, nope. He skids to a halt before Mairead, eyes wide.

Mairèad 's hands are shaking so hard that she can barely bring them across her wounds. Her arm is healed pretty quickly, but her face... well. The tears aren't making it much better, that's for sure.

Shepard drops to a knee. With a shaking hand, he tentatively reaches out towards Mairead's arms, but stops short of actually touching them. The worgen looks to her for permission more than anything; he wants to assist in this healing endeavor, yo.

Mairèad just nods, dropping her hands from her face to fumble for her libram. She doesn't have to cleanse very often, and that's not a prayer she's memorized. "Lius," she says, by way of explanation. "Broke both his legs."

Shepard switches to helping with the libram; he brings it up, cracking it open, and slowly begins to flip the pages. His eyes are locked on Mairead, however, awaiting for any reaction. "Where is he now?" he growls.

Mairèad puts her hand on the pages of the libram once Shepard reaches the page she needs. "D-dunno... had a rocket, could be anywhere..." She runs her fingers over the words on the page, that familiar glow coming to her hands as she does. A bit of sparkle seems to carry the purple away from the burns on her face, leaving them nasty but just red.

Shepard snarls, a fist slamming into the nearby fence. It splinters. After that display of rage, he sighs. "...I should have been here with you," he mutters, looking the remaining traces of the burn over.

Mairèad 's burns are still pretty nasty, and she's still shaking pretty hard. Despite this, she leans towards Shepard as if for comfort. "He wouldn't have attacked if you were here. He's a c-coward like that."

Shepard inches forward, his arms immediately wrapping Mairead. "Then I would have hid, I would've-" He stops himself, grunting.
Shepard says: I could have waited. Close by. Watching.

Mairèad laughs softly, still weeping either way. "And when he attacked, you'd've jumped outta th'shadows and it'd be you all burnt."

Shepard says: Maybe, maybe not. I could've just gutted him from the shadows.
Shepard smiles, doing his best to appear brave and charming and confident... because yeah. This situation is fairly bleak. "But then, that wouldn't have been as dramatic, would it?"

Mairèad sighs. In this moment, she seems even older than Shepard. "I wanted to redeem him... I failed."

Shepard says: Redemption, Mair, can only come to those who wish for it. And sometimes, the ending to a story won't be a happy one.

Mairèad nods stiffly, her voice growing smaller as she speaks again. "S-shep? Remember after you bit me, what y'did to the wound?"

Shepard says: ... I licked it, didn't I?

Mairèad nods and tilts her face up towards Shepard. She looks -awful- and the aforementioned action would probably hurt like a bitch, but she still asks, "...would y'd-do that fer me now?"

Shepard looks away for just a moment, contemplating. And then he looks back with furrowed brows. "... Alright, Mair." His tongue pokes through a pair of jowls before raking across Mairead's face. It's a slow, gentle gesture.

Mairèad cringes in pain because, let's face it, this isn't going to tickle. She follows the movement of his tongue, though, with her fingers, gently mending the cleaned flesh, though still crying as she does so.

Shepard winces because, well. This is actually a little gross. But he soldiers on! Licking. Until there's nothing left to lick.

Mairèad doesn't disagree that it's kind of gross, but it's the comfort of the gesture more than anything that gets to her. Like having a cut kissed when you're a child. When it's over, the burns are largely gone from her face, though the newly-mended skin is paler than what surrounds it and is free of freckles.

Shepard says: ... We should get you somewhere warm. For rest.

Mairèad nods, letting her head fall against Shepard's shoulder. "I'm warm in yer arms, always," she murmurs because one is never too injured for shmoop. Nope.

Shepard laughs, but shakes his head. "Maybe, but I'll start smelling like wet dog soon. And I'm not exactly the best cover."

Mairèad says: Then let's go home. And tomorrow, I'll find me brother and send him home, too.

Shepard says: I'll be sure to join you.

Senkha & Oliver: June 21

Senkha smiles up at Oliver; she looks fairly tired, as if she hasn't been sleeping, but genuinely pleased to see him. "Hey."

Macglynn points at the summerfest brazier sitting outside their home as he walks up. "You put that there?"

Senkha says: Pretty sure the town council did. It was there when I got up this morning.

Macglynn scratches at the back of his head, peering at the multicolor flame. "Why'd they go an' do a thing lahk that? 'S ugly as all hell."

Senkha says: It's that "festivity" thing. Personally, I can't wait until September and October. We never celebrated these flames or anything back home or even in Theramore.

Macglynn just gives a single, "Huh." He turns back to his wife and shrugs, walking up and sitting beside her on the stoop. "So. Y'look lahk y'been pullin' a wagon. Whut y'been doin' all day?"

Senkha says: ...predominantly being worried about you and wrestling with questions of ethics, morality, and coming to the conclusion that I am a horrible person.
Senkha says: How about you?

Macglynn says: Why're you a horr'ble person?
And why are you worried about me?

Senkha says: Mostly because of what I'm putting Dad through with telling him about the necromancy business. He could've stood to -not- know about that.
Senkha says: And... making him kill his child again. Light.
Senkha sighs heavily and drops her face into her hands.
You always hate yourself a thousand times more after something like that happens, even when it isn't your fault, and I hate it when you're that way because it hurts.

Macglynn says: He won't need t' kill us. Stop formin' futures in yer head whut ain't happened.
Macglynn says: Why would 'e need t' kill us?

Senkha says: ...he was asking about how long you'd still be you. How long before you went mad.

There's a very predictable haze thrown up on his thoughts.
Macglynn says: An' whut makes th' both 'a you think Ah'm gunna go "mad"?

Senkha says: Because humans weren't made to live forever.

Macglynn says: An' why's he so certain 'e's gunna last longer'n me?

Senkha doesn't pry, but then, at this point, she doesn't really need to.
Senkha says: Because he's a Garhelm. They're, like. Magic or something.
Senkha just assumes; anyone who works at that mailbox for so long must be Magic.

Macglynn says: Or somethin'. Senkha, he tells yah he's gunna need t' kill us, Ah say 'e ain't. We all's still human, magic 'r not.

Senkha smiles weakly behind her hands, giving a small chuckle that lacks mirth. "I don't like any of those possible futures. Except all of us just... going at the same time, somehow."
Senkha says: Not that I'm wishing doom on us, but... I don't want to lose you. I don't want to lose him. I don't want either of you to lose me.

Macglynn says: Ev'rybody thinks that way 'a th' ones they love.

Senkha says: Not everybody has the chance to make it a reality.

Macglynn says: Well, y'kin lose folk in more ways'n jus' them dyin'.

Senkha says: I don't like that idea, either.

Macglynn says: There's also a chance that far from na', say in thirteh years, we'll jus' be damend sick 'a each other's shit.
Macglynn smiles at you.

Senkha laughs again, a bit stronger now. "I doubt that. If we haven't driven each other mad yet..."

Macglynn says: Y'never know. So that's why yer a horr'ble person, though, huh?

Senkha says: I didn't know what it felt like before.

Macglynn says: Wha' whut felt lahk?

Senkha says: What it feels like to know your child is doing something so horrible but you can't do anything about it. And now I do know and... nngh.

Macglynn says: Ah want y'ta make up yer mind on whether' not whut yer doin' is horr'ble or a blessin'.

Senkha says: I don't know, Oliver, that's just it! It's got some good things about it...it gives me more time with you...but why would anyone -want- to be undead?

Macglynn says: Well na' that ain't wholly true. Years back, men'd throw 'emselves at m'feet beggin'a be lahk me. Plenny 'a folks is very willin'a give up ev'rythin' ta see more years.

Senkha says: Not that many years ago. Do you remember that man during the elemental invasion?

Macglynn looks down and smiles. "Yeah, Ah do. Whut'd you think 'a him, askin' me fer that?"
Macglynn looks back up at Senkha.

Senkha says: I thought it was disgustingly noble and that he was actually just afraid of dying but didn't want to say as much. But that's because nobility doesn't make sense to me.

Macglynn says: Y'done plenty 'a things Ah'd call noble.

Senkha says: Like...?

Macglynn says: Y'saved me in th' riots. Gave up, back in them ruins, so Dizzy'd be okay.

Senkha says: ...I guess you've got me about the ruins. The riots, though... that was selfish. I... nnn.

Macglynn says: Selfish?

I couldn't live without you.
Senkha just grunts and shakes her head. "It's nothing. I was just... I don't think it was that altruistic is all."

Macglynn frowns, closing his eyes and thinking. Finally he asks, "If t'marruh Ah died in battle, whut would y'do?"

Senkha closes her eyes as well. "I don't know," she says.
She's not lying.

Macglynn says: Ah want y'ta promise me yuh'd not do anythin' stupid if'n that should ever happen.

Senkha says: ...how are you defining stupid?

Macglynn looks at you.
Macglynn stares you down.
Macglynn says: Whut would you think Ah'd consider stupid?

