The Yrael that staggers heavily through the door is almost too bright to look at, flickering like a faulty florescent light. What is left of his usually spotless clothes is ragged, stained with weeks of dormant existence in a New Orleans alleyway
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Sabriel turns around in her seat, frowning and rubbing the back of her neck at the sudden presence of jarring, irritating free magic, searching for the source, and tesing in sudden worry...
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It seems to be hurt badly, having just fallen through the doorway into the bar.
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She also knows, deep down, that it isn't something she's trained to fight against, something quite beyond her in it's shining power and...
"Mogget?"
The terror that is purely a girl just out of school and facing something unknown and impossibly powerful is rising, blanking out Charter spells and Bell combinations and even the few, perilous Free Magic techniques she knows, leaving her frozen on her seat and searching for a solution that just isn't coming...
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It gets his attention. Boy does it ever.
She's something to focus on, a reason to try just that much harder to get to his feet. He knew she was here, of course.
What bad timing.
"Abhorsen," it rasps, the voice crackling like static on the radio.
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She jumps down from her stool, numb and panicking, one hand rising to form the basis of defensive marks, and the other...
The other wears the ring. If she can just loosen it before he attacks...
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That just makes this circumstance less appealing to him.
"What are your intentions, Abhorsen?" That's what is important, here. Other than him focusing. He doesn't approach or make any move towards her.
Or that ring.
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"...What? What are your intentions?"
He's that one who wants to kill her with extreme prejudice!
...Right?
"I mean... stay back?"
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Because the Eighth Bright Shiner can be totally childish, sometimes.
"This is myyy place," Yrael growls. "And if you mean no harm to me and mine, then I may not decide to affirm your assumptions regarding my intentions."
When he does move, it's towards the door to the lake area, at an angle to her.
Maybe he's circling her. Maybe not.
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She steps in time with his movement, paler than is normal even for a necromancer and gaze slightly averted from his brightness, but her voice is steady, keeping the terror at bay for now.
"Yours?" she asks, swallowing her fear and trying to buy time to think. "You know I only hunt those that would hurt the living, Mogget. The rest... well, I'll defend myself, from you or any attackers. I'll defend any of the Dead here that don't hurt others, even from you."
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He is tired. He has been worn down from events and is not at his best and brightest, so to speak. He is frustrated by having his sanctuary invaded by his former... mistress, and her (logical) reaction to him is not making this any easier.
"I have friends here, Abhorsen. Surprising, I know, but there are some people in the worlds who are crazy enough to do even that. Unlike you, they don't assume I'm going to rip out their throats and drink their blood to gain power."
Though, it's terribly tempting. The Abhorsen has children by now... she's not exactly needed any more to carry on the bloodline... The blood of one of the Great Charters...
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And... possibly not helpfully.
"Nobody said. They would have if you attacked patrons here. I had no idea..."
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"I need... time..." And the blood of a few hundred Charter Mages or one Abhorsen, but he's not about to say that.
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All the talking that had done had been focused on taunting her about her imminent death, secure in his power. This is different. And the ring, although resonating with his presence against her hand, seems... indefinite.
"...Time," she says, voice shaky. "I could live with that, if you'll let me live."
She needs to think. And she can't do that with his power vibrating through her mind, obliterating all other senses. Or, you know, if he kills her.
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It's been a long time since he's thought of himself as Mogget, though he is still more Mogget than he is the Yrael of long ago. He's changed a lot. Not being in forced servitude, and having a place that one can call one's own, friends one can call one's own... it changes one.
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"Do not give me reason to remove it, and I will not," Sabriel says, still tensed to fight if need be. "And I will not hurt anyone here unless thy threaten me first. Will that suffice for now?"
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