Nadia Reichenov (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
coldheritage) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
knightsoflegend2015-04-05 02:10 pm
coldheritage) wrote in knightsoflegend2015-04-05 02:10 pm
Entry tags:
CHAPTER FOUR ♔ does it run in your blood to betray the ones you love
WHO || Failboat, Rafael, Isabella, Nadia [Closed]
WHAT || After an exciting Grammy night, the Knights meet up with Nadia to hear what she has to say
WHERE || Staples Center, LA --> Warehouse
WHEN || Feb 8th, 2015 [back dated]
HOW || Actionspam
[ The Knights' mission to stop the signal and prevent Draken's cult from spreading whatever subliminal message was lurking beneath Keijen Blade's performance was a success. It didn't come without its bumps in the road, however: Alexander Anderson showed up, and the Knights ran afoul of the Mind Master. Buffy nearly died fighting Anderson, but in the end, he was defeated, beheaded, and hopefully put to death forever. Finnick, though, found himself thrust into a mental illusion that convinced him he might still be in the Hunger Games, and left him uncertain about whether any of his life here was real.
Another surprise came in the form of an announcement by Nadia Reichenov, an artist working with Crombe and company, that she was changing her band name and taking things in a 'new direction'. This direction was perhaps revealed when after her performance, she approached the Knights in Rafael's dressing room - and handed them the necklace that connects her to the Nightmare God Malaak'a, saying she was willing to tell them everything. ]
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Yeah, just the one's fine. [ And she smiles genially. ]
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no pockets or purse to put it in because she's still in her formal dress and her phone/purse are upstairs in the Failboat suite. Which also makes her realize she didn't bother to grab clothes to change into, but that's okay. Formal dresses are super comfortable to sleep in obviously.
So she just tucks it in her bra, grabs the food, and heads off with him to track down the room. She's quiet for a moment, as if searching for a way to pick the conversation back up, or deciding if she should. Instead, she opts for catch-up. ]
I met somebody else who remembered me. Pre-Veil. There was this hunter bar in Chicago.
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Was he— [ She's going to hang Burt with his necktie. For now, she laughs. ] No. [ The smile lingers because there's something vaguely entertaining yet about the implicit jealousy there. ] Big no. [ It's extra hilarious given that Sam was picking up his parallel universe self's antichrist girlfriend while they were there, as she now knows. ] That was Sam. He's a friend. [ A beat later, squinting at him, she adds, ] … Did you really think … ?
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No. No, we were there to answer some questions he had about his brother and the angels, but ... It turned out, the hunter bar we went looking for is run by someone who used to know me. His name's Robin. It was ... [ The squinty, thoughtful look is hard to read as she settles on a word. ] Enlightening.
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[ She seems to notice this is a hilarious turn of events given his earlier jealousy, but she's not going to lie ok. ]
He said that we used to date.
[ How's fitting that card key into the slot working out for you with that bomb dropped, Raf? ]
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swipes the card through with one sudden violent snap of the wrist, almost too fast, the light turning green with a soft beep. ] You did. [ his voice is hilariously even as he says that, turning his head slowly to look at her with searching eyes ]
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[ Nonchalance colors her tone. She's doing a passable job of pretending that she isn't 100% keyed into Mr. Turned Up to 11 over here losing all sense of chill. Considering he was engaged until like an hour ago tho she doesn't even feel bad about taking her time with the explanation. ]
But I don't remember anything before the Veil short of ugly dreams and some weird, gut feelings. For all I know, he could just be the weird fixated neighbor guy and saw this as his big chance. [ She doesn't sound at all concerned that it's the case, though. ] But I doubt it. I got the sense I could trust him; his mom was like me. A Slayer. It was nice, talking to someone who actually knew the first thing about what I can do, where I come from.
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Yeah, I mean, I spent so long when I first came here with—with no idea who I was, or where I came from, or how I could do what I do. But now there's Faith, and Robin, and … [ She looks over at him in the doorway. Her expression softens, realizing that playful jealousy has turned to something more somber, and she steps closer to him, raising her hands to settle on his upper arms. ] It's not like that.
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a 2
so his eyebrows draw up towards each other, pained hope in his eyes for a moment as she changes tone and steps close to him. for a second, he's just so transparent, and he studies her face intently as he finds himself saying: ] It is not? [ HIS PATHETIC HOPE, LET ME SHOW IT TO YOU ]
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[ One hand lifts to touch the side of his face, gentle but steady. Her head tilts as she examines his expression, weighing her words before she explains. ]
Robin can only tell me about my history. Who I was, when he knew me. The person that I am here is different, and I'm the only person who gets to decide who that is. [ She draws a steadying breath, steeling herself to make a vulnerable admission all her own to ease the difficulty with which he seems bare himself before her. ]
Rafael, I was with Robin and Sam in Chicago when I found out that Des couldn't reach you. [ Laughter comes, a light, airy sound that seems alleviated of all the darkness that she'd been carrying while she worried over him these past months. ] When he first told me, everything was worst case scenario—doppelgängers and domination. I'm sure Sam thought I was out of my mind, but he was still ready to fly back to London with me that day to regroup with Des and find a way to get to you.