Senkha says: Probably running off and getting dead myself.

Macglynn nods. "That's a good guess, there."

Senkha says: I don't know if I would or not. I want to believe I'd be rational enough, but if I wasn't expecting it...

Macglynn says: ... Please jus' know it wouldn' change nuthin'.
And Oliver strongly doubts that hell would have the grace of letting them be together anyway.

Senkha says: You mean it wouldn't bring you back.

Macglynn says: Ah dunno. It maht, jus' so's Ah could whack yer corpse upsahd th' head.

Senkha says: Well. Tell you what. I'll make a deal with you. I won't follow you into true death if you promise not to die stupid or doing anything suicidally noble for me.

Macglynn says: So yer tellin' me if'n there's a threat on yer lahf, Ah should stand there an' not do nuthin'?

Senkha says: If doing something would result absolutely in your death? Yes.

Macglynn says: Whut if'n it weren't a given an' it happened on accident?
Macglynn is like the kid that asks 'why'.

Senkha says: ...I don't think I could live with myself if I knew I'd caused your death, directly or indirectly.

Macglynn says: Well, it'd be a shame if'n y'wasted it after Ah went through th' trouble 'a savin' it.

Senkha says: And it'd be a shame if you wasted your life saving someone who doesn't want to live without you.

Macglynn says: Ah ain't lookin' ta die again. That Ah kin promise yah.
Macglynn says: But y'do gotta r'member Ah is a soldier. An' not jus' a soldier, but a Death Knight. When we git sent out, it's usu'lly on th' missions most folk ain't expected t'come back from.

Senkha says: Light's sake, I -know- that.
Senkha says: Didn't we meet in the army? Wasn't I a mercenary on the front lines, just as you were?

Macglynn says: Yes. Y'was. So all Ah'm tellin' yuh's don't be-
Macglynn sighs. "Jus' dun' be stupid."
Macglynn says: Ah do worry 'bout that. Y'worry 'bout me feelin' guilt, Ah worry 'bout you doin' stupid things.

Senkha says: I've gotten much better about that.
Senkha says: To be fair.

Macglynn finally smiles again. "Y'have, Ah'll give y'that."

Senkha smirks. "That's your influence, love. You've made me a better person, even if I am far too dependent on you." She pauses and then asks. "...and what if I died tomorrow."

Macglynn says: That d'pends. Did someone kill yah?

Senkha says: Say it was in battle, like the hypothetical dead you.

Macglynn says: So Ah'd prob'ly have no ahdea who killed yah.

Senkha says: Sure.

Macglynn says: Well. There's whut Ah'd do, an' whut a deeper part 'a me would wanna do.

Senkha says: Tell me both.

Macglynn says: Ah'd rather not say th' second, an' Ah'm sure y'a'ready know whut it is. But if y'died t'marruh, Ah would burn yer body an' jus' be heartbroke lahk a normal person.

Senkha says: ...burn my body so you wouldn't be tempted.

Macglynn says: ... Yeah.

Senkha says: Would you be able to bring me back like you? Theoretically.

Macglynn says: ... No. Not jus' lahk me. Th' Death Knights Ah kin make- an' made fer Acherus- is weaker, ground-level types. Th' kind y'see tryin'a plague th' Cathedral.

Senkha says: So I'd be raised as a very angry, brain-addled screaming angstbucket is what you're saying.

Macglynn says: Yuh'd be a worthless piece 'a violent shit, unless my whispers was in yer head at all tahms.

Senkha says: You mean like they are now.

Macglynn says: Mmhm.

Senkha says: ...so the only thing that would change would be you controlling me. And the lack of heartbeat, feeling, and all those other nice life things.

Macglynn says: Ah strongly doubt it'd be me controllin' you.

Senkha says: It'd be your blade.

Macglynn says: - No. Yuh'd have t'make yer own, unless y'wanted t'rot.

Senkha changes the subject quietly. "...do you like controlling me?" she asks, almost as if asking if he likes the rain.

Macglynn hates the fucking rain. He also hates this question, by the look of surprise on his face. It doesn't take him long to answer, though. "No."

Senkha tries really hard not to look disappointed. "...you don't?"

Oh, I love it, but-
Macglynn says: It makes me feel sick.
Macglynn says: Ah hate even bein' able ta -do- any 'a this.

Senkha says: ...it makes me feel sick when I control you, too. I can't even enjoy it at all... not like when you control me.

Macglynn says: ... Maybe it's somethin should jus' be left alone.

NO.
Senkha says: ...it may be a little late for that.

Macglynn says: Why?

Senkha mutters something under her breath, looking away.
It doesn't matter how quiet she is: the thought remains that she likes it too much.

Macglynn says: Yeah, well, folk tend t' enjoy things what're bad fer 'em.

Senkha says: Still.
Senkha has no real argument about that, save that he's making her feel like a petulent teenager wanting to experiment with drugs.

Macglynn is making her feel that way because that's exactly what she's being. "Still whut?" He asks, prodding her to continue.

Senkha shuffles uncomfortably. "Still, I don't think we're going to stop doing it whether it's bad or good."

Macglynn says: Y'mean y'refuse ta stop.

Senkha says: Well, I'm not controlling you. Just... I mean, just. I like it is all.

Macglynn says: ... Ah know that.
And you're probably right.

Senkha 's shoulders sag. "I'm sorry," she says quietly.

Macglynn smiles. "Y'do make it hard on me, sometahms."

If you were alive, I'd make it hard on you all the ti----- why am I thinking that.
Senkha says: ...I know.

Macglynn blinks at you.
Macglynn says: Why -are- y'thinkin' that?

Senkha raises her eyebrows as high as possible, trying to look innocent. "...slip of the mind?"

Macglynn sighs. "Look, Ah'm sorry fer bein' a jerk about this whole thing. Ah trust y'know whut yer doin', but Ah kinna strayed from m'point that Ah want you ta trust we ain't gunna meet death at th' hands 'a Nialos. Y'hear?"

Senkha nods slowly and eventually rests her head against Oliver's shoulder. "It still hurts him," she assesses, nothing more than a statement of fact. "Do you really think I shan't become undead simply by doing what we're doing?"

Macglynn says: As often as we does? No. Not a chance. An' even whut we does, it won't ever turn yah undead. But it'll put y'in th' mind 'a one. Y'still experience th' power; yuh'll want more 'a it one day.
Macglynn says: B'cause that's ha' magic works.
Macglynn says: Y'want fuckin' more.

Senkha says: Then I'm grateful I never tasted it until now.

Macglynn says: An' why's that?

Senkha says: Imagine if I'd spent twenty-five years craving more and more power. I'd be mad with it by now. Maybe that's what happened to my mother.

Macglynn says: 'S possible. Be mahndful 'a it, Senkha. That's all Ah ask.

Senkha says: I am. Light, I hardly ever do anything with anyone who isn't you.

Macglynn laughs. "Ah'm th' danger-us one, Senkha."

Senkha grins wryly and reaches up to kiss Oliver's jaw gently. "We're both dangerous in our own ways."

Macglynn says: An' Ah let you in muh head.
Macglynn snorts.

Senkha says: That you do. Since people like things that are bad for them or... something.
So bad for him that he now has a naked Senkha dancing in his head. Awkwardly.

Macglynn says: Is that s'posed t'be some kinna hint?

Senkha says: ...maybe.

Macglynn says: Let's fuck on th' porch.

Senkha giggles and kisses Oliver's cheek again. "As you wish."

Mairèad & Shepard: June 21

After a long evening of being missing, a certain Worgen meanders back to where he left his faithful companion. Atop Shepard's back is a bloodied, glossy-eyed deer carcass - the area around the neck is torn wide open. Smatterings of red cover the entirety of Shepard's muzzle.

It's not hard to figure out what happened.

With a passive grunt, Shepard jerks his head off towards a random direction. "Meet me at home," he calmly commands. And before Mairead even has a chance to say anything, he sprints off.

Mairèad has, in fact, been waiting for Shepard all this time and feeling increasingly stupid for doing so. She wants to believe that it's different this time, that he's just off hunting or pondering the situation, but she wasn't born yesterday. Still, when he approaches her, despite that he doesn't nuzzle her affectionately or give any other indication that he's not left, he says "meet me at home." So it's still a home they both share.

That's her thought process, at least, as she shuffles abashedly back to Shepard's house. Home. Whatever. Mairèad doesn't really knock on the door, just lets herself in quietly and strips down to her leggings and undershirt before padding around the lower floor. "Shep?" she calls.

"The kitchen." The reply is devoid of emotion, leaving his mood, thoughts and plans a mystery. Inside the kitchen, Mairead would find the deer propped up on a counter, belly facing the door. There's a long, exposing gash across the midsection and flank.

Blood is now leaking off and down the counter's edge. Shepard stands nearby, quietly watching; he's studying Mairead's reactions with all the normalcy that can be afforded with him and this situation.

