Watchmen Kink Meme 3. Weeeeeeee.
Rules of the meme:
1. Anonymously post a pairing and prompt you would like to see written. Since this is a kink meme, there is supposted to be a kink involved, but normal well-written prompts should work just as well.
2. Anonymous will respond to your post and write it for you! Art and such is also acceptable/awesome. Multiple people may respond to ( Read more... )
"And then kept watching, because it was Ghost Rat." Laurel says archly, and Asomelda blushes and stares at the ground. "What are you doing out here, anyway?"
"There are things that I must tell Daniel." She looks down at her hands. "And I can be safe neither in his court nor at home."
"Safe?" Laurel asks, and Asmoleda's answer is lost in William's questions as he and Byron come barreling along on their way to help them against whatever terror Ghost Rat stumbled upon. Laurel explains as they all walk back to camp together, and watches Byron turn the meat as William creates a little curtained chamber for Asmoleda to take off her wet clothes, which she does in silence. "God, you're as good as a lady's maid." Laurel mutters and William smiles. "Well, I am technically a harem guard. You can't spend that long around the odalisques without picking up their ways."
"Well, let me take her your spare cloak, because I'm pretty sure she'd still count you as a man." She's just pinning it around Asmoleda's bony frame when Ghost Rat and Daniel return. Their eyes meet, and Asmoleda's are filled with mortification and terror. "Relax. If anything, he'll just avoid you." Asmoleda nods, fretfully looks over her improvised gown for the umpteenth time, and then straightens her back, deftly rearranges her hair in a way Laurie would kill to be able to do, and steps out. Ghost Rat is crouched on the opposite side of the fire, still wrapped in Daniel's cloak and gnawing a chunk of meat behind his mask. Daniel gestures to a smooth rock beside him, and Asmoleda sits down, looking around nervously.
"Why are you here?"
She takes a deep breath and explains it to him as best she can. As in any court, there are some in the royal circle who have a vested interest in Queen Susan's failure to recover, and she has the sinking feeling that Moloch was in the pay of certain elements who would love to re-establish Hyperborea, even if they have to steal a kingdom to do it with. There's a distinct overlap between these two groups, and it's almost entirely populated with people who don't stick at hiring assassins and will need Asmoleda out of the way to make everything go smoothly.
Daniel just stares, head aching as it tries to work out all the connections between the western coast and Hyperborea, both before and after its dissolution at the hands of far-north nomads and its own dissipated royalty. "Oh, god." He buries his hands in his hair. "So your third cousin is plotting to finish the job on my mother and weasel her way into my father's bed, while my uncle's bid for the throne was actually orchestrated by Hyperborean reconstructionists?" He groaned, raising his goggles to rub at his eyes. "Fuck me." He muttered, and then "Pardon me, your highness."
Laurel can't get over the novelty of it: a girl who actually blushes when someone curses, instead of bringing it on artificially. "If you're going to be traveling with us, you're going to have to get used to it, I'm afraid."
"Who says she is?" Daniel growls.
"Please." Laurel rolls her eyes. "We can't send her back."
"Why not? No one's got any reason to kill her."
"Daniel, Asmoleda's family isn't part of the cabal. They need new blood more than they need a new kingdom. Do you see where this is going?"
He groans again. "Dammit."
Ghost Rat takes first watch that night, hidden up in the tree as he scans the tranquil night for danger. Finding none, he lets his gaze sweep over the camp, where William is curled around Byron, and Daniel is sleeping fitfully in his guilt. Laurel and Asmoleda are directly below him, and he shudders. It had been all right when he was alone in the forest and not meeting women every day, or just with Laurel, protected by his responsibility to her. But now he is abruptly reminded of all his frailties and unbound, invisible wounds.
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...Duude. Does Hyperborea owe any inspirations to a certain other island kingdom known for strange magics, wanton cruelty and dissipated royalty (especially its last scion, the non-pigmented dude with the badass sword)? If not, that's cool, just saying.
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I have no idea. I just took the name Hyperborea because I don't think I've seen it used since Flash Gordon.
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"What'd he say?" Laurel asks William as Asmoleda retches, Daniel gingerly holding her hair back.
"It doesn't really translate, because we actually have a word for the kind of person who kills unarmed girls in their sleep."
Ghost Rat comes back from sweeping the area, shaking his head when Daniel looks at him over Asmoleda's heaving shoulders. Hyperborean assassins tend to work alone (just like other assassins) but sometimes move in pairs. If Ghost Rat hasn't found this one's partner, he probably isn't around to find. He grabs the body by the ankles and hauls it out of Asmoleda's sight, crouching by it and methodically going through pockets and pouches, hurming quietly to himself as he works.
Now as they cross into the blasting sun of the plains, Laurel claps her hands to her ears as Ghost Rat whistles for Horse. They see her a long way off, and wait for her since it's time for the midday meal anyway. Asmoleda does her best not to stare at Daniel as he slices cheese and cured meat with the cheerful demeanor of a content housewife. Over days in the forest, his spirits have returned a little, since after all, he's actually doing something about what's bothering him, and going into the wilds in the doing.
