( she nearly died once, in the dark. trapped. putrid water gone off from the rot of corpses in it. building crumbling all around her. couldn't feel her legs. couldn't feel anything. three days. three days, she'd been down in the dark. juuvan drowned holding her hand, she felt it squeeze and go slack. run, yarelia. his last words to her. she hadn't let him go until she realized she had to use the knife or die there.
she'll live? of course she'll live. she always lives. she's gotten out of every fight, every scrape, every dust-up from beggar's rest to the marrowmounds to the burnt glass spires. she's survived. she's always survived. no little human boy is going to change that, no matter the look in his eyes and the blood on his hands and the wild, unfettered energy in him. the madness. she can almost taste it in the air.
she wants to run. every inch of her is primed for it. she's swift and lean and fast, souls she's fast. her heartrate is hammering so loudly she's sure the whole bar can hear it, thumping in awkward concert with whatever music they're playing. the pinprick of terror has her sweating, her hands are slick with it, the small of her back and up along her spine.
she's not a fighter. not a killer, either, though she's killed. her methods are insidious — she'd rather arrange an accident or slip a poison than hold a knife. he's shown her what's in the deep parts of him, and she knows that before she leaves this place she needs a contingency for him, in case he comes for her.
(whether he might, whether he will, is irrelevant. vandii is a woman of contingencies within contingencies. her pawn-shop has two doors known to the public, six exits and a fucking safe room known to her. she'll never be caught again like she was the undying night.)
but if she leaves, she loses a potential client. a rather significant chunk of the reputation she's been cultivating here, because more than a few heads are turned this way, and who wants a broker with no stomach? juuvan's voice is a mantra in her head. the little animal part of her wants to listen. run. run. but she has mastery over that part, doesn't she? hasn't she had to fucking learn it by now? so, she puts on her best showman's smile. too many teeth. too sharp. )
That's never in question, darling. Now, what is it you're looking for?
... cw more of the same ig
she'll live? of course she'll live. she always lives. she's gotten out of every fight, every scrape, every dust-up from beggar's rest to the marrowmounds to the burnt glass spires. she's survived. she's always survived. no little human boy is going to change that, no matter the look in his eyes and the blood on his hands and the wild, unfettered energy in him. the madness. she can almost taste it in the air.
she wants to run. every inch of her is primed for it. she's swift and lean and fast, souls she's fast. her heartrate is hammering so loudly she's sure the whole bar can hear it, thumping in awkward concert with whatever music they're playing. the pinprick of terror has her sweating, her hands are slick with it, the small of her back and up along her spine.
she's not a fighter. not a killer, either, though she's killed. her methods are insidious — she'd rather arrange an accident or slip a poison than hold a knife. he's shown her what's in the deep parts of him, and she knows that before she leaves this place she needs a contingency for him, in case he comes for her.
(whether he might, whether he will, is irrelevant. vandii is a woman of contingencies within contingencies. her pawn-shop has two doors known to the public, six exits and a fucking safe room known to her. she'll never be caught again like she was the undying night.)
but if she leaves, she loses a potential client. a rather significant chunk of the reputation she's been cultivating here, because more than a few heads are turned this way, and who wants a broker with no stomach? juuvan's voice is a mantra in her head. the little animal part of her wants to listen. run. run. but she has mastery over that part, doesn't she? hasn't she had to fucking learn it by now? so, she puts on her best showman's smile. too many teeth. too sharp. )
That's never in question, darling. Now, what is it you're looking for?