Mairèad makes her way back to the kitchen, still as embarrassed and shamefaced as she has been all night. The blood trailing back there doesn't even phase her; he had a deer, not a person. Still, she isn't expecting the carcass to be splayed out on the counter, blood dripping onto the floor. And, Light help her, Mairèad licks her lips at that sight, suddenly hungry despite having eaten another raw steak only few hours ago.

"...Shep, I'm so sorreh!" she blurts after a long minute of staring. Yes, her hands have clenched into fists. Yes, her gaze keeps darting to the food... the deer. The deer, not food. But she's trying her damndest here.

Shepard waves her apology off, gesturing to the deer with the simple pointing of a claw. "You're hungry, aren't you." A statement more than a question. There's a painful silence in the air as he makes his way to Mairead's side.

He pushes the tiny woman off towards the meal. "If you are... eat."

Mairèad is clearly unnerved by this. "I..." she hesitates a moment. "...guess I could go fer a bite."

Only it's not a bite. She steps forward, meaning to eat in a humane way, but the second that blood touches her lips, it's like the deer is a slurpy and she's a fat kid at the carnival. It doesn't stand a chance. She tears at it with her hands, her teeth, blood dripping down her chin and cheeks. Every time she tries to stop, tries to be full, her stomach growls again and she tears off another piece until she's devoured more than half her fair share.

Only then does she realize what's happening. Mairèad pushes herself back, horrified. "Oh, Shep, yer dinner..." she says, because -that's- what he's worried about right now.

The telltale flicking of the ear gives way to yet another common gesture: the knowing smirk. "I ate before I returned," he explains. "That deer was for you; you've been eating raw meat for some time now." Shepard scratches the underside of his chin.

"When, exactly, did those cravings begin?"

Mairèad self-consciously swipes some of the blood from her chin with the back of her arm, only realizing too late that she's gotten it smeared all over her undershirt now. So she does the logical thing and tears the shirt off, tossing it into a corner. "I... probably a little bit before I got sick. A couple days before, roughly."

The blood is still dripping down her chin and there's still half a deer sitting there, uneaten. Mairèad sheepishly scoots over and tears another piece of meat from the carcass. With her teeth. Yes.

Shepard steps forward, nodding. "I see. And what, exactly, did you do during those days?" The man is fishing with enough bait to draw the entire pond, as it were - his questions are deliberate, focused, and he knows he's onto something.

"Tell me everything you remember. And... don't skimp on the details. This is for science, after all."

Mairèad continues to chew on her meat, the blood dripping down her chin, across the bare skin of her torso. It's all kind of... disturbing, really. "Well... Light, most 'a me time was spent with you. I trained, I prayed a lot. Ate a lot more than usual... lots 'a steak tartare. Got rill pissed at Lius a couple times, but that's normal."

She frowns slightly and looks embarrassed again. "I'm sorreh. I don't have a memory like yers, and th'sick days kinda fuzzed errythin' up." Another tear into the deer carcass. All dat blood.

Shepard fetches a clean cloth from a nearby cupboard, dampening it with some unknown source of water. "And would you say... it happened after that night overlooking the docks?" he innocently asks, suddenly standing before Mairead. He runs the warm, wet cloth down across the bloodied portions of Mairead's chest.

What a gentle... werewolf. Yes. A kind, caring werewolf lover. What a catch, Mair.

"...y'don't think I'm turnin' into a wergin 'cause you bit me, do you?" Mairèad suddenly asks, her voice sharp for some reason. " 'Cause if yer gunna start havin' guilt complexes and shit, I fuckin' told you to bite me."

Even so. Even as she snaps at him, the slightest bit, her muscles relax under his gentle touch, much of the evening's earlier tension seeming to ebb away into that damp cloth.

"If that were the case, you would have already turned." Setting the soiled cloth aside for now, Shepard gently runs a finger through Mairead's hair. He leans down, and his tongue flicks out to caress the nape of her neck; it almost seems like he's buttering the girl up.

"However..." he mutters, standing straight and true. "Something might have- 'infected' you, regardless."

Conflicting feelings ahoy! Mairèad shivers, as usual, when Shepard licks the nape of her neck. "Y'mean... d'you mean when I bit you?" she guesses, still eyeing the remains of the carcass hungrily. Light, can this girl never get enough to eat? "Or...d'you mean all those times you..." She fumbles for words a moment before finishing, "...marshmellow'd?"

Cue amused snort, followed by restrained laughter. "N-no, Mair. Not from... 'marshmellowing'. It could be my bite, it could be from my blood - whatever it is, you're infected." There's a motioning towards the remains of the deer.

"Your hunger has increased, and your appetite has undoubtedly changed. Today's outburst -- your anger, your growling, the way you reacted to a perceived 'threat' -- reminds me greatly... of a Worgen."

Mairèad frowns, more embarrassed than anything else, glancing over at the deer corpse. "I..." She hesitates. How does one react to such news? "What do I do, then?"

"Honestly? I'm not sure." How blunt and honest. "I've no knowledge of someone being- 'partially infected' with the Curse. But, that's what you appear to be." A furry palm runs down one of Mairead's arms, more as a soothing gesture than anything else.

"None of the fur, some of the traits. If I had to guess, though, it's because you're a Paladin. That invisible form of protection the Light grants you must stave off the Curse just enough to prevent a full transformation. That being said, the only choice might be to adapt to these changes."

Mairèad leans into his touch, closing her eyes and resting her head against his chest. "Adapt to these changes. So get used to gettin' so mad I can't see straight, get used to lovin' raw meat, get used to... Light, what else? Am I gunna have stamina like yers?"

Despite the darkness of the news, Mairèad tries to put a brave face on it, a laugh at the back of her throat.

"It's possible..." The uncertainty in Shepard's voice betrays his lack of knowledge. "There's a lot that could happen, Mair; there's a lot to being a Worgen. The one thing you'll need to learn above all else, though, is control." He looks down, resting his chin on the top of Mairead's head.

"And I'll guide you through this. Just as I did- well, tried to do, with Bryn."

"I'll be a good student." Mairèad looks back up at Shepard. She obviously is about as terrified of this as he is, but here is where the palerdin training comes in: she's pretending that it's not frightening. "I promise I'll practice what you say and listen when you say somethin'. I'm alright with... I'm honored t'be part 'a yer pack, to call you me alpha."

After saying it, Mairèad frowns pretty deeply as if just now realizing how weird the conversation is. She shrugs, though, and looks back up at Shepard, her expression one of determination.

A swift kiss finds its way onto Mairead's forehead. "You're still you, Mair. You're still human, even. The only difference is..." Shepard frowns, rolling an explanation around in his mouth. "You'll be angrier. That's all."

He then playfully nudges the side of Mairead's face with his own. "And, what did I say about calling me the Alpha? I loathe that title." His chastising breaks into a loving rumble. "I'm simply yours, remember?"

"Simply mine. And I'm simply yers." Mairèad smiles eventually, touching Shepard's cheek with a bloodied hand, the tenderness of the gesture ruined by the streak of blood she leaves behind. "So what's the first thin' I should learn about bein' a sorta wergin? Whaddya wish someone'd told you when you first turned?"

"...not that I'm turnin'." Now Mairèad has started babbling. "Jest. Y'know."

"Ahh, well..." Shepard's head tilts up in thought, eyes wandering around the kitchen. "...how to hunt. It isn't all instinct, you know?" He chuckles softly, a hand idly scratching his leg.

"You, uh, won't have to worry about that. The first thing you should learn is to control your emotions - to prevent that fog of rage from blinding you."

"And that's probably somethin' that'd onleh happen in th'heat 'a the moment, huh." Mairèad purses her lips thoughtfully and moves her hand from Shepard's arm to tear another bit of meat from the deer carcass. "I've also decided that I don't like Gnomes very much."

Following this statement, Mairèad dangles the piece of meat from her mouth playfully, raising an eyebrow at Shepard.

"Really? But they absolutely adore you." With that piece of commentary out in the open, Shepard snatches the morsel with a careful bite, his tongue easing it down the gaping chasm that is his throat.

And THEN? A bloody, meat-flavored kiss. Because that's attractive.

It's kind of like chocolate body paint, but with more protein! Mairèad kisses him back, about as deeply as she can manage, half out of a desire for Shepard and half because, well, it just tastes so damn good. It doesn't completely matter that there's deer blood all over the place or that they're in the kitchen--she's not got very much control over even these positive emotions.

See? Attractive! Shepard's arms slowly wander around Mairead's body before they settle on enveloping her with a furry embrace. Then they ditch that idea; up goes the Palerdin! Essentially forcing her to straddle him at this point, his hands just under her thighs, Shepard blinks.

"Oh. Right. Control."

The whine that comes from Mairèad's throat is almost puppy-like. "Do we hafta practice control right now?" she asks, kissing along Shepard's neck. She's wrapped her legs around his waist, holding herself close to him. "I mean... I think control'd be somethin' better to learn when it might hurt someone if I lost control. Y'know?" More kisses along his neck.