She's still amazed at how capable his hands are. He's the only noble she's ever met with callouses. Certainly, her brothers have sword practice, but they also have pumice stones and unguents, and personal attendants. Asking around, she had discovered that Daniel gets by with only a pageboy, and she can scarcely believe it, thinking of her own two ladies-in-waiting, all three of their personal maids, and the whole ranking of women in the princesses' quarters, loved and loathed according to their merits.
"Here." He hands her a crusty round of bread, two slices of meat, and a wedge of cheese. She takes them into her lap, sure that she'll never get used to eating from her knees or the blade of a knife, and thanks him. His dark eyes have rested more kindly on her since she became too fatigued to try to charm him.
Not that flattery and witty allusions make any sense on a journey like this. Ghost Rat's silence and rare, dry jokes make sense. Daniel and Laurel's perpetual natural history lesson makes sense, and so do Byron's quiet northern songs. Time passes faster when she rides beside him to hit the notes he can't reach and remember the words have escaped his poor, battered mind. Each night when they stop, Laurel shows her another way to break a man's arm, and even if she can't remember them all and is scandalized that Laurel does, she appreciates the gesture of concern for what it is, and does her feeble best to move the right way.
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Ghost ranges ahead for days, ostensibly to scout (which does, galloping back to report to whoever is closest before flying away again) but really needing to get away from Asmoleda's ice blue eyes, that... touch him, in a way they really shouldn't. He's never been in love and he doesn't think this is it, but it's something, and it crawls up and down his spine in a way that's worse because it doesn't hurt. As they pass the edge the Western Wood, he leaves Horse to graze and runs in to see if his house is as he left it. The journey was fast on the way out, with Daniel and Laurel and Archie, but it's even quicker for Ghost Rat, who makes the trip without once touching the ground, running and leaping and scaring the life out of squirrels and nests of baby venomwings.
His warning still stands, and his things are still there. In a strange fit of something like homesickness he curls up in his hammock for a moment, then snatches up his one book in the indecipherable northern tongue and leaves, bolting his way back through the trees and meeting up with Horse again. That night he gives the book to Byron to decipher, and then vanishes into the shadows when Asmoleda comes to help. It's worse when she's close, and even when Laurel touches his arm in concern, it burns and he has to pull away, trembling all over. He hates to ask Daniel for more blood, but he's afraid he'll have to.
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Then again, since she does appear to have infected him with a bad case of cooties, I'm guessing he wouldn't be keen on her attentions even if she did warm up to him.
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It's noon and he's about to turn back when she rises out of the grass like a vision, smiling serenely with hate burning in her red eyes. Albinism is rare on the plains, but not unheard of. Among the Hyperborean upper castes, it's more common than it really should be. He freezes like a rabbit, and Horse rears in fright.
"There you are." A blast of wind nearly knocks him to the ground, but he grips with his knees and hangs onto Horse's mane as she screams in rage, trying to trample her opponent like a snake. Her hooves strike a shielding spell, and Ghost Rat barely keeps his seat, guiding Horse off and away to keep her from breaking a leg. He slides off her back and slaps her haunch, sending her back to the others, war fans out as he faces the witch. He can feel the weakness on him, and he can see it reflected in her eyes. A woman of any description is the last thing in the world he should be fighting right now, and they both know it.
"If you just gave up and knelt at my feet, it would spare you a fraction of the pain I have in store for you."
"Wasn't whelped to give up." He hurls one fan and has the satisfaction of making her dodge it, and then it's all over because every bit of strength goes out of every limb. It takes five minutes of bone grinding, tendon strumming horrible screaming effort for Ghost Rat's knees to give out. He can barely breathe, eyes wide and taking in every detail of her deep-green leather boots as she comes to stand over him. It's a stupid move, which just makes it more infuriating that she can get away with it.
"I'm going to take your heart, little savage." She says in a voice like poisoned honey. "And I'm going to take it slowly."
"W-why?" He growls, still unable to raise his head. "Partner got cleaner death than he deserved."
"He. Was. My. Brother." Every word hurts in a way nothing has since he was old enough to get out of his mother's tent and fend for himself. "And you pawed him over for trinkets and left him to rot in the forest." Ghost Rat would deny this if he could, but something seems to have knotted up his insides. "You will kill your friends for me, and I will tear you apart." Making him stand is like trying to pull a gold ingot from the mud of a river, but soon he's on his feet, and by the time the others come for him, he's moving as smoothly as ever.
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I really love the little bits of magic you're weaving into the whole story, especially the level of detail of the magic and how much it all means to Ghost Rat. The "blood of a man whose mother loved him" bit from the previous part really delighted me.
