Stirring the pot
“What is this impertinence?!”
Had silence not already fallen in the ballroom, Abbadon’s snarl would have brought a quick end to whatever merriment had been in progress. As it was, every demon and spirit currently in the softly glittering room had fallen into startled and bristling silence the moment the four harbingers had stepped through the decorated archway and into their midst. Their armor was made in varying shades of gunmetal and steel and fitted so perfectly to their gangling forms it was hard to tell metal from skin for it made no sound when they moved, their eyes like smoke captured in a glass as they peered out across the hundred or so beings that recoiled from them en mass. They were black and long and strange and entirely unwelcome, the five generals stepping forward as one to draw a clear line across the granite dance floor separating them from the rest of the partygoers.
“How dare-“
Abbadon stopped short when Ur lay a calloused palm against his arm, giving his blond head a single sharp shake before turning his gaze to Morgan. As the most senior of them and the organizer of the event, it fell to him to question the intruders, Abbadon glowering but acquiescing. The dark skinned watcher nodded in acknowledgement though he doesn’t turn his gaze from the four creatures that remained impassive and motionless, even more imposing in their absolute stillness than they had been upon entering. They were such long things, none under seven feet in height though their legs and arms seemed to stretch into forever. They were sexless, as far as Morgan had ever known but he would be the first to admit he knew precious little about them, and what he did know was only out of necessity.
He surveyed the quartet now and they all seemed to have been formed in the same exact mold, the only difference being in their heights and the lengths of their horns.
“What business have you here?” he finally asks broadly, unable to determine who of them was the leader.
// We were invited // came four replies in perfect harmony and if not for the fact that the voices had whispered directly into his mind, Morgan might have found it beautiful.
From the affronted and patently frightened murmur that washed across the crowd which had gathered behind them as well as the stiffening of spines to his left, it was clear all gathered had heard the voice, the invasiveness of the action (and the clear ease with which they had all just been violated), setting even Morgan’s blood to boiling, crimson eyes crackling with barely contained fury.
“Invited? By who?”
“Me.”
The harbingers shifted then, the movement very much like parting curtains as they stepped aside to allow Cressida passed, heads bowing ever so slightly in deference - an action that set Morgan’s eyes to narrowing even further.
“Cressida, you go too far.” Thanatos growled, knuckles cracking as his fists clenched of their own accord and the tension in the air skyrocketing until it was a nearly visible miasma in the space between the line of generals and Cressida and his shadows.
“Is it so surprising that a monster would invite monsters to a gathering he had no wish to attend?” Oroboros cut in softly, his laughter like a single wind chime on a hot summer day, diffusing the growing hostility as quickly as it had risen. “They would never have set foot on so much as the stairway if our lord did not wish it. At the very lease, he does not disapprove of them. Leave him.”
And with an eloquent turn, the dark haired general cast his vote and returned to his adorers, though Cressida did not for a moment doubt the sun eater was figuring out when and how he would take this slight out of his hide even as he rejoined the party. Of all of them, Oroboros was the most dangerous to him; he played the long game with patience, cunning, and a heartlessness that Cressida could only aspire too.
Ur moved to do the same, the hand which had laid lightly across Abbadon’s arm becoming a vice as he all but dragged the still growling man behind him, leaving only Morgan and Thanatos to hold the line. It was clear who the victor of this standoff was however, conversations slowly beginning again as the musicians playing a handful of tentative notes in the hopes of alleviating the last of the tension.
“Do not think this is the end.” Thanatos hissed before turning as well, Cressida’s gaze turning slowly to Morgan when the elder demon made no movements to turn himself.
The watcher, however, was doing just that, his gaze far more considering and wary than it had ever been, as if he was no longer quite sure what to make of the youngest general; as if, for the first time, he considered Cressida a legitimate threat. The golden eyed demon offered him a feral smile in return, Morgan careful to keep his dark face empty as he only inclined his head to the still silent harbingers and turned back to the party himself.
Not that anyone could keep their eyes from Cressida and the spectacle he had become for long.