"Now, Mairead..." Shepard admonishes, a hand already fiddling with his belt and pants. "We've- we've got to-" Down go the pants. His hand has betrayed him. "-Pra-practice. Control." Then there's a lengthy pause as his hand now tugs at what remains of Mairead's garments.

"...tomorrow."

Senkha, Oliver & Nialos: June 17

Senkha slips out of Oliver's arms and watches him, relinquishing her hold on his body as Nialos arrives. She isn't saying very much, but she looks tense.

Nialos waves Oliver's runeblade about, signaling that, yes. He has it.

Senkha tenses upon seeing this, glancing at Oliver as if she expects him to basically eat everything.

Macglynn runs at Nialos and tries to wrestle the blade out of his hands.

Senkha says: --let him have it.
Senkha says: Nothing out here to kill but the Scourge and us, and he won't hurt us.

Nialos relinquishes his grip, letting the blade fall into Oliver's grabby palms. "Fine, fine..."

Senkha watches this and awkwardly explains, "It's angry. It wants to kill. ...it probably wants me to help."

Macglynn doesn't waste a second in taking a swing at Nialos with his newly-acquired blade.

Senkha 's body jerks again, her eyes clenching shut.
And then she takes control again. Down boy. Easy. Easy.

Nialos ' eye flares, body instinstively ducking down and rolling away from Oliver. "What happened to, "he won't hurt us"!?" he cries.

Macglynn 's blade stops far before it ever would have hit Nialos. Slowly, he lowers it.

Senkha remains stiff and motionless. "...I won't let him," she explains through gritted teeth. Her eyes are still closed. She seems unable to move for herself and, occasionally, her voice seems to come through Oliver's mouth.

Nialos deadpans. "Fantastic."

"You're seeing things. You're killing things that shouldn't be killed. Don't hurt Dad. Don't hurt me. Turn around... destroy the Scourge there."

Macglynn raises his blade again and turns, charging off toward the corpses that still aimlessly wander the valley.

Senkha remains motionless, though she continues to speak. "I'm sorry, Dad," she says after a long moment. Her voice breaks a bit on the last word.

Nialos sighs, the glow of his eye dimming to normal. "For what."

Senkha sighs audibly, though her body doesn't really move at all. "For what I'm doing right now. For... this. Because I... Light, this is going to sound crazy."

Nialos says: Dear, after everything I've seen you two do, say and fall prey to? I don't think there's anything that'll really surprise me.

Senkha says: ...I'm controlling Oliver's body. I've done it three times before, all when he was feeding his blade. With his direction, I... committed necromancy. And then I did it again to close up his wounds.
Senkha adds, after a very, very long pause, "...and I'm not sorry."

Nialos grumbles, fussing with his beard. "And are you willing to suffer the same fate of the damned?" His voice lacks the usual warmth, carrying a cold, direct bite.

Senkha doesn't move, though her voice carries with it the same sound as someone who's squared her shoulders, prepared for any sort of dressing down or lecture she might receive. "I am. I can't undo it now. Necromancy is damnable, and it's done."

Nialos nods. "So be it, then."

Senkha says: ...I know it hurts you. And for -that- I'm sorry. I n-never want to hurt you. I didn't even mean to, at least to start, but...
Senkha fails at being rigid in her position on matters.

Nialos frees his runeblade of its constraints, draws, and plunges it into the ground. Then he crashes to the ground - he has made himself a makeshift chair.
Nialos says: It hurts, yes. I never wanted you to suffer -our- fate -- our damnation -- but...
Nialos looks out over the frozen wastes, watching as the animated corpses lumber about. "I think, at the back of my mind, I knew it'd happen."

Senkha says: That doesn't make it any easier, though. I... I know. I wasn't going to... I mean. I didn't want to tell you. Or anyone. But now..

Nialos says: Senkha. I'm your father. Even if there's no true blood between us, that bond holds; I know you. You've always been... 'close', to this path.
Nialos says: Hell, if your initial attraction to Oliver wasn't enough of an indicator...

Senkha makes a quiet, pained sound. Her body, tired of standing stiffly, wilts to the ground, though Senkha seems unaffected. "You encouraged that, though."

Nialos lets his head fall back against the blade with a quiet 'plink'. "I know I did. I thought that, just maybe... he could have showed you the darkness and turned you away. Saved you."

Senkha makes another pained sound. "In a way, he has. Even if I've done this... damned myself ...I'm not the same woman I was when you met me. You know that. ...right?"

Nialos says: I know. I know.
Nialos ' head drops to rest against his chest, a quiet, defeated sigh escaping him. "But that doesn't mean things couldn't have been different..."

Senkha says: He calls it "sinning nobly." I don't want to control an army of ghouls or rule the world from a frozen throne. I just want to keep my husband from being destroyed if I can. And to save others when he loses his mind.
Senkha says: And I don't -like- doing it. I feel -disgusting- when I do. It's why this is only the fourth time this has happened.

Nialos says: But that brings the question to mind, Senkha... if this continues on, how long until it stops being Oliver?
Nialos says: How long until the person you're trying to control is no longer the man you love?

Senkha makes another pained noise. "And that's the other part. I'm not trying to control him... I'm trying to avoid that. I... hnn. I don't want to talk to you about our sex life. But the point is... I know it's bound to happen sooner or later."
Senkha says: Just like it will happen to you. Just like it will happen to me. And every Death Knight... not that I am one.
Senkha says: And Light-willing, someone will have the foresight to off us when that happens.

Nialos ' head rises, slowly, and his expression tells it all: he's tired. "If it comes to it, you'll both die by my hand."

Senkha says: ...within minutes of each other. Please.

Nialos runs a hand over the earth. "It'd be at the same time. Overlooking Lordaeron."

Senkha 's shoulders shudder without her consent. She's crying and can't control it. "Would it be painless?"

Nialos says: You'd be lined up next to the blade, on your knees. Clean slice. Takes your head, destroys the blade.

Senkha says: ...is that-- nnn.

Nialos says: What?

Senkha speaks more quietly, almost childishly. "...is that how you killed William?"

Nialos says: ...no.
Nialos says: Dagger. Missed his heart. Bled out.

Senkha grunts in response. "...I hope it won't come to that."

Nialos says: It won't.

Senkha says: Do you think you'll go first?

Nialos says: 'Go first'?

Senkha says: Die first I mean.
Senkha says: Before you have to kill us.

Nialos grunts. "Doubt it."

Senkha 's voice is very small. "I don't want you to go through that again."

Nialos says: I probably will, though.

Senkha just grunts quietly. Mutters something about Oliver coming back.

Macglynn plods silently back over to the two, throwing his blade violently to the ground when he reaches them. It jumps across the ice and skids to a harmless stop. He sits.

Nialos weakly raises an arm, waves, then lets it drop into his lap. "How is he?"

Senkha 's eyes snap open as she relinquishes control of Oliver's body to move back into her own. Stiffly, and like she's been sleeping for hours, she goes to Nialos' runeblade chair and rests her head on his shoulder. "How are you?" she repeats, looking at her husband.

Macglynn doesn't respond to their questions right away, staring at his blade for a long moment. He finally mutters, "Fahn."

Senkha , after a few minutes, removes her mask and just holds it in her lap, staring at it and letting this awkward silence persist. Persist, awkward silence, persist.

Macglynn says: Don't- dun' take me back up t' Daleran.

Nialos clamps his eye shut, head falling again to his chest. "Why?"

Macglynn shakes his head slowly. "They ain't lettin' me back in there."

Senkha says: You're not going back there. We'll spend the night here and in the morning, we'll go to the Argent Crusade's quarantine in Lordaeron.

Macglynn says: Good. Near Ebon Hold.

Nialos grunts. Just. Grunts.

Senkha says: They've almost got the cure, love. And as soon as they do, I'll have Marius come administer it. And then you and I can kidnap him and we'll have a long weekend of drinking and bullshit.

Macglynn nods, staring blankly at the ground. Slowly, he reaches out and grabs his blade by the hilt. He pulls it to himself and uses it to hoist himself up to his feet. He walks sluggishly closer to the two and drops down again, next to his wife.

Senkha takes a moment and then places her mask against Oliver's shoulder, between her and the Blight. And then she rests her head there, sighing. "Why us," she grumbles after resting for a long time.

Nialos reaches for the hilt of his blade, pulling himself up soon after. He practically rips the blade free from its icy sheath before stalking off into the dead-infested tundra.

Macglynn still doesn't seem to be in a vocal mood. He allows her to rest her head there, but doesn't move closer to her.
Oliver is beyond angry with himself, to the point of just shutting down.

Senkha doesn't respond much to this anger; she's kind of expected it, though she does wearily think "this isn't your fault." She's to the point of "whatever, man," though.
Senkha says: So Dad knows.