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If a male ghost with this problem dies without certain healing rites, the earth itself refuses to recognize him and he doesn't get recycled back into the whole groovy animate universe. As a matter of fact, no one knows what happens to the poor bastard. Ghost Rat has just been Not Thinking About It, and now, what with almost dying and finally having the necessary ingredient (a woman who loves him, aw) he'll finally pull his head out and get right with god, because I'm way too much of a happy-junkie to let him bleed to death.
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Ghost Rat goes for Asmoleda so fast that Daniel hardly sees him move, and the shock as the edge of one fan bites into his arm guard leaves him numb past the elbow. William drags Asmoleda out of her saddle and shields her with his body as Daniel and Laurel do their best to hold Ghost Rat off. Byron goes haring after the witch, Laurel nearly loses an eye, and Daniel feels sick to his stomach when her cry of terror has no effect. Sometimes you can reach a person through this kind of working, but this is too strong. He gibbers and howls and Asmoleda's shrieking only adds to the tumult as she struggles to get out of William's arms, as desperate to help as most people with no real combat training.
Daniel catches another blow with the same arm, and the pain isn't any less for his having orchestrated it himself, but the light spray of blood hits Ghost Rat right across the mouth and something flickers in his eyes. In a moment he's yards away, hidden in the tall grass, only rustling and fierce, pained noises letting them know where he is, writhing and kicking up clods of earth as he battles himself just as hard as he's ever fought anyone else.
The witch gets a hand free of Byron's grasp to make a hard, clawing gesture, and Ghost Rat screams, the sound disconcertingly bubbly, as though there's blood in his mouth. "Wicked, wicked harlot!" Asmoleda screams, her face glazed with tears. She snatches off one boot and hurls it straight and true, the wooden heel striking the witch's skull and giving Byron the instant he needs to snap her neck, slowly stepping back. His hands are steady, and so are his eyes
It'll be hard for any of them to lose any sleep over her when Ghost Rat is still writhing in agony. Daniel runs to him and drops to his knees beside him, cradling his head and calling for William and Byron. William consigns a shaking Asmoleda to Laurie's care and they go to Daniel.
"Your mothers." He croaks. "Did they love you?"
"Mine took a beating trying to keep me from getting clipped."
"Mine hid me when I was working with the Iron Moth."
He shows them how and where to anoint Ghost Rat, covering him in little red marks, the first spray drying on his mouth. While they're thus occupied, Daniel buries his face in amongst the grass roots, his magic hurting him a little as it stretches out, reaching for anything even vaguely like itself. He doesn't usually use it for this kind of thing, and the buffeting of spirits against his consciousness is always something of a shock. The gleam of a shaman in the distance is so bright it burns. It feels familiar, but more than that, competent and strong.
He lurches back toward the material plane, and lands in his body with a horrible smack, scrabbling onto his knees to vomit, reminding himself to fucking work on his scrying. "Oh god." He muttered. "How long was I out? Is Ghost Rat--"
"Sleeping." William says from close beside him. "Not easy, but sleeping." Looking up, Daniel can see that it's been an hour. "You all right?"
He nods. "We need to keep going north." He groans, absently scrubbing dirt from his face. "I think... I think we have a friend there, but I'm not sure whether or not it's anyone we've met. If you know what I mean. God, I'm tired."
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captcha is thinking of Sally: Devoted polak.
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Second the love for how everyone had their own system of magic.
The thing I was thinking though, earlier, before Rory was bewitched but after he noticed Asmoleda watching him after the incident, was well, the folklores about men catching animal spirits or even minor goddesses bathing, and in stealing their robe, or coat, in the case of the one about the seals/daughters of the sea who bathe nude in human form, he wins/own them in marriage.
...and I also remember, back in elementary school, when I asked a classmate of mine, a beautiful girl with golden hair, why she started covering it up, and she told me she's old enough now that only her husband is suppose to see it.
So, see = possess.
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On the evening of the third day, Daniel is kneeling beside the travois and pouring a noxious tea made of fever grass down Ghost Rat's throat when lucidity flickers into his eyes. He finishes the cup dutifully, and then very politely and calmly asks for Daniel to kill him.
"We're most of the way there, Ghost Rat. Don't start this shit now."
"Burdensome. Sick. Unclean." He coughs, and makes a tiny, restrained sound of agony.
"Goddammit, just stop it." Daniel whispers fiercely, letting the cup drop to stroke Ghost Rat's bright hair. "You're not going to die." He laughs weakly. "Not after even Asmoleda helped save your life."
"Don't feel saved."
"We're working on it." Daniel says, and presses a clumsy, tender kiss to Ghost Rat's forehead. "We're working on it."
"Always so kind." He mutters, and drifts into merciful unconsciousness. Daniel wishes he could do the same, feeling unreal. He probably hasn't slept much more than two hours at a stretch in days, and reality is starting to wobble. He picks up the cup and climbs back into the saddle, because there are miles to go and he can sleep when he's dead.
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