☩In high vengeance there is noble scorn☩

[magicalskeptic]

 Morgana is positively seething by the time she finds herself in the agora. Whether the anger is simply delayed as she's been the necessary nursemaid for the better part of a fortnight, or it's been slowly percolating the whole time, she would be unable to clarify. She's been purposefully keeping the object of her anger oblivious to what's happened

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[a_pretty_fire]

"Because they're are frightened."

At first, her voice seemed to appear from nowhere at all. A moment later, the shadows unfolded and allowed her to step into the agora and greet Morgana. She could smell the anger in her. The potential of it. It was as intoxicating as it was unexpected.

"They don't see that revenge is a sweeter medicine."

But Drusilla did. She wasn't a patient teacher, but she was persistent.

[magicalskeptic]

She turns to Drusilla, oddly grateful for someone who might understand. "This message this belief that forgiveness can right things, or allow someone to recover from an injury, is foolish." Morgana's nursed unforgivable injuries for most of her life.

"As if things can be erased by a few words of apology, an act of contrition, and then the responsibility falls to the one wronged to forgive. Why should anyone feel they have the right to ask such a thing of someone so wronged."

Yes, Morgana is in a right temper.

[a_pretty_fire]

"Oh, yes," crooned Drusilla, feeding the flames of Morgana's fire with soft words and secret venom, "Words can't knit together broken bones or sooth bloody wounds, can it? They can't bring back the dead."

(She should know. How many times had she cried for little Anne or her mother and father, praying that the Lord would rescue them from the Beast and bring them back to her? In the end, the Beast had saved her in his own way.)

[magicalskeptic]

"They are ineffective salves," Morgana agrees. "As if their actions are so easily negated."

Morgana looks at Drusilla, and it is rare for the Morgana everyone tells her about to be seen in her, the one perfectly capable of all the deeds that would usually horrify her, but this is one of those occasions. Before Drusilla's arrival, she came close to killing Mordred. She'd certainly thought about it, and the dagger is still wet from the wound she did give him.

"We should be allowed to ask for more."

[a_pretty_fire]

Drusilla could smell that. The slick sweetness of the blood on the dagger. Her tongue - a tongue which could be clever as well as sharp and wicked - slipped out to lick her ruby red lips. She could almost taste it.

"What did he do?" she asked, taking a step closer. Closer to the blood and closer to flames. "We don't ask. We take."

[magicalskeptic]

"He tried to kill a friend of mine." The frustration not only at Mordred, but at Sagramore spills out. "And my friend thinks he deserved what happened to him. As if any man deserves to have his innards ripped out by someone he loves. That is not what you do for someone you love."

"No, you protect them, even if they won't protect themselves. Make sure others know what will happen if they try to harm them."

[a_pretty_fire]

It was torrent of violence and viciousness, washing over Drusilla like a wave as she took the other woman's hand lightly in her own. What a foolish boy! A friend like Morgana wasn't to be wasted or scorned. She was perfection. The black and the white, with eyes that blazed ever so deliciously.

"You could kill for them."

For the first time, Drusilla realised - delighted and surprised at the same time - that Morgana could. Morgana would.

[magicalskeptic]

"Of course I could." And has but this is the first time she's set out with the express purpose of doing so. Morgana hadn't decided her course of action, until the very last second. It was Mordred's only warning.

"He knows that now."

[a_pretty_fire]

Drusilla had seen that in her - that potential - in the same way the Angelus had seen it in a girl that could have been a saint. But drawing it out was a different matter entirely. The world had to move at it's own pace. Morgana had to discover the delights of bloodshed and the clarity of revenge on her own.

(She could nudge her in the right direction, but that was all. It came down to Morgana herself in the end.)

"What did you do to him?"

[magicalskeptic]

Morgana looks at the knife. Only the tip of is is wet, as soon as she'd felt it cut through his shirt and pierce his skin, she pulled back.

"I made him aware of what he had done. He will not forget either; he will scar."

And for some reason, all Morgana can do is feel empty. It either was too much, or not enough, and she's not entirely certain which.

[a_pretty_fire]

And Drusilla, because she could, reached out to run her finger across the edge of the blade. It drew blood, just a little, and she raised her hand to her mouth to make sure that she didn't waste a single drop. She wanted to see what Morgana said.

"So will you," she noted. What had happened was already written on every part of her face.

[magicalskeptic]

Looking at the blade, and then back to her companion, Morgana face falls a little.

"I will. I do not think there is any hope not to be scarred."

[a_pretty_fire]

"Hush, hush," said Drusilla. She didn't want that. If the wind changed, her expression might just stick like that. Which would be a terrible waste. She stroked Morgana's arm. Up and down, up and down, over bright skin and cold bone and beating blood. "It's a good change. You did as you should. Like a warrior, my sweet. A true warrior."

[magicalskeptic]

"A true warrior would have killed him."

Her father would have. Arthur would, in defense of a friend, even Uther, he could, but no, Morgana left him standing, and only bleeding.

[a_pretty_fire]

"Why?" asked Drusilla, with a quizzical tilt of her head. "Then they'd just be murderers."

Not that there was anything wrong with that. But a warrior wasn't a murderer and neither was a vampire. Daddy had taught her something of the killer's art.

[magicalskeptic]

"Then he could not hurt my friend again. I fear he will continue to do so." The problem is, Morgana could not think of a better way to deal with it and has probably turned to the worst possible person for advice.