Macglynn peels a chunk of ghoul from what remains of his tabard and tosses it to the side. "Knows whut."

Senkha says: The whole... necromancy thing.
Senkha says: It's kind of hard to not explain to someone who's watching you remotely control your husband that you're...er. Remotely controlling your husband.

Macglynn says: Oh, well that's beautiful. Whut'd 'e say t' that.
Macglynn says: Ah kin guess.

Senkha says: Please do.

Macglynn says: Ah'm gunna guess 'e expected it b'cause Ah'm a damned Death Knight an' you ain't, but still pissed.

Senkha says: Hurt would be more accurate.
Senkha says: He fully expects to kill us both someday. On a hill overlooking Lordaeron. We'd both be kneeling... and he'd take off our heads.
Senkha says: ...it's really creepy that he's thought that much about it.

Macglynn says: ... We all tend t' dwell on death a lot.
Senkha knows; she's likely seen the hundreds of deaths Oliver's considered that would be ways of going out "usefully".

But on Senkha's part, she can't think of these things... she's tried, but she can't. It hurts too much. And this is new, so she pretends it doesn't and ignores these things, hoping they'll go away.
Senkha says: You're dead. Dad's dead. I'll be there soon enough.

Macglynn says: Not jus' 'cause y'healed me a couple'a tahms, Senkha. Or even th' control thing.
Macglynn says: That ain't gunna corrupt yah inna th' undead.

Senkha says: ...it's because I'm not sorry, isn't it.

Macglynn says: ... What?

Senkha says: Well, if that's not it, why -will- I be corrupted into one of the undead? And if you say "It's because I'm going to kill you" and then we have a repeat of Azshara, I demand that my entry into undeath be followed by three solid weeks at an Acherus spa.
Senkha says: And no, I am not kidding.

Macglynn says: We... don't got a spa.

Senkha says: What do the geists do then?
Whether she actually believes this or not, Senkha presses upon Oliver a mental image of the geists existing to ensure that Death Knights stay mostly unrotted. They give massages, too. And paint Blood Elf Death Knights' toenails.

Macglynn says: Jump around an' git in ever'body's way lahk a bunch 'a assholes?
Macglynn stares you down.
Macglynn says: Sometahms they mop, too.

Senkha says: How about the vrykul?
Senkha says: Is that what they are? No, the flappy ones.
Senkha flaps her hands like wings.

Macglynn says: Whutever happened t'talkin' 'bout this undead thing?

Senkha says: Sorry. Why am I going to be undead?
Senkha stops trying to whistle in the dark.

Macglynn says: B'cause you ain't gunna wanna leave me.

Senkha says: ...if there was another way, you -know- I'd rather take that. Maybe Marius would know something.
Senkha says: We can ask him when we're drunk.

Macglynn says: Look me in th' eye an' tell me y'see any other future.

Senkha looks at Oliver quite seriously. "I can't. But I've never been much good at predicting things."

Macglynn says: Mm. Well. Y'go 'head an' ask Maryus.

Senkha & Oliver: June 4

Senkha says: So. Would you like me to do this gradually, or would you rather have it all pull through at once?

Macglynn says: ... Well, when y'go swimmin', it's best y'jus' jump in th' lake, not walk in.

Senkha nods, biting down hard on her lower lip. "I hope this isn't too much for you, then. Are you ready?"

Macglynn says: Fuck no. Go fer it.
Macglynn closes his eyes. "An' don't tell me when yer gunna."

Senkha also closes her eyes. "It'll take me a little while to warm up to it. You can relax for a bit." She furrows her brow in concentration.

Macglynn cracks an eye open and peers sideways at her. "Can y'talk?"

Senkha doesn't answer this; as soon as Oliver relaxes in the slightest, his body is flooded with sensation. It starts with pins and needles, as before, but quickly flares into full on sensation, spreading from his middle outward. It's not entirely pleasant as he can likely feel his swarm moving around inside of him and that grub, wherever it is, but the feelings are more real than they've ever been.

Macglynn reacts predictably. He wraps his arms around his middle and doubles over onto his side. He screams in pain, along with likely a variety of other feelings, and tries to dig his fingers into his gut. He bites into the dirt, which doesn't really silence him in the least because he is dead. "St-stop, still--!" He can't make words, but his thoughts are practically forced on her: He is still dead. Feeling is a bad idea. He needs to be alive.

Senkha watches her husband with alarm as he doubles over in pain; her brow furrows further, and her thoughts are panicked. This is too soon, far sooner than she'd planned on this happening, and she's terrified of doing it wrong. But, as happened a few nights before, life begins to return to him. The rot reverses itself; his swarm is evicted, as is that damn grub. A heartbeat. Breath. Warmth. All the while, Senkha is hazing her thoughts over pretty solidly.

Macglynn 's screams have faded into strained sobs, the sound of his voice becoming muffled by the grass as his throat mends and the sound becomes real. His flesh returns quickly, the swarm skittering off into the brush. His brown eyes clench tight shut and he shakes from laughter, his face wet with tears.

Senkha doesn't approach him as this transformation takes place, still sitting where she was. Her face is still furrowed in concentration, but otherwise, her expression and thoughts are unreadable and her hands are shaking.

Macglynn 's breath is sloppy, interrupted by his sobs and laughter. He tries pushing himself up and spits dirt from his mouth, coughing and retching on top of all the other mess. He stops laughing, vomits, and rolls onto his side again. "Too believable," he croaks

Senkha finally opens her eyes to look at him, her expression showing no relief. "Isn't that what you want?" she asks softly. "You want it to be real. It is real. This is reality."

Macglynn rolls onto his back- away from the puddle of bile- and allows his breath to even out. His hands are still shaking, though, and he tries to lift them. He slowly manages to do so and unsteadily tears off his gloves. His mind is running a mile a minute and he's not producing much actual cognitive thought.

Senkha just watches, still silent, expression still torn between concentration and agony. Her hands have dropped to the grass where she's tearing up dirt. Her knuckles have gone sheet white.

Macglynn 's eyes go wide and he sits up straight. His breathing quickens again and he looks around the lake as if he's never seen it before. His eyes dart around to his surroundings- Senkha, his gloves, the grass, his lap. His eyes settle on his right hand, which, though still shaking, is no longer sickly pale and full of holes. He brings his hand to his face, feeling the tears and restructured flesh.

Senkha closes her eyes again and gives a quiet sob, one that Oliver likely wouldn't even hear in his reverie. She lifts her dirty hands from the grass and covers her face.

Macglynn wipes his face off with the heel of his palm and snorts back the snot accumulated while sobbing. His eyes are squinted somewhat now, not used to being his real source of vision, and he gazes around the lake again, his eyes this time settling on Senkha. "Whut'do Ah do na'?"

Senkha has still covered her face with her hands; her voice is muffled when she answers. "I don't know. Whatever you want to do, I suppose."

Macglynn looks completely bewildered. "Whut'do Ah do? Shit, whut'm Ah s'posed to..." He takes his hands away from his face and looks down at them again. So many thoughts are rushing through his mind, thoughts that everyone has but never acknowledges- The air is cold, there's a tingle on my palm, there's an itch behind my ear, tiny itches, hundreds of itches, so many insignificant itches-- the ground is cold, too. I can feel my heartbeat. I can feel my chest rise when I breathe. I can feel the spit in my mouth. Insignificant details have become momentous events to him, and now that he's not stoned out of his mind to experience these things, it hits him hard.

Senkha clearly wants to enjoy this as much as he is. She wants to share in his wonder, but every time the looks over at him, it seems to cause her pain. She's kind of sobbing by now, though it's quiet and ragged.

Macglynn places his hands on the grass. For a moment he keeps them there, feeling the prickle of the blades and the cold soil underneath it. Finally, he pushes himself up, and he stands. There's a small pain in his lower back- right, that was there, wasn't it?- and he looks down at Senkha again. He now notices her sobbing and he steps over to her. He drops by her side and pulls her into a hug, finally getting to feel his wife in his arms. "Thank you."

Senkha is having a completely different experience from Oliver; she's not really in his arms. He's still sitting there, eyes closed, and she's still sitting there, crying quietly. And the illusion hurts because it's an illusion. "I love you," she whispers and leans against him, trying to will herself to believe what he's seeing is real as much as he believes it.

Macglynn kisses her everywhere- he can't help it. He's waited for this. Her cheek, her neck, the side of her head... when he stops, he gives a short laugh. "Senkha, what? Look! Look at me!"

Senkha looks up; she looks exhausted and far older than she has in weeks. She doesn't say anything, but in the back of his mind, behind the illusion, comes the command: --make me believe this.

Macglynn doesn't seem to respond to the command, perhaps so lost in the illusion that their mental 'gifts' are forgotten. However, from the depths of his mind answers a jolly 'NO'. Oliver, meanwhile, laughs again and says, "My son! Ah should fahnd my son!"

