The First Age

The movement ended, and they spun straight into the third act with Juls and Mandy taking the stage as Demeter begging Zeus for help to find her daughter. It was a beautiful ballet dance.

Mae wrapped her arms around Nox on his right side with ease. ”You did good with that one.” He held her close with a side hug.

Nox shrugged. ”I only gave them a structure, they made it their own.”

Mae grinned up at him. ”That’s why we love working with you. You aren’t bossy, except when you are. Your mom would be so proud.”

”She was always proud of me, no matter what I did. She’d have liked this though.” A tear slid down his cheek.

Nox and Mae watched the girls pirouette and chaseé across the stage. Their technique was flawless — they could dance in the big places if they wanted to. But Juls was dead set on being a doctor, and Mandy enjoyed the other aspects of dancing here. Nox agreed with Mandy, though their reasons were different. It wasn’t the sexy appeal here, or even being an object of attention Nox craved — it was the family. And he still felt it slipping away with each passing moment.

Mae squeezed his side. ”It’ll be okay. We love you both.”

Nox shook his head. ”None of you deserve my shit.”

The girls moved with precision but the movements changed with each run through. Their improv was perfect together. Ribbons and clothes flew as they fought back and forth. It was amazing watching them. And Nox was grateful for the break as he only had to hold the patterns for them. Each weave was carefully placed and monitored. He could feel the sweat beading on his forehead from the lights, exertion of dancing and holding as many weaves as he was. The power was almost more exhausting then the rest of the skit.

Ori watched Jaxen on the cameras for a while before her attention fizzled to boredom. She was barely surprised with the distraction he chose for himself, but it eroded what remained of her patience with sitting nicely. Her head tipped back against the leather chair. The idle drum of fingers against the studded arm gripped in frustration and released. Then she stood.

A maddening mix of protectiveness and possession anchored her to the club. If Jaxen wasn’t going to provide the entertainment, she’d have to find her own.

Shadows swathed backstage. The click of her heels was not shy, and nor was the hand that snaked around Nox’s waist from behind. Her chin rested on his shoulder, watching the girls and their dance. By the concentration she’d glimpsed on his expression, the sheen of sweat, and the spectacle of the stage, she knew he was busy grappling with the power. “If you want me to behave, you need to give me something to fucking do.” The curve of her smirk was plain wicked; knowing full well she was making his job that much harder.

[[ ooc: Trigger Warning -- suicide ideation is below do not read if it is a triggering topic!!! ]]

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Nox smelled and heard Oriena approach before her body was near, before her arm snaked around him.  Her chin on his shoulder made him smile. It was endearing, though he knew she was a spider spinning her thread.  Nox chuckled at her words. "You really want to make everything hard tonight don't you?" There was no denying that he'd been holding back the horde.  He missed Raffe and needed him in so many ways he was only now starting to fathom. He was the light in all his darkness. He was the reason he got up in the morning and Nox knew that was not an easy burden for anyone to bear.

Mae chortled at his words.  She looked at Nox and the leaned around to speak to her boss. "He loves Raffe don't make him hate himself more."  She left Nox and Oriena with a sigh.

"She's wrong about that.  There is nothing more you can do to make me hate myself more."  Though he wouldn't have ever said that to someone who cared.  They'd probably throw him in a psych ward and lock the door once he was there. 

She was so close.  Smelled so much like home.  With the power wrapping him up he was so close to the emptiness but he stayed outside felt every ache and pain, ever last bit of agony his thoughts caused him.  He'd do anything to avoid blood shed tonight.  He'd brought the Atharim to his home, and now it lay under siege and no one even knew the price he'd pay to keep everyone there safe.  "I'll be the fly to your spider, Oriena.  How shall I entertain you?"

Nox watched the girls skit go from begging to anger and the sexual undertones grew with each wild thrust from Zeus.  And Demeter's pleas became more exaggerated.  The mockery continued and Nox spun the tale with the patterns he and Juls were supposed to handle together, but he did it all.  He felt the weight of the power stretching him thin.  But he'd play Ori's little game.  "Maybe you'd like to make me break my promise to Raffe for the second time?"  A dark smile drew his lips apart.  "Or maybe you'd like to watch me burn up in the draw of too much power.  Become a husk of what I once was.  Broken and yearning for the light I can never touch again."