They're my friends. And they mean the world to me, but not like you do.
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Don't be.
[ Her smile drops slightly, but she remains soft and insistent. ]
Rafael, if I had listened to my gut, if I had ignored what I was seeing and listened to what my heart was telling me, then maybe— [ She could have stopped what happened to him, or prevented Nadia from ever having the opening. Drawing her hand back, she turns away, guilt welling up (will save c-c-crit fail). Her head hangs. ]
I wasn't ready. After we took Andres, I couldn't face what I'd done; I was afraid that when I talked to you about it, it would all come out wrong, or — or you wouldn't understand, or I'd say the wrong thing and we … [ She draws her hand to her chest like she's trying to pull at the ache there. ] I killed people, Rafael. Butchered them— they were in pieces. And it almost killed me. I didn't want you to see that. And instead … [ Instead, it afforded the bad guys the chance to hurt him. A self-fulfilling prophecy of distance splitting them apart because she feared her own darkness might. ]
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Where to begin? She weaves her fingers with his; for all that being apart from him made her feel unable to face it, being near him would have to be her strength now. Holding onto the assurance of his steady presence beside her, she finds it in herself to explain. ]
We went in at night. Took down their communications and snuck in through the tunnels beneath the castle that Mark used to escape. At first, it was just monsters. Piece of cake. But when we got to where he was holding Kat, they were just ordinary guards. Myri teleported us up. [ Welcome to PTSD-ville as she relives this moment. Her voice grows uneven, a slight tremor starting in her hands, stopped only by the steadiness of his hand. ] It was a blood bath. By that point, knowing what he'd done to her … [ Bile rises up in the back of her throat. ] We came in swinging, and they wouldn't back down.
I told the others to keep going, to chase Sarandis before he got away while I took down the rest of the guards. And I just … [ Her eyes darken, somewhat hollow and lost. ] I lost it. I cut them into pieces. There was so much blood, and I — [ She presses her eyes closed, caught up in the memory and trying to push it back all at once. ] I want to say that it was horrible. That I only did what I had to do, and I drew that line. Stopped when they stopped. But it wouldn't be true. While I was fighting, the things I was doing— It felt good.
[ That's the worst of it. A heavy pause follows, cracking her voice. Her mouth feels dry, parched by the raw honesty. She can't look at him anymore, studying her nail beds instead. She collects herself, hiding behind calm enumeration of the events that followed. Burying justifications in it. ]
When they were all dead, I froze. I couldn't move. It was like waking up, seeing what I'd done to them. I didn't want to believe it. But then we found Elena, and — and caught up with Sarandis, and everything was happening so fast. I tried to talk the rest of the guards down, get them to surrender, but I just couldn't stop thinking about what I did. They were people, following orders.
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when she finishes, he looks down, closing his eyes tightly for a moment, not saying anything.
then he releases her hand, putting his arm instead around her shoulder and pulling her nearer to his side. rather than offer any specific words of consolation or encouragement, he simply says in a voice warm with affection and empathy, rich with assurance that he isn't going to push her away, isn't horrified by anything she's just admitted: ] Come here.
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His arms wrap around her before she quite realizes what he's doing, and for a singular, heart-rending moment, she truly does believe he pulls his hand back to draw away from her. But then she's pressed warmly against his side, wrapped up in him, and Buffy allows herself to melt into his embrace. It's difficult, requiring conscious effort to open up and accept the comfort that she doesn't believe she deserves.
Burying her face in his chest, she turns into him, reaching over to slip one arm around his middle. She takes his silence as an invitation to further explain—her horror, her choice to ice him out, and what kept her going. ]
I always felt like I was a monster because of what I can do. After the battle was over, I was sure that what I did to those people proved it. I pulled away from everyone, afraid that they'd see it the same, afraid to tell them why it was so hard for me to put in the past. They tried to help, but all they could say was how awful it must have been; they didn't see that some twisted part of me in that moment was … It felt right. And that's what ate away at me, that's what I couldn't explain.
After the things we talked about at the castle, before I left, I just … I didn't know how to make you understand why it was ripping me apart, or how to explain what I was feeling without worrying if you'd think that's how I saw you too. It felt like all the light you saw in me was gone. So I convinced myself not to say anything until I could get past it, until I could find a way to live with it on my own.