Senkha stares, her expression becoming one of horror. "Chadley?" she asks. "Didn't you find him months ago? Wasn't he here, in Stormwind, all this time? Haven't I been talking to him frequently?" Something in Senkha's mind responds to the 'NO' with a 'YAY!!'

Macglynn puts his hands on her shoulders and grips them, his mind still stumbling over the simple functions of life, and his words coming slowly. "No... no, Ah ain't dead na'. He'll speak t'me na'."

Senkha couldn't hate herself more than she does in this moment; this probably makes two mental presences very happy. "You should wait," she says after a moment's deliberation. "You're still getting used to it. You don't want to make a fool of yourself."

Macglynn looks off toward the city for a moment, his braintrain derailing for a moment to deliberate going anyway. He looks back at her- or, more specifically, his hands on her shoulders, and frowns. "Yer raht. But shit. Whut..." He reaches one hand up behind his shoulders, feeling the cross-guard of his blade. He leans back from her to remove the sword from his back, and rests it across his lap. "Wonder, then..."

Senkha reaches out for the blade as well, her movements quick and nervous. "Don't do anything too hasty. This won't last, remember? It's taking a lot of energy for me to keep it up."

Macglynn looks back up at her. "Whut won't last? Wait, y'mean this ain't gunna last?" There's a hint of panic in his voice.

Senkha sighs quietly and moves away. "You knew it wouldn't. I told you it wouldn't. I haven't the strength to keep it up, and anyway..." --It isn't real.

Macglynn looks absolutely heartbroken, and stares blankly ahead for a moment before nodding and saying, "Yeah, Ah did know that. Fuck me." The illusion seems to fade somewhat for him; it's more the typical "dream" now.

Senkha's voice is hoarse. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, love. I can't make it last forever. I can't do it. I want to... I want it more than anything, but I... I just -can't-." If not for her cane, if not for that damnable leg, here is where Senkha would stand and run away in a dramatic fashion, but when she tries to stand, it's too quick and she drops back down, grunting in pain.

Macglynn says: Is it too hard?
Macglynn says: Also, try an' walk a little slower.

Senkha says: It's not too hard. But without me believing it as much as you do, I can't keep it up. And I -know-...I know that it's what you want, but it's something you can't have all the time. Everyone will see you as mad.
Senkha, for her part, sounds more angry with herself than anything.

Macglynn says: ... Wait, Ah was actin' out whut Ah were seein' fer real? Thought this all happened in m'head... Shit, Ah dun' even know whut goes on in there. Why d'you have t'b'lieve it? Ah'd always jus' play along.
Macglynn's mind is still obviously on overload, and he only stops rambling when he realizes how awful what he just said sounds.

Senkha looks down at her hands silently, pressing her fingers together. It takes a moment for her to speak. "It hurts, knowing that it isn't real. And it hurts you that I can't honestly play along. But I'm learning."

Macglynn says: Will y'look at me na'. Y'wouldn't then.

Senkha looks at Oliver now, her expression entirely pitiful. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I just wanted you to be happy."

Macglynn says: Ah don't much rumember th' way things feel. Simple, stupid shit that y'think y'could never ferget. When Ah'm given th' chance- th' chance ta have them things, it's...

Senkha says: --like a miracle.

Macglynn looks back down at his hands again. They're again a sickly pale, blemished with putrefaction and dotted with holes. "Ah hate this, Senkha. Ah hate this so much."

Senkha looks down again and presses the heels of her hands into her eyes. "I know you do. I wish... I -pray- every night that somehow, some way, I'll be able to take that away. I don't know how I could even begin, though."

Macglynn laughs, somewhat unsoundly. "Oh Light, if only y'could."

Senkha says: It's all I would ever want for you. For us. I'd give up so much for that. I just... I want that for you. I want...
Senkha can't seem to make her words work, if only because her throat is squeezing shut and she can't stop crying. Cheer up, emo kid, gawd.

Macglynn looks up from his hands at the water. He's doing the exact opposite as Senkha, and has entered emotional shutdown. "Y'know magic does weird shit, one day somebody'll figger somethin' out."
Macglynn says: Jus' y'watch.

Senkha says: But at what cost? I can give it to you, but it's a finely crafted lie. That horrible Price bitch could give it to you, but at the cost of hundreds of souls. What would that kind of miracle cost?

Macglynn says: Shit, don't cost much t'make it happen.

Senkha says: For it to really happen, though?
Senkha says: For it to be real, without costing souls, without ending in five hours?

Macglynn says: Meant it don't take much t'make someone inna this.

Senkha presses her lips together and shakes her head. "That's cost a lot, too. Two souls: yours and the necromancer's."
Senkha says: That's not cheap.

Macglynn 's blade has been left on the grass. He looks down at it. After a long moment, he reaches out and pulls it to himself by the hilt, back across his lap. "It's true. Ah bet y'could fix my body, but not this."

Senkha simply nods and quietly touches the blade herself with a sort of surreptitious fondness. "I don't know anything that could fix that. If I did, you know there's nothing I wouldn't give."

Macglynn lifts the blade slightly, tracing the single finger with feeling along the groove left by the topmost glowing rune. A shimmering blue haze rises out like smoke at his touch. "Ah may never let it go m'self."

Senkha says: Why not?

"It's my blade," he says, trailing his finger along the next rune.

Senkha follows suit, reaching up to touch the topmost rune herself. "It's your soul," she says, meaning for it to come out more as a question, but that doesn't really happen.

Macglynn lifts his hand slightly from the blade and the blue haze clings before dispersing. He lowers his hand again and runs his finger along the edge. "It's jus' my blade."

"Just your blade," Senkha repeats. "I've seen what it does to you...to us. It's a lot more than a simple blade."

Macglynn says: This blade is a part 'a me. Don't think it's ever goin' anywhere, much Ah hate it. 'Cause it's my blade.

Senkha nods slowly, tracing her fingers along the second rune. "I don't completely understand myself, but perhaps I don't need to. It's yours. I wouldn't ever take it from you."

Macglynn says: Y'know, breakin' this thing'd free thousands 'a souls ter th' afterlife.

Senkha's hand stiffens against the blade, her expression quite tense. "I know. We've spoken of it before, remember?"

Macglynn smiles, though it's not really a happy smile. He trails his hand down the flat of the blade- over the runes, over her hand. "Th' horrors Ah committed wi' this thing. Y'say y'love th' fight, Senkha..."

Senkha speaks softly. "The dance. I love the dance. I don't love what comes of it."

Macglynn says: Th' blade makes me love it all.

Senkha says: I know. I've felt it.

Macglynn says: ... Tell me whut y'think 'a that.

Senkha presses her lips together and relaxes her hand against the blade. "I think that it's part of you. A part that you're right to hate. But..." She takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, trying to think of the best way to put all of these reassurances that he'll probably just dismiss anyway. "You are the only... the -only- ...death knight I know who takes his lot in unlife for what it is, accepts it, and tries to do good with what he's given."
Senkha says: You hate what the blade makes you, but you've used it for good, even when it doesn't want you to. Think of all the Scourge you destroyed with it in Icecrown. Think of the demons you keep from attacking Surwich.
Senkha says: Destroying it would release thousands of souls, but that would also be suicide, and that's a mortal sin.
Senkha knows.

Macglynn says: ... That don't answer m'question, Senkha. Ah wanna know whut you think 'a whut you feel when we share th' blade.

Senkha closes her eyes and drops her hand. "I feel what you feel. That unbelievable ecstasy with every kill, with every soul. It makes the dance a thousand times more beautiful."

Macglynn says: That's whut y'feel. But whut d'you think 'a that?

"It's horrible," Senkha admits. "Horrible to take that joy in taking lives. Horrible to take that joy in taking souls." Now she's holding onto Oliver's arm; there's no telling what crazy husband will do tonight.

Macglynn says: An' yet y'want that some day fer yerself.

Senkha gives a heavy sigh and shakes her head. "All I want is more time. I don't want to be undead. I don't want to depend on a blade. I don't -honestly- want that. I want more years with you."

Macglynn says: An' whut'd you give up fer that?

Senkha snorts derisively and shakes her head. "Nothing I haven't lost already," she points out. "Lest we forget that particular incident." She sighs after a moment. "I suppose there's not anything I wouldn't give up for that. I know this makes me mad and a horrible person and I know Dad and Marius and Stehl and just about everybody I know would probably beat me for it. But it is what it is." She sounds completely resigned to her own insanity. Yep.

Macglynn says: ... Heavy use 'a nekermancy an' unholy magic will even'shully take th' soul an' rot th' body. But...

Senkha says: But?

Macglynn says: It's often used by those who ain't willin'a die jus' yet. Through unholy magic an' fleshcraft, y'kin extend yer...
Macglynn says: Y'kin live ha'ever long y'damn want.