He drew upon the power just a little more, just enough to feel the strain in every muscle as he carried three flows around the stage. He tied one of the lights off and drew a thin weave of razor sharp air across his wrists, barely deep enough to draw blood. "Watch me bleed out on your expensive floors?  Or suck the barrel of a gun waiting to see if I'll ever pull the trigger?" He'd thought about it, but it had been a while.  But that thought was also why Damnation was locked away in a storage locker to far to use -- out of sight, out of mind. 

Nox knew rock bottom when he hit it.  He had to talk to Raffe.  One way or the other he had to talk to him. He had to know what way to go, where he fixed the problem.  Because it was a problem and there was no one here to pull him out.

Through all the words tears fell down his cheeks.  His voice never cracked, no show of emotion other than the tears as he concentrated on the work at hand.  But he had one last suggestion to offer. "There is always calling your Ijiraq friends to come suck the life from me.  That would be a fitting end -- feeding a fucking monster."

He glanced over at Ori perched on his shoulder. "What does the spider do when the fly caught in her web wants to die?" But that was a lie -- he didn't want to die.  He was fucking afraid of it. But he was more afraid of being alone in his darkness. "Tell me, Ori, what game you'd like to play."

[ continuing Jaxen and Zef in The Depths of Hell ]

“Am I making things hard, Nox?” she purred, but it ended in amusement not solicitation. She was draped all over him, but it was as much possession as it was provocation. Mae’s warning was met without much more than a roll of her eyes, though she did shift enough to watch the other woman slip by, appraising her up and down with a small, appreciative smirk. Nox seemed engaged in the most unimaginative pity-party. No wonder she fucked off at the earliest opportunity.

“Love hurts, sweetheart. You only just finding that out?” Ori tsked dismissively, purposefully cruel. Then she leaned to brush her lips against the shell of his ear, though only to whisper into it. “I like it rough, but I’m not into that kind of force. What would be the point? If you break your promise it’s your own fucking fault.” A sultry laugh followed, hot against his skin. “Fucking hell Nox, if you can’t handle a little attention you’re in the wrong fucking job.”

Beyond that she only watched the girls dance, and rested against him. His pain washed over her mostly unheeded, because the accusations threatened to tighten her jaw with the assumptions he made if she lingered on them. His muscles were tense to the touch. The concentration drew him dark, or something else. Ori couldn’t see the flows but she could see the effect; knew it was a burden to keep all that moving in sync. She barely glanced at the self-slashed red beading along his flesh-and-blood arm. He ought to save the melodrama for the stage. Or crush all that useless emotion into something that was actually useful.

But the last part made her laugh in bitter surprise. “Friends?” she asked. The word fell flat. It unhooked something it probably wasn’t wise to set free. “They’re burning me up, Nox; piece by fucking piece. A constant buzz in my head. Demanding. So much fucking hatred. And yet every time one of you fuckers kills one of them it’s another shred of my soul lying in tatters on the fucking floor.” Though the words were still hot and close it was anger not lust that laced them through now. The balance in her was tenuous. Breath caught like fire in her lungs.

He turned his face towards her. Tears wet Nox’s cheeks; she didn’t miss the weakness. It spiralled a memory in her head she pushed away from. “She puts him out of his misery,” she told him harshly. “Or she tells him to man the fuck up. Think you’re the only one to ever lose the only thing you ever wanted? Please.” But her fingers rose to catch his chin; held it there. The storm in her raged. “What makes you think you’re the fly?”

“The Atharim know you’re here. A few stern words might stay their hand tonight, but what about tomorrow? Next week? Next year?” The arm still around him tightened, like she fully expected the self-sacrificial idiot might choose martyrdom over growing some fucking balls. He couldn’t spend his life hiding, or running, or letting the fucking Atharim call the fucking shots. Her heart was beating wild; she knew it was not only her own emotion. Frustration cleaved the violence. It felt like drills in her skull.

“They’re right to fear us, Nox. We are the creatures in the dark. Show them, or I will.”

