08-27-2018, 04:24 PM
Well. It was bad. Jagged scar tissue slit his neck where Kasun's teeth had torn, raised and twisted angry red and puckered purple. Carmen's face hovered concerned in the mirror as he ran his fingers over the warped skin, almost numb to the touch. Outside at least. It still stung to swallow, and sometimes nerves fired random shots of pain. But even if it was botched, it was healed.
How is this even possible? There wasn't even a squeak to his voice, and it hurt to try. Carmen read his lips and shrugged. A line pinched between her eyes; a permanent weight of guilt. He doubted she would ever forgive Oriena for this, but it was her own shoulders heaped under the blame. Seeing his gaze fallen to hers, she frowned. Raffe grinned, snaked an arm about her, and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
She pushed away, swatted him playfully in the stomach.
I'm okay,, he insisted. Stop blaming yourself.
Raffe adored beautiful things, but vanity wasn't particularly high on his list.
His voice, though.
That might take getting used to.
Oriena blithely produced cash to bribe the client Kasun had attacked, and the red devils rarely poked their head in this close to the red light district unless someone kicked the hornet's nest. Kallisti was clandestine and discreet; it was part of the deal. If a little blood spilled in its pursuit of pleasure nobody cried about it. Though what it might do to the club's reputation remained to be seen; its doors stayed closed, its windows dark.
Raffe couldn't work any of his other jobs, and he didn't want to go home. Such as home was, or had ever been. He helped Carmen scrub the blood. The bar was the cleanest it had ever been, and he'd always taken pride in his work. Some of the girls still hung around, especially those Oriena had welcomed into the fold, but the evenings were generally quiet. Though it was a few days at least before he gathered the courage to approach one particular door, against Carmen's advice.
Oriena had hauled the body upstairs after the Butcher had been, and she had been there when Kasun had slowly stirred back to consciousness. Whatever happened next only provoked a smile when questioned, but Oriena wouldn't say what had transpired before she blithely skipped down the stairs some time later. But he was alive, and it seemed he was to stay. Carmen questioned the stupidity of that, but Oriena only shrugged the concern away. "He won't do it again," she vowed.
Neither of them were quite sure what Oriena's promises were worth, though.
It was the last time they'd seen her, and Kasun had not crept out of his room since.
The room was lit by dusk, the curtains flung wide. Lambent eyes glared out of the shadows. The air was thick with human musk, and other less pleasant smells; Raffe almost choked at the strength of it despite the open windows. His heart thudded in his chest and he wondered at the wisdom of his choice to be here. Carmen said Oriena had purloined him from fighting pits. That he wasn't a man at all, really, and shouldn't be trusted to act like one.
Kasun crept forward low on his haunches, his dark-haired head hung so that the arcs of his shoulders framed above. Muscles rippled beneath bronze skin, thick with old scars, but he moved carefully; like a dog seeking reassurance from a master. It was what the girls called him, dog-boy, but seeing him in this environment rather than the decadence of the club still shocked him. Because it really was literal.
Fuck.
Raffe blinked.
The man wouldn't meet Raffe's eye in a way that made it feel suddenly like he was the monster. The realisation tightened in Raffe's chest like ice, stirring up old memories he'd rather forget. Pity rippled in its wake. He ought to be angry but, touching the scars at his neck, he discovered he wasn't. Not at Kasun.
It occurred to him belatedly he had no way to communicate if the man couldn't read his lips. Not that he knew exactly what he wanted to say now that he was here. But in the end he didn't need to. Kasun had stopped some way away, still crouched, his head low. He'd never heard him speak, nor even attempt it. Until now.
"Pack," he rasped. "Protect." Then, after a long painful minute. "Sorry."
How is this even possible? There wasn't even a squeak to his voice, and it hurt to try. Carmen read his lips and shrugged. A line pinched between her eyes; a permanent weight of guilt. He doubted she would ever forgive Oriena for this, but it was her own shoulders heaped under the blame. Seeing his gaze fallen to hers, she frowned. Raffe grinned, snaked an arm about her, and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
She pushed away, swatted him playfully in the stomach.
I'm okay,, he insisted. Stop blaming yourself.
Raffe adored beautiful things, but vanity wasn't particularly high on his list.
His voice, though.
That might take getting used to.
Oriena blithely produced cash to bribe the client Kasun had attacked, and the red devils rarely poked their head in this close to the red light district unless someone kicked the hornet's nest. Kallisti was clandestine and discreet; it was part of the deal. If a little blood spilled in its pursuit of pleasure nobody cried about it. Though what it might do to the club's reputation remained to be seen; its doors stayed closed, its windows dark.
Raffe couldn't work any of his other jobs, and he didn't want to go home. Such as home was, or had ever been. He helped Carmen scrub the blood. The bar was the cleanest it had ever been, and he'd always taken pride in his work. Some of the girls still hung around, especially those Oriena had welcomed into the fold, but the evenings were generally quiet. Though it was a few days at least before he gathered the courage to approach one particular door, against Carmen's advice.
Oriena had hauled the body upstairs after the Butcher had been, and she had been there when Kasun had slowly stirred back to consciousness. Whatever happened next only provoked a smile when questioned, but Oriena wouldn't say what had transpired before she blithely skipped down the stairs some time later. But he was alive, and it seemed he was to stay. Carmen questioned the stupidity of that, but Oriena only shrugged the concern away. "He won't do it again," she vowed.
Neither of them were quite sure what Oriena's promises were worth, though.
It was the last time they'd seen her, and Kasun had not crept out of his room since.
The room was lit by dusk, the curtains flung wide. Lambent eyes glared out of the shadows. The air was thick with human musk, and other less pleasant smells; Raffe almost choked at the strength of it despite the open windows. His heart thudded in his chest and he wondered at the wisdom of his choice to be here. Carmen said Oriena had purloined him from fighting pits. That he wasn't a man at all, really, and shouldn't be trusted to act like one.
Kasun crept forward low on his haunches, his dark-haired head hung so that the arcs of his shoulders framed above. Muscles rippled beneath bronze skin, thick with old scars, but he moved carefully; like a dog seeking reassurance from a master. It was what the girls called him, dog-boy, but seeing him in this environment rather than the decadence of the club still shocked him. Because it really was literal.
Fuck.
Raffe blinked.
The man wouldn't meet Raffe's eye in a way that made it feel suddenly like he was the monster. The realisation tightened in Raffe's chest like ice, stirring up old memories he'd rather forget. Pity rippled in its wake. He ought to be angry but, touching the scars at his neck, he discovered he wasn't. Not at Kasun.
It occurred to him belatedly he had no way to communicate if the man couldn't read his lips. Not that he knew exactly what he wanted to say now that he was here. But in the end he didn't need to. Kasun had stopped some way away, still crouched, his head low. He'd never heard him speak, nor even attempt it. Until now.
"Pack," he rasped. "Protect." Then, after a long painful minute. "Sorry."