They five had not moved far from the door but there was a very large and obvious radius of avoidance - not that they seemed to mind, Morgan’s eyes drawn back again and again despite himself. The harbingers circled Cressida like sharks, slowly and with all the languid grace of predators that knew no equals. They towered above him easily by feet and yet he seemed entirely at ease in their presence, speaking softly, laughing, and seemingly oblivious of the stares and the whispers they were causing. Yet, every now and then his eyes would slide beyond the black curve of a shoulder or the crook of a raised arm to focus directly on someone - and once or twice to meet Morgan’s gaze. The harbingers themselves never stopped moving, though every now and again one would lean in and touch him - lips to the tip of a horn, fingertips sliding across the back of his hand - small things that were less fawning and more...possessive.
It was all quite unsettling.
“You seem quite put out Morgan.”
The demon started, wide eyed in alarm as he all but spun about to find Benedict standing beside him, wine flute in hand and a faint smile on his lips.
“How long have they been here?”
“Twenty minutes now.”
“Hmm.”
“My apologies, I-“
“I will deal with him myself. Enjoy your party, it’s come together quite nicely. You do me proud Morgan.”
And as suddenly as he had been beside him, Benedict was beside Cressida. The harbingers neither paused or acknowledge the king outside of a smoothly taken step outwards to increase the radius of their circle to accommodate the extra body. By now, even those pretending not to take notice of the happenings in that particular corner had joined the ones opening gawking, gleeful at what they assumed would quickly becoming a bloodletting.
Until Cressida let out a soft bark of laughter, and turned to face the crypt king properly, right hand lifting now to press lightly to Benedict’s left and as one, the pair began to circle one another in the opposite direction of the harbingers. It was a short dance, three circuits only, but there was a battle waged in every step, an antagonism and an electricity that crackled audibly over their perfectly matched strides. Cressida was the first to pull away when they completed the third round, his smile mirthless as he bowed low in something that was somewhere between defeat and acceptance, the harbingers following suit before three broke off, disappearing into darkness before they’d even reached the archway. Benedict snorted, turning to the single remaining one which cocked its head - and then grinned widely, its laughter a soul chilling chuff as it reached out and laid fingers to Benedict’s cheek if only because its palm would have covered the entire side of his face. And then it too departed, Cressida straightening with a resigned sigh and falling into step just behind the king.
It was a spot he did not leave for the rest of the long night, a simmering and silent shadow.
Morgan made a point to meet the gazes of the other five generals over the course of the night, and what he saw in their eyes reflected the confusion in his own. They would have much to talk about in the coming days.
Had silence not already fallen in the ballroom, Abbadon’s snarl would have brought a quick end to whatever merriment had been in progress. As it was, every demon and spirit currently in the softly glittering room had fallen into startled and bristling silence the moment the four harbingers had stepped through the decorated archway and into their midst. Their armor was made in varying shades of gunmetal and steel and fitted so perfectly to their gangling forms it was hard to tell metal from skin for it made no sound when they moved, their eyes like smoke captured in a glass as they peered out across the hundred or so beings that recoiled from them en mass. They were black and long and strange and entirely unwelcome, the five generals stepping forward as one to draw a clear line across the granite dance floor separating them from the rest of the partygoers.
“How dare-“
Abbadon stopped short when Ur lay a calloused palm against his arm, giving his blond head a single sharp shake before turning his gaze to Morgan. As the most senior of them and the organizer of the event, it fell to him to question the intruders, Abbadon glowering but acquiescing. The dark skinned watcher nodded in acknowledgement though he doesn’t turn his gaze from the four creatures that remained impassive and motionless, even more imposing in their absolute stillness than they had been upon entering. They were such long things, none under seven feet in height though their legs and arms seemed to stretch into forever. They were sexless, as far as Morgan had ever known but he would be the first to admit he knew precious little about them, and what he did know was only out of necessity.
He surveyed the quartet now and they all seemed to have been formed in the same exact mold, the only difference being in their heights and the lengths of their horns.
“What business have you here?” he finally asks broadly, unable to determine who of them was the leader.
// We were invited // came four replies in perfect harmony and if not for the fact that the voices had whispered directly into his mind, Morgan might have found it beautiful.
From the affronted and patently frightened murmur that washed across the crowd which had gathered behind them as well as the stiffening of spines to his left, it was clear all gathered had heard the voice, the invasiveness of the action (and the clear ease with which they had all just been violated), setting even Morgan’s blood to boiling, crimson eyes crackling with barely contained fury.
“Invited? By who?”
“Me.”
The harbingers shifted then, the movement very much like parting curtains as they stepped aside to allow Cressida passed, heads bowing ever so slightly in deference - an action that set Morgan’s eyes to narrowing even further.