Her hand dropped away. So did her arm. The space opened up between them, cool. Ori didn't want to hear the ijiraq voices, clamouring for a vengeance it was rapidly becoming clear she couldn't give them. She needed something to drown them out before the surge started again.

“I came to help,” she said flatly. With the show, she meant. Before he burst a fucking vessel in his head. But it felt suspiciously like influence now. She didn’t need any of this. Or any of them. “I changed my fucking mind.”

Twenty-two not too old to fall in love for the first time. His childhood hadn't been like others. He had no friends, no home. No place that was his. It wasn't normal. He wasn't normal. So yeah he was learning for the first time in his miserable life that love hurt. She made a good point -- about all of it. Pity party. That's what it was. He felt bad. Broken. And it didn't matter to anyone but him. Why should it? But it still hurt.

Nox tied off the weaves he was holding. No one but the girls would notice and they knew he was getting tired. He grabbed Ori's arm as she departed his space. And promptly let go hoping she'd stay of her own volition. "I'm sorry she grabbed you. I know the feeling. I should be dead Ori. Should have a bullet through the head multiple times over. Once for being a god, and now because of the fucking horde." He lifted the mechanical arm and rubbed at the seam where flesh met plastoid whatever the fuck. "You aren't the only one who has uninvited guests shredding your soul. I have enough memory of what they did to me. It gives me nightmares. I can't imagine..." He sighed. "I don't pretend we are friends, or even that you give a fuck about me. But you are part of Kallisti and Kallisti gave me the first fucking home I've ever really had, so like it or not I fucking care about you. I care about all of them."

He took a few steps closer to Ori and touched her elbow gently. "I'm not hiding from the Atharim, Ori. But I am not prepared to take them on right this second. As frivolous as this might all look it's hard work. You know this. My life is in shambles. And it's all my fault. I never said it was otherwise. They come at me here, they will regret it. They come at them, at you, I'll kill every fucking one of them who tries. I need time to prepare for whatever war they bring. I'm just asking for the night. I'll take you to every fucking Atharim safe house I know and you can lay waste to it. I don't care. But I need to keep our family safe. That's my job, Ori. And I will do it until you tell me to get the fuck out."

He made no more preamble but he ran his thumb along her elbow "Please stay. You can chew me up and spit me out later for showing you weakness and kindness. I was looking for pity. And that's too much like my father. So thank you." He stayed where he was, the slight touch on her elbow, she could leave or go, but he returned to the job at hand. He still felt broken and he still needed to talk to Raffe, but it could wait till he came back. He wasn't going anywhere anymore. This was his home too. And they'd deal with the fallout of whatever happened. But right now he had a show to finish.

When he reached for her arm she went to wrench free, but his grip loosened almost the moment he grabbed hold. Most people wouldn’t dare, not least when her mercurial moods blew hot and vindictive. She was apt to lash out because she could, not because she should. Ori glared Nox down, but she did stay; a vengeful goddess halted only by penitent plea. His sorry touched nothing. After tonight she knew how most to hurt him. But whatever he had seemed to think before, she wasn’t interested in destroying him like that. Or at all.

In the end it was a single word that placated her. War. It drew her inscrutable gaze back to his, and whatever claws might have slashed at his kindness sheathed wordlessly instead. She was aware of the soft touch at her elbow and ignored it. Most of the girls wouldn’t risk being so familiar, except for Claire, but Ori didn’t move away either. He had already said all this. Oriena wasn’t suicidal, but she still didn’t appreciate the suggestion that they wait.

“Neither of those things deserve a bullet,” she said eventually. How fucking deep did that indoctrination go? She sighed a little, and the sultry liquidity of her limbs returned. The moment of anger passed. A sly smirk accompanied the look she gave him as she shifted a little closer. “Nox, you’re bleeding on my arm.” An exaggeration of the shallow cut along his wrist. Warning against the touch, or concern for the injury; he could decide that. Ori didn’t move away, but a truce didn’t preclude some torment.

“If you want me to behave, then you need to give me something to do,” she repeated. Slower this time.

