Icon of Coil: inner demons [kaj'sha]

inner demons [kaj'sha]

[wyrmpit]

deep in the pit (the darkness, the soothing darkness) hidden in his chambers (away from the others, never show weakness) curls the Galliard, blanket tucked around chilled (fevered) form, concentration narrowed on the skin drum surrounded (captured) by crossed legs, soft rhythms (bone rhythms) echoing off the walls (echoing in his mind)

distractions
(cravings)
he will be strong.....

"Should I call Ayydis to tend you?"

To the wracked mind, time and space are indefinite and vague. The words float to him as though from very far away, beyond his chills and fevers, beyond his maddening craving.

Just one shot. Just half. Just a single, damned, milliliter, a drop of it and he'll be fine...

When had the Alpha spoken, and how long had he been there? (Where?) There: at the door...no, no wait, just a shadow. There, beside him, supple and crosslegged in the darkness, visible only by the light creeping in under the crack of the door reflecting, however faintly, from his clothes and skin.

the rhythms continue (a smoke signal rising from the bale fire that burns within) moments, minutes, decades, before mismatched eyes open - they look not for his Alpha (he would know where he was without looking) gazing into the tone-filled darkness

"Is methadone in her bag of tricks?"

chuckled softly (pained) a chill driving down lean spine
will they spend time together blood does not shed?
would a drop hurt?
yes
his head shakes to send sweaty bangs latent dance across his forehead

"It was of her I wished to speak with you......"

"No," replies Kaj'sha, softly, "but the Touch may help the symptoms, though the addiction is yours to battle and break."

A slight pause, as he tilts his head to the side. "Oh?"

"I will not suffer others my sickness....."

whispered (she offered to pull the silver from his back, he did not ask, but he will not refuse) as the battle is his - cold turkey - the Galliard will be strong, he will over come this test from the Father, prove himself, fingers (itchy, twitching) coaxing a soft cadence from the flesh drum

"What are your plans for her, Kaj'sha......"

He thinks a moment before he replies, but he does, he is honest.

"I intend to draw her into the fold, tonight. She is a Crescent-Moon...we have none, and would benefit from her powers."

His lightless eyes are a steady, light weight on Asher's body, caught in the throes of withdrawal, caught in the pains of longing. It seemed the Father's test was one and the same for all, at the root: to abandon that which one craved most desperately.

"Your words lead me to believe you would suggest another path of action, Grra'ack."

"Do you truly believe she is ready?"

it is then those eyes (hazed, pained) lift to search the voids darker than even the shadows wrapping the room (the beg choked away, crave rattling the soft rhythms) holding what would frighten others to their core as if it were porceline
before casting back to the shadow sea he fills with drops of notes from each touch of his fingers

"I do not...... she still needs to learn. She makes mistakes."

"I gave her a task...a test...she performed swiftly and admirably. And thus far she has yet to fail before my eyes.

"But I would have your reasons and your concerns, my Galliard."

"What, exactly, did she tell you in her report on the boardwalk? And how she gleaned the information for you......"

while he could not hear it, he could see it, the gestures gave half away

"She told me of the one who is infatuated with her. That he is a spider...serving Weaver and Father Wyrm. The former does not bode well for him, but for the latter we will tolerate him for a time.

"You gleaned the information. Some. She received the rest straight from the spider's lips. Fear not, Asher," smiling, "I am not so foolish as to believe all that this Kang tells us."

softly, whispered (crooned)

"Did she tell you she walked alone the streets she did not know...... and we both remember what happened last she walked alone." a strange, idle, smile, what would have happened had he not found her and shown the way "We only so recently recieved her..... I would hate to lose her to further mistakes as we did Gur'thek.........."

so many layers in those words, how much of recent events seem to be repeating, carefully choosing the words (that hurt dry throat)

"She is premature. Allow her time to learn before trusting her at your back."

"The Dance cannot be undanced. The Spiral cannot be unwound. She is ours, Asher; the others cannot take her back. They would choke on their own jealousy and rend her to shreds if she tried. This I believe.

"But...

"You are more perceptive than I, and see more." If there is a second meaning in those words, it is unconscious; never would Kaj'sha admit, even to himself, that his eyes were not what the Wyrm promised: vision perfect. "And because your Cassandra to Gur'thek's Odysseus was true, I do trust you at my back.

"It is true, also, that her powers as Theurge do not yet exceed mine, and her use to this pack will come later. It is merely a precaution...I want her close, where I can see her, and where my word over her is final.

"You say she is premature; perhaps this is so. But who, Asher, will teach her what she must learn? Who will watch her when I cannot?"

He already knows the answer.

