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rainbowfic2016-02-17 06:20 pm
shadowsong26) wrote in rainbowfic2016-02-17 06:20 pm
Plant Party #1, Fluorite #5, Liver #8
Name: shadowsong26
Story: Rules
'Verse: Feredar
Colors: Plant Party #1. Corpse Lily, Fluorite #5. Ruined/Fixed, Liver #8. hand
Supplies and Materials: graffiti (TV Tropes game, with reference to Honor Before Reason, Futile Hand Reach, and Special Odd Hand; miniature collection, photography, fingerpainting (weird second-person thing), eraser (Urban Fantasy AU), brush (nimrod), fabric, charcoal, novelty beads ("The river still may rise/Though it took more than it gave/Mine are sinning hands/On a broken windowpane." Sinning Hands, Iron & Wine), glue ("If you adopt an all-or-nothing position, everyone will end up a loser.")
Word Count: 386
Rating: R
Characters: Kellom, Tana
Warnings: Vampirism, skipmuder, crisis of faith, Kellom
Notes: Constructive criticism welcome, as always. This is, um, dark. Even for me. So...yeah.
There are rules. There have to be, otherwise the world makes no sense. You know this. You’ve always known this.
Love your family (even Mellir), even when you hate them.
Respect those who have earned it (even Heidari), even when they're wrong.
Protect humanity from the monsters in the dark, even when those monsters are other humans.
Live by those rules, and everything makes sense. You know this. You’ve always known this.
You pretend, for a while, that you don’t notice the signs. That you don’t notice how she’s changed.
She’s always been volatile, you try to tell yourself, when her eyes gleam and she laughs when you take down a werewolf together.
Working nights makes sense, you remind yourself, since most of what you hunt is nocturnal, after all.
It’s just a trick of the light, you almost convince yourself, because the nails are too subtle a hint to be sure.
Eventually, you can’t pretend anymore, because even if none of those things are enough by themselves, you put them all together and you have to know. You have to be absolutely sure.
Because there are rules.
So you follow her, and you see, and you make yourself watch when she exposes her fangs and tastes from one of those children who’ve read too much Anne Rice.
You know she won’t kill the child, because vampires have ‘rules,’ too.
Still, you force yourself to watch. You force yourself to be. Sure.
You follow her, to her home--to her lair.
She reaches out to you in the end, when she sees you have a stake, when she knows you know. She holds out her hand, trying to ward you off.
But there are rules.
You know this. You have always known this.
You break one rule to follow another, and a piece of you dies a little when your favorite sister becomes so much dust and ash on the floor.
There are rules. There have to be rules. You know this. You have always known this. But you’ve never had to choose between them before.
And you know that you will never, ever be sure you broke the right one.
You toss the stake into the river and walk for miles through the city as the sun comes up.
You never hunt a vampire again.
Story: Rules
'Verse: Feredar
Colors: Plant Party #1. Corpse Lily, Fluorite #5. Ruined/Fixed, Liver #8. hand
Supplies and Materials: graffiti (TV Tropes game, with reference to Honor Before Reason, Futile Hand Reach, and Special Odd Hand; miniature collection, photography, fingerpainting (weird second-person thing), eraser (Urban Fantasy AU), brush (nimrod), fabric, charcoal, novelty beads ("The river still may rise/Though it took more than it gave/Mine are sinning hands/On a broken windowpane." Sinning Hands, Iron & Wine), glue ("If you adopt an all-or-nothing position, everyone will end up a loser.")
Word Count: 386
Rating: R
Characters: Kellom, Tana
Warnings: Vampirism, skipmuder, crisis of faith, Kellom
Notes: Constructive criticism welcome, as always. This is, um, dark. Even for me. So...yeah.
There are rules. There have to be, otherwise the world makes no sense. You know this. You’ve always known this.
Love your family (even Mellir), even when you hate them.
Respect those who have earned it (even Heidari), even when they're wrong.
Protect humanity from the monsters in the dark, even when those monsters are other humans.
Live by those rules, and everything makes sense. You know this. You’ve always known this.
You pretend, for a while, that you don’t notice the signs. That you don’t notice how she’s changed.
She’s always been volatile, you try to tell yourself, when her eyes gleam and she laughs when you take down a werewolf together.
Working nights makes sense, you remind yourself, since most of what you hunt is nocturnal, after all.
It’s just a trick of the light, you almost convince yourself, because the nails are too subtle a hint to be sure.
Eventually, you can’t pretend anymore, because even if none of those things are enough by themselves, you put them all together and you have to know. You have to be absolutely sure.
Because there are rules.
So you follow her, and you see, and you make yourself watch when she exposes her fangs and tastes from one of those children who’ve read too much Anne Rice.
You know she won’t kill the child, because vampires have ‘rules,’ too.
Still, you force yourself to watch. You force yourself to be. Sure.
You follow her, to her home--to her lair.
She reaches out to you in the end, when she sees you have a stake, when she knows you know. She holds out her hand, trying to ward you off.
But there are rules.
You know this. You have always known this.
You break one rule to follow another, and a piece of you dies a little when your favorite sister becomes so much dust and ash on the floor.
There are rules. There have to be rules. You know this. You have always known this. But you’ve never had to choose between them before.
And you know that you will never, ever be sure you broke the right one.
You toss the stake into the river and walk for miles through the city as the sun comes up.
You never hunt a vampire again.
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