The show started before he could answer Visha’s question. He was enraptured by the first act. The girl on stage was a beauty and he could feel the emotion of her turmoil. Seven was not a dancer, nor particularly a singer, although he could join in a rowdy karaoke chorus when the opportunity came, so he admired the artists’ talents.

What kept his starry-eyed gaze glued to the stage was something else though. He was fascinated by the dance and drum of the runes. Alvis had never shared something so magnificent, and frankly, Seven did not know such creativity was possible. 

Between the acts, the stage and lighting shifted. Visha alluded to a film, but Seven shook his head. “This is based off a film?” he asked of her. He smiled slightly when she indicated she had seen it, even if her opinion was not so high. There were many movies based on mythological characters. As well there should! The legends were rich with storytelling and imparted untold lessons about follies and humankind. Which one did Visha remember?

Perhaps the final acts would reveal the answer.

Nox watched the lack of expression war across Ori's face. She cared little for things that bored her. He bored her. He was okay with that. And he didn't disagree with her eventual words. The Athrim were wrong about the gods return. They were wrong to kill innocents. But they weren't wrong to kill those who were dangerous. Ori was dangerous. He was doubly so now that the horde could make demands of him. At least his voices were passive instincts. Nox didn't think so for the Ijiraq connection. But he didn't press. And he smirked as he let go of her arm and muttered "I'll be more careful next time." It was meant as a joke -- a dark twisted one. Though slitting his wrist wasn't how he'd end his life. Neither was eating a bullet. At least not one from a gun he held himself. He'd die in a fight he couldn't win -- with the power, with the horde, with some monster -- which didn't preclude himself. But he smiled none-the-less as she returned to her normal self. The sexy conniving woman she was.

He understood a little more about her comment -- her 'do'. She wanted to help now. But she never wanted to help. Which also made him smile a little bit more. Ori did it for some reason he didn't bother to fathom. He'd put her to work. He nodded towards the girls on stage -- it was almost his queue. But he had a few more moments but not enough time to teach her any of the patterns. So he made one up.

"Can you make a light gentle breeze that blows their hair and skirts. The last scene will be them mostly doing the ring and ribbon routines while the seasons change around him." His own bit was mostly him sitting in the shadows of the blue light brooding. Kinda how he felt before. At least now he wasn't drowning in his own self pity -- just mildly wading through the puddles.

His smirk was dangerously close to eliciting a reaction. But it was conspiratorial rather than aggressive. No one called her Ori, but she hadn’t corrected him the whole time he used it, not any more than she’d pulled away from his over-familiar touch. Sometimes it was worth taking liberties. Other times not so much. Tonight Nox got lucky. Her shoulder tipped at his comment, dismissive. She didn’t want his burdens any more than she wanted his caution.

At the benign directions he had for her Ori outright laughed though. She supposed he’d never actually seen her channel to her limits, nor had any real idea of her capabilities. A little bit of a breeze was child’s play compared to the minutiae of tinkering in someone’s head; something she supposed it was not wise to admit to. In Nox’s monstrousness Ori saw something of kinship, but she was not so convinced of the reciprocity. She smirked. “Sure, sweetheart, I can do that.” In illustration, a faint ripple stirred the blue tips of his hair. She almost rolled her eyes.

As she slipped backwards she winked, utterly wicked. It was nothing she couldn’t perform from the shadows of backstage, but clearly she had no intention of staying here beyond his return to the stage. “Maybe I’ll add some embellishments of my own?”

She took the staff route to the bar, relieved it of a vodka bottle and an iced glass, then threaded her way through the tables. Power wreathed under her skin for any who knew how to recognise the tells. The lights were still low, the show ongoing, but she wanted a table with a decent vantage of the stage. A face as famous as Aiden Finnegan’s she had recognised on the cameras, of course, but that wasn’t the reason her smirk sharpened as she hooked herself a chair with a twist of power.

Ori didn’t ask permission or introduce herself as she sat. In fact she didn’t pay any of the three men much mind at all as she poured her drink and very purposefully rested her feet up in Aiden’s boyfriend’s lap like she owned him as well as the place. The heels gleamed sinfully. The slit of her dress was entirely scandalous. It was an invitation for payback, though if not, he made an alluring enough footstool.