Senkha blinks a few times and then takes a soft breath, shaky. "I don't want to live forever. I don't want to live too long for any reason other than to have more years with you. Is... would you want that?"
Senkha says: Because it'd be pointless for me to start learning something that will rob my soul and rot my body only to find out that you're not really that into it.

There is a very firm distinction in Oliver's mind between what he wants and what he knows to be the right thing. He doesn't answer her question, only clarifies his point further, "Y'already lost yer soul, y'do well t' remind me 'a this all th' tahm."

Senkha says: But would you want that? Would you want me to extend my life that way?

Macglynn says: It don't have t'be undeath. Many vain people use it to-
Macglynn stops himself. "Jus' ferget Ah said any 'a this."

Senkha drops her hands back to her lap, looking down at them. "You know that I won't. I hate that people would use it for vain reasons. To stay young and beautiful forever. I don't care if I look like you, as long as we have more time."
Senkha says: ...no offense.

Macglynn says: ... Maybe this is somethin' we should discuss fourty years from na', when it'll matter.

Senkha says: Maybe you're right. I'm sorry, love.

Macglynn says: Dun' apologize, Ah started talkin'.

Senkha says: You started talking because I couldn't keep the illusion up.
Senkha says: I'm sorry.

Macglynn says: Ah asked you t'do it knowin' it was jus' practice. Knew full well y'maht fail. So stop that.

Senkha says: I shouldn't have failed, though. The only reason I failed was because I couldn't handle it myself. I need to do better.

Macglynn says: That's th' point 'a practice.

Senkha says: But I don't know if I want to get better because it will only hurt us both if I do.

Macglynn says: ... Lettin' me have that don't hurt me.

Senkha says: It does when it ends. It does because I can't believe it, too, and because it isn't real. I could've done all that for you; I could've made you an entire world, but you would've had to wake eventually.

"LOOK AT ME!" he shouts suddenly, still clutching the blade in his arms. "Y'feel whut it's lahk, bein' numb t' ev'rythin', not enjoyin' sleep or th' taste 'a food. But y'still have it. End 'a th' day, y'still have it..."

Senkha shouts too! "It wasn't real! None of it was real, Oliver! Do you want me to LIE TO YOU like that?! Do you want me to make you believe you've made amends with Chadley, only to have you wake up and find him still avoiding you? Do you want to believe you could call on the Light again, only to wake up and find that it would destroy you?"

Macglynn 's voice lowers. "So don't make things up. Keep me from anythin' y'don't wanna make up. But Light'sake, Senkha, y'wanted me t' involve m'self with mental shit? Here y'go."

"Then you have to do your part as well." Senkha's voice is shaking, clearly on the verge of breaking entirely. "You're capable of making me believe it as much as you do. Do that for me, and I will create a world for you, and someday, we will stay there forever." She takes another deep breath, trying to calm herself and failing miserably. "But unless you will do that for me, I can't hurt you like that. I can't... I can't -lose- you to that." --isn't what we have enough? Aren't you happy with me, without being alive? Am I falling short that you need this?

Macglynn rests his elbows on his knees, letting the blade simply rest across his lap. "Light's sake, why d'you -think- that way? Senkha, Ah'm happy with you. But y'know whut? Ah got a wife Ah can't touch, a daughter whut can't be too close 'cause she maht git sick, an' a son that wun' talk t'me b'cause Ah'm a damned unholy freakshow. No, Senkha, Ah ain't happy."
Macglynn says: An' maybe it drives me jus' a little bit insane some days.

Senkha says: ...this wouldn't change any of that. It would only be a dream. But if you can somehow convince -me- that it's real for a time, I'll do the same for you. We can't stay there forever, but I'll do the same for you.

Macglynn says: Ah know that. Ah know it's only a dream, but hell, Ah dun' git ta do that very often either.

Senkha says: Will you do that for me, then? Will you make me believe it's real?

Macglynn says: Kin try... but promise me one thing.

Senkha says: What's that?

Macglynn says: Dun' let me run aroun' lahk a idiot. Make it jus' a plain dream someha'.

Senkha says: I will. I swear I will.

Mairèad & Shepard: June 3

Mairèad grumbles and turns back to her libram, hunching over again as if she's trying to appear smaller than she is.

Shepard sighs, shoulders slumping. "...sorry, Mairead. I tried."

Mairèad just grunts, still hunched over her book. Her fingers are somewhat tense on the pages as if she's holding back a barrage, but she doesn't say much more.

Shepard rubs the back of his mane, looking around awkwardly. "Could... we perhaps talk somewhere? Privately."

Mairèad sighs, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. "Yahar, sure," she answers in a defeated voice. She closes her libram and stands, letting it hang at her waist. "Lead th'way."

Shepard says: Uhh. Let's see.
Shepard says: Yeah. This is good.

Mairèad stops walking and folds her arms across her chest, looking guarded and very srs.

Shepard steps back, coming to lean against the planter. He smiles. "How have you been?"

Mairèad doesn't smile, simply exhaling a quiet sigh. "Doin' alright. Jest been prayin', trainin', that sorta thin'."
Mairèad says: And yerself?

Shepard says: Good.

Mairèad says: That's good.

Shepard scratches the side of his face. "How's that wound? I suppose it was healed that same night- the night with the sniper, I mean."

Mairèad blinks a few times. "Were you there fer that?" she asks, reaching up to scratch where the wound was. "It's fine, though. Dug th'bullet out meself and Lio and I healed th'wound."

Shepard says: I was there, yeah. Silent, hidden, but there.

Mairèad says: Good that y'didn't get shot.

Shepard says: I wouldn't have minded.
Shepard shrugs, chuckling softly. "I kept a guard outside that one office. Looked towards the roofing, made sure you were all secure..."

Mairèad raises an eyebrow. "Wouldn't have minded gettin' shot?"

Shepard says: Ah, well. I wouldn't have minded considering the circumstances.

Mairèad tilts her head to the side, frowning as she considers this statement. "I'm not sure I understand what y'mean by that."

Shepard chuckles again. "One bullet in me equals one less in you, or any of your comrades. A pretty good deal, I think."
Shepard says: Besides. I have experience.

Mairèad shrugs. "Th'sniper was pretty good fer bullets, I think. Got me -and- Emi -and- Sarah with no problem. I don't think jest one bullet in you would've made a huge world 'a savin' us."

Shepard says: Then we add more. Trust me, this shoulder? A homing beacon for bullets.
Shepard taps the shoulder in question.

Mairèad raises both eyebrows appraisingly. "Y'might wanna get that checked out. Sounds like it could be shitty to have on a battlefield."

Shepard says: Nah. I consider it a shield. A horrible shield, but.
Shepard shrugs. Who knows?

Mairèad says: So yer tryin'a be a protector when wearin' some leathers.

Shepard says: I never said it was a good plan.

Mairèad snorts, still folding her arms over her chest and not looking as relaxed as she would've been with Shepard a month before. "Probably ent a good plan, no. By-the-by, y'should know we did work in Gilneas a few weeks ago. Took out a couple 'a Fersakin higher-ups. It's a gloomy place, but that might'a been 'cause we were fightin' in a graveyard."

Shepard flicks an ear, smirking. "That does lend a darker touch to the picture, yes. But Gilneas is always gloomy." He looks down, stares at the ground for a few moments, then returns his gaze to Mairead. "Thanks. For fighting, I mean."

Mairèad shrugs, squaring her shoulders somewhat and looking all soldierish. "We're Seventh Legion. It's what we do. I'm jest glad we weren't in fuckin' Silithus or some hellhole like that."

Shepard says: Ah, but I hear so many stories about Silithus... granted, they're usually fairly creepy and deal with tentacles. And women.

Mairèad says: Women I kin handle. Tentacles not so much.

Shepard looks off to the side. "This is really awkward, isn't it?"

Mairèad sighs quietly and drops her gaze. "It is, yahar," she agrees; if he was able to see her expression, he'd see the deadpan gone and replaced with an expression that is decidedly pained.

Shepard slowly pans his focus back to Mairead, snorting. "I'm sorry, it's just... I actually feel like an idiot right now."
Shepard says: Here I am, trying to lighten the mood... and the only thing I probably should be saying is, well.
Shepard says: Sorry.

Mairèad looks up at Shepard, expression still pained. "I am, too. But... look. I'm over you. I'm not interested in anythin' romantic anymore. If it means I hafta change who I am completely jest t'get yer attention, then it ent worth it."
Mairèad says: I'd like t'be yer friend still, but it hurts.

Shepard blinks. Then he laughs.
Shepard says: Oh- oh Light. That's-
Shepard continues to laugh. Though, it doesn't seem like 'happy' laughing.

Mairèad just watches, her expression returning to the guarded deadpan from before.

Shepard finally calms down, his head falling to rest against his chest. "Oh, Mairead... remember how we always talked about me being King of Gilneas? Well, I think I have a new crown to wear."
Shepard says: The King of Fools. Sounds fancier, in a way.