“Cressida, you go too far.” Thanatos growled, knuckles cracking as his fists clenched of their own accord and the tension in the air skyrocketing until it was a nearly visible miasma in the space between the line of generals and Cressida and his shadows.
“Is it so surprising that a monster would invite monsters to a gathering he had no wish to attend?” Oroboros cut in softly, his laughter like a single wind chime on a hot summer day, diffusing the growing hostility as quickly as it had risen. “They would never have set foot on so much as the stairway if our lord did not wish it. At the very lease, he does not disapprove of them. Leave him.”
And with an eloquent turn, the dark haired general cast his vote and returned to his adorers, though Cressida did not for a moment doubt the sun eater was figuring out when and how he would take this slight out of his hide even as he rejoined the party. Of all of them, Oroboros was the most dangerous to him; he played the long game with patience, cunning, and a heartlessness that Cressida could only aspire too.
Ur moved to do the same, the hand which had laid lightly across Abbadon’s arm becoming a vice as he all but dragged the still growling man behind him, leaving only Morgan and Thanatos to hold the line. It was clear who the victor of this standoff was however, conversations slowly beginning again as the musicians playing a handful of tentative notes in the hopes of alleviating the last of the tension.
“Do not think this is the end.” Thanatos hissed before turning as well, Cressida’s gaze turning slowly to Morgan when the elder demon made no movements to turn himself.
The watcher, however, was doing just that, his gaze far more considering and wary than it had ever been, as if he was no longer quite sure what to make of the youngest general; as if, for the first time, he considered Cressida a legitimate threat. The golden eyed demon offered him a feral smile in return, Morgan careful to keep his dark face empty as he only inclined his head to the still silent harbingers and turned back to the party himself.
Not that anyone could keep their eyes from Cressida and the spectacle he had become for long.
They five had not moved far from the door but there was a very large and obvious radius of avoidance - not that they seemed to mind, Morgan’s eyes drawn back again and again despite himself. The harbingers circled Cressida like sharks, slowly and with all the languid grace of predators that knew no equals. They towered above him easily by feet and yet he seemed entirely at ease in their presence, speaking softly, laughing, and seemingly oblivious of the stares and the whispers they were causing. Yet, every now and then his eyes would slide beyond the black curve of a shoulder or the crook of a raised arm to focus directly on someone - and once or twice to meet Morgan’s gaze. The harbingers themselves never stopped moving, though every now and again one would lean in and touch him - lips to the tip of a horn, fingertips sliding across the back of his hand - small things that were less fawning and more...possessive.
It was all quite unsettling.
“You seem quite put out Morgan.”
The demon started, wide eyed in alarm as he all but spun about to find Benedict standing beside him, wine flute in hand and a faint smile on his lips.
“How long have they been here?”
“Twenty minutes now.”
“Hmm.”
“My apologies, I-“
“I will deal with him myself. Enjoy your party, it’s come together quite nicely. You do me proud Morgan.”
And as suddenly as he had been beside him, Benedict was beside Cressida. The harbingers neither paused or acknowledge the king outside of a smoothly taken step outwards to increase the radius of their circle to accommodate the extra body. By now, even those pretending not to take notice of the happenings in that particular corner had joined the ones opening gawking, gleeful at what they assumed would quickly becoming a bloodletting.
Until Cressida let out a soft bark of laughter, and turned to face the crypt king properly, right hand lifting now to press lightly to Benedict’s left and as one, the pair began to circle one another in the opposite direction of the harbingers. It was a short dance, three circuits only, but there was a battle waged in every step, an antagonism and an electricity that crackled audibly over their perfectly matched strides. Cressida was the first to pull away when they completed the third round, his smile mirthless as he bowed low in something that was somewhere between defeat and acceptance, the harbingers following suit before three broke off, disappearing into darkness before they’d even reached the archway. Benedict snorted, turning to the single remaining one which cocked its head - and then grinned widely, its laughter a soul chilling chuff as it reached out and laid fingers to Benedict’s cheek if only because its palm would have covered the entire side of his face. And then it too departed, Cressida straightening with a resigned sigh and falling into step just behind the king.
It was a spot he did not leave for the rest of the long night, a simmering and silent shadow.
Morgan made a point to meet the gazes of the other five generals over the course of the night, and what he saw in their eyes reflected the confusion in his own. They would have much to talk about in the coming days.