"She cannot be returned to them, but I see how she may benefit us as well, and would rather she not be killed..... "

unless (the whim strikes) it is by his hands
there is a smile, wry (he knows his Alpha well) and perhaps the next words are more a rececitation than an offer

"I will not be leaving the tunnels until the cravings themselves leave, Kaj'sha." there is no need to speak of the dangers involved therein (though how he hates to be backed into a corner with no escape) glancing up to his companion (packmate, alpha, brother, and how he wished more) "I will teach her our ways..... Kyrsha'wai'gas as well...... if you think I will be able to when you are elsewise occupied.

I will give Ayydis to you worthy of becoming the Spiral's Heart."

"There is none more able," he replies. The Galliard is, after all, the Lorekeeper. "But these few days, until you have defeated your own inner enemies, I will take the time to speak to her myself."

A brief frown, "Her and Kyrsha'wai'gas, whom I have seen far too little of."

a nod, accepting (he knew the truth in those) words, though the skull tilts (sweat rivulets of hair clinging to chilled and fevered skin)

"I have seen Kyrsha'wai'gas mostly at the apartment of Malcom's - but it seems she is moving. I know she spoke to a Gaian recently, in Camden, but seemed more determined after returning...... a paranoid redneck named Decker, but he did not follow her out of the Umbra." there is a shrug of tension filled shoulders "And there is another Spiral hanging around her.... but I do not know his name."

"She should not speak to the Gaians...at all. Especially if they do not strike her dead on sight. That is abnormal and it is dangerous. And they have an Athro... This other Spiral who does not come to us but sniffs after she who is ours, too - abnormal and troublesome."

The slim youth exhales, and the weight of his words seems to lift. He pulls his handkerchief from his pocket and gently daps sweat from his Beta's brow, though his own fingers never contact skin. "Nevermind that, Asher. You've your own battle to fight. I will see to this personally."

He presses his handkerchief, pure white, into the fallen Child's hand and moves to rise.

there's a soft sound that roils in his throat, leaning into the cool (wamrth) of the hankercheif, lips pulling back into a smile (thank you)

"Vos is a useful tool for you, Kaj'sha..." murmured, though a thought strikes "Wait."

"Vos?" Pausing. Considering. "Useful, but dangerous, and doubtlessly with his own agenda." A lean hand creeps up, taps against his temple. "I do not want him sneaking about here too much, and I see what he does to the others."

Mindfucking. Literally. It would probably drive Kaj'sha into fits of unrelenting madness.

"Wait?"

once again the wry smile returns (he would not be here now if Vos was not dangerous, there is no doubt the precautions needed around the fomor) rising (achingly) to stand, digging deeply into the pocket of baggy jeans

"Strange..... he does not attempt that with me."

but it is shrugged away (another tension so desperate to cast off the mantle across tight muscle) hand retrieved from the depths of denim to rub something (clean it) on a portion of open shirt

the key to the outer lock of his chambers
the ultimate trust
he knows it will be worse before it is better
and there is no other hand he would place that key within

"Perhaps," with a ghost of a smile, "he prefers girls."

Then, the smile fades as he looks down on the key, blank for a moment before knowledge dawns.

Even so, he does not take the key for a moment. He watches Asher and then, suddenly and warninglessly shutting the door on his own particular madnesses, the youth reaches forward and wraps one hand behind the head of his Beta. Gently, he urges the Galliard to bend his head down; gently, he angles his own up.

Like an angel bestowing favor, the Philodox presses his lips (...like a brand...) to his Beta's fevered brow.

The contact lasts no more than a second, and after Kaj'sha will spit and rinse and scrub and shudder for half an hour in his own rooms, but for one instant the phobia is overcome; for one instant, there is a connection true.

Then he draws back and takes the key. "Be well, Grra'ack," he murmurs, fingers closing around the bit of scrap metal that was the line between freedom and captivity, open spaces and the worst sort of oubliette. "I will not use this unless I must."

Without another word, the fallen one turns and walks out, pulling the door softly shut behind.

the laughter is soft (he knows...he's tried) a small joy in the midst of the overwhelming pain, but it is replaced by the shock, surprise igniting within those bale-fire eyes

the reach so unexpected (dreamt of) the young Dancer nearly shies from it as if it were a strike

the tremble beneath the touch from more than the crave
(desire)
the smile warming
(lust)
the moan catching into soft whimper crawling across (dry) tongue
(begging)
the touch (brand) burning chilled flesh
(...... aching)
unable to stop the reach, fingers dragging lightly across clean (pure) fabric before balling into fist to restrain (prevent) indulging in more

"Thank you....... Kaj'sha."

so many layers
murmured to the closed (tight) door

Posted by asher at August 28, 2002 12:00 AM