Mairèad blinks a few times but doesn't change her expression much. "Why are you th'king 'a fools?" she asks. She sounds very much like a professional soldier at the moment because this doesn't feel good and she doesn't want to share with the class.

Shepard says: Because I was naive, blind, and stumbling in delusion.
Shepard leans back, smiling warmly. "Mairead, you're fine the way you are. Never change."

Mairèad 's deadpan flickers for a moment but doesn't really change much. "Go on," she says after a moment. "How were you naive, blind, and stumblin' in delusion?"

Shepard says: I was thinking with the mindset of a child- that's all I had known, too. I was alone only in my own head.
Shepard says: I didn't want you to chase me, I wanted to simply... be alone.

Mairèad shifts her position, arms still folded over her chest. "Well, y'got yer wish."

Shepard says: I did. Wasn't quite what I thought it was, though. Funny.

Mairèad says: What'd y'think it was?

Shepard says: I thought it'd be peaceful. Serene. In truth, I was actually pretty miserable.

Mairèad says: Why were you miserable?

Shepard tugs on his beard. "I missed the little things."

Mairèad says: ...little thin's?

Shepard says: Mmmhm.

Mairèad says: Whaddya mean?

Shepard says: Your laugh, your very presence... the way you'd get up to defend me from women.

Mairèad grits her teeth. This usually wouldn't be visible, but she grits her teeth so hard that her jaw actually visibly clenches. She doesn't say anything to this because that's how busy she is gritting her teeth.

Shepard says: I miss those things. But, like a good king, I'll wear my crown. I'll admit my mistakes, and live with them.

Mairèad exhales slowly and shakily, despite her attempts to seem emotionless and rational. "Shep. Y'say thin's like that, and t'you, they mean one thin'. To th'rest 'a the world... to me..."
Mairèad shakes her head and closes her eyes. "I can't do it again. I can't get close t'you, hear you say those thin's, and start wishin' again that you mean them th'way I'd want you to."

Shepard runs a hand through his mane. "Well. While you were off playing soldier, I was off destroying myself."
Shepard says: What I mean is... I mean exactly what you'd think I mean. There's no difference now.

Mairèad 's expression falls from that deadpan into something of shock. "What."

Shepard says: To grow, you must destroy. And rebuild.
Shepard says: By rebuild, I mean study people and learn what certain things mean.

Mairèad nods, still listening more than speaking. Which is a good step for her.

Shepard says: I've always advocated the power of words, but never weighed my own. Weird, huh?

Mairèad shrugs and nods a little. "It helps to think about what yer words mean to other people," she agrees quietly. The shock is fading from her face back into that deadpan.

Shepard says: Always good to be on the same page, the same wave. Yeah?

Mairèad says: Yahar.

Shepard says: And it isn't right to lead someone on. So. You should always carefully watch what you say.

Mairèad closes her eyes and nods. "That y'should. I tried so hard t'look at thin's from yer perspective, but some words jest resonate in a way y'can't fight off, even if y'wanna."

Shepard says: Anyway, yes. I realized that. Which is why whatever I say now, you can interpret normally.
Shepard says: There is no alternate meaning, or some loop. It's just what it is.

Mairèad opens her eyes again and looks at Shepard. "So when y'said all 'a those thin's jest now, I should feel flattered like a woman and not like yer gramma?" she asks for clarification.

Shepard nods once.

Mairèad raises her eyebrows considering this. "Huh. That's... huh." She scratches the side of her head. This is new and interesting!

Shepard says: If you want, I could compare your eyes to something. Or talk about bugs of a most fiery disposition.

Mairèad snorts out a laugh without meaning to and shakes her head. "Ahhh Light. That's... I rilly have no idea what t'say right now." Though she's still laughing, so that's a good sign.

Shepard says: I have that affect on people. It's truly a burden.

Mairèad laughs again, though she seems truly torn, taking half a step forward and then just hesitating there. And then she just decides to go for broke: "Do you love me?" she asks finally.

Shepard looks down, drawing out the moment for dramatic reasons. "Absolutely."

Mairèad says: Like a sister?

Shepard says: No.

Mairèad says: No. Like...
Mairèad makes him spell it out so there are no bad surprises.

Shepard playfully rolls his eyes, sighing. "It is what it is - I love you."
Shepard says: Not like a sister, not as a friend.

Mairèad's breath kind of catches for a moment; she puts her hand to her forehead and staggers as if she's dizzy because she is. And she swallows hard. "You...love me," she repeats because this is made of what.

Shepard pushes himself off the planter, moving towards Mairead. "Must I say it again?"

Mairèad doesn't look up at him as he steps closer. This is blowing her fucking mind. "Y'might hafta, yahar."

Shepard leans forward, grinning. "Mairead Isolde Lisa Fallon, I do declare under these skies, that I love you." A pause. "Yep."

Mairèad lets out a shaky breath and drops her hand, looking up at Shepard. She looks somewhere between mindblowingly happy and just having her mind blown. "...can y'do me a favor then?" she asks, rather squeakishly.

Shepard says: And what would that be?

Mairèad says: Will, um. Will you change and kiss me?

Shepard blinks. "You mean, change into a...?"

Mairèad says: Yahar.

Shepard looks down, closes his eyes... and the Worgen melts away into a Human. HE'S PALE, DAMMIT, NOT... tan. And he has longer hair.

Mairèad presses her lips together and sighs shakily again. She just sort of looks at Shepard; he's likely never seen her looking this small and vulnerable.

Shepard steps forward, cups Mairead's face in his hands, and initiates the kiss of the century. BECAUSE THIS TOOK A LONG TIME TO BUILD UP TO.

Mairèad pretty much just melts in his arms because this did take a long time to build up to. There is the slightest bit of hesitance as she kisses him back but that fades and it takes less than a moment for her arms to go around his neck.

Shepard lingers for a moment longer before he breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against hers. "What do you know? No freezing."

Mairèad laughs breathlessly. Now her cheeks are all flushed, and she looks entirely girlish and giggly. She makes several attempts to say something in response to that, but all that comes out is, "I love you."

Shepard says: So. Uh. Can I turn back now. I'm feeling itchy.

Mairèad laughs and nods, stepping back. "Go ahead. Though, fer the record, yer very handsome."

Shepard shifts back into a giant wolf, with all the loud cracks and groans of bone shaping into something new. "Yes, well..." he says, tired, "It's- itchy."

Mairèad says: I'd imagine so. I'm startin' to feel naked unless I'm wearin' me armor... was gunna have a casual day today, but then I felt too vulnerable.

Shepard says: Well, I hope you won't -always- be wearing that armor. It might get in the way of things.
Shepard does his best to sound suave.

Mairèad blinks and then laughs, covering her face with both hands. She's wearing gauntlets now; this is new. "This is so weird! Good weird, but weird! Yer, like. Talkin' about wantin' to... and I mean. And." And then she's just laughing, a very happy laugh.

Shepard chuckles softly. "People change, no?"

Mairèad nods and steps forward finally, resting her head against Shepard and finally--FINALLY--relaxing against him. This is familiar and safe. "They do. I'm jest... I love who you are. This is th'onleh change I wanted."

Shepard is also relaxed, and there isn't a single ounce of tension in his body. "It's still... new, to me. This. But. I like it."

Mairèad laughs; now her arms go easily around his waist in much the way they had before. "It's new to me, too. Mostly," she admits.

Shepard says: Well. It'll be a grand adventure for us both, then. Full of wonder and... other generally nice things.

Mairèad snickers quietly. "Yer pretty good at this romantic talk when yer actually tryin' fer it. This will be fun." She looks up at Shepard again, almost mischievously. "Wanna go fer a walk somewhere a bit, erm. Privater?"

Shepard grins, but shakes his head. "Sadly, that walk will have to wait. Not long, but... just a few things I have to take care of. Then I should be all yours for the rest of the night."

Mairèad raises an eyebrow. "The rest 'a the night?" she asks. "Well, I'll hafta come up with somethin' fer us to do fer th'rest 'a the night, then. Shouldn't be too hard. How are you at card games?"

Shepard says: Terrible.

Mairèad whispers, just loud enough for Shepard to hear, "Guess we'll hafta play strip poker, then."

Shepard says: Oh-ho. Let's not, and say we did. We can even simulate all the results.

Mairèad raises an eyebrow again, smirking. "Oh? Yer afraid 'a losin' a cardgame but not 'a losin' yer pants?"

Shepard says: I know my preferences, yes.

Mairèad says: Do you now? You'll hafta show me those preferences yerself. I'm curious t'see how much research you've done.

Shepard says: None at all, my dear. I'm open to your vast knowledge.

Mairèad gets the derpiest little grin on her face when he calls her "my dear" and reaches up to kiss his neck. "I think you'll be me favorite student."

Shepard says: Mmm. I'm always ready to learn.
Shepard promptly vanishes.