[ Horrible guilt wells in her voice at that, like she knows now that she made the wrong choice. Her fear of provoking the wrong reaction had been what alienated them from one another in the end. She draws slightly back to look up at him, an apology written all over her misty-eyed expression. ]
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his fingers comb soothingly through her hair as she speaks, while he watches her with a pained but understanding expression, and it's when she's done that he curves his other arm around her, pulling her with him down to lay against the pillows, wrapped together, where he buries a single kiss in her hair on the crown of her head. ] It seems, carina, that we are both a great danger to ourselves, when left with only the company of our thoughts. The things we manage to convince ourselves of. [ he lays his cheek against her hair, murmurs: ] One thing I can assure you now - that you will never have to do this on your own. Capisci?
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But he's here now. It doesn't have to be that way. So she settles in to look up at him, searching his face and trying to convince herself to take the acceptance she finds there, even if she still doesn't believe she deserves it. There are a million reasons to believe she's nothing but a monster, but even hearing about it, Rafael doesn't flinch away. The opposite, in fact, he pulls her closer. She doesn't want to deny herself that, even if every part of her screams that it's impossible.
In fact.
For one more lingering moment of silence, she studies him. She touches one hand lightly to his jaw, gratitude in her eyes, but that's what gives way for the tears to fall. She crumbles, a choking sound in the back of her throat. Not the first time she's cried this night, but these have been a long time coming. This is the defeat that she'd been trying to stave off more than any. After Andres, she did feel alone, even surrounded by friends who loved her. If she's not now, then— ]
I don't know what's wrong with me. Every time I fight, I feel like I'm losing it, sinking deeper into the dark, and I can't scream, or find help, or get out on my own. [ The tears make her chest heave and her shoulders shake, and she enfolds herself in his arms more insistently, clinging onto him. ] What if Anderson was right? What if all I am is a monster?
[ Sam convinced her to see herself as more than that—not on Andres, when he'd done his part to help when she didn't believe she deserved it or even know what she needed, but in Chicago. If Sam had gone through what she did, believed he had to fight against his nature to not be something dark and monstrous, and if she still saw the good in him and hoped that he would keep that light, how could she choose not to recognize the good in herself?
But if there is good in her, despite what she is, it wasn't winning tonight. Anderson, maybe, forced her hand—if not tonight, then another time, he wouldn't have stopped until he was dead or Rafael was, and she simply couldn't accept that. But the people who followed them? Dominated, probably. Helpless to the Mind Master and Blade, just as the rest of them were. ]
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Buffy... [ the way he murmurs her name is every bit as much a caress. ] I cannot claim to understand what it is like to possess the abilities you have... And I do not know what this Robin told you of them, or where they came from. Of what they make you.
[ his palm strokes back her hair and settles against her cheek, drawing her attention to the levity in his gaze ] But I do not need to.
I see you. Even these parts of you that you were so hesitant to share with me, that you think make you something other than human.
[ his lips part, and his next words hover there for a moment, before he resolves himself to say them, selecting each one carefully, the weight of admission hanging off them. ] I do not possess your powers - or your curses, as you see them, of nature - and yet I know what you speak of. Know it, because I have felt it, tasted that same ... exhilaration more than I would ever care to admit. Jade and Isabella both had cautioned me against the cold killer within, but they did not understand that he was born of necessity. That if I did not force myself to shut things off, to feel nothing, then--
[ his hand stills, fingers clutching together into a fist that lies atop her skin ] There have been times when shedding blood, taking a life of those I had decided were unrighteous in some way, even flaying the flesh of an already dead evil man to mark him as such awakened some dark chorus in every fiber of my heart. Felt good, Buffy. Threatened to take over who I was, who I wanted to be.
[ he drags his gaze back to hers, an anxious pain there at speaking the words aloud to her, the vulnerability they've both exposed themselves to in doing so a live wire thrumming in the air ] It was you who convinced me that I was not a monster, once. That the light in me outweighed the dark, even when this ... part of me could be attributed to no one but me. To my own choices. To no dark secret in my blood, to no powers granted to me on high. To nothing but my own faults.
If such a man is not a monster in your eyes, if he can be well and truly good, then how much better is the woman who did not nurture these feelings by choice, was born to them somehow, and yet fights so hard against them when they rear their head?
You and I both know that not every battle can be won. But what is important is that you do not stop fighting the war. That you do not let this side of you claim victory for knocking you down once. Even twice.
Your better self will win, carina. I know this, because I have seen her strength so many times. Because she has lent some of it to me when I had none left of my own.
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But that's not to say his words aren't still a balm of sorts, easing her suffering, staying the hand she raises to whip herself. Lost in his eyes, she allows the words to wash over her, a cool relief taking her in wave on wave. The tears dry on her face, but her eyes still shine with timorous vulnerability.
The depth of his understanding shakes her to her core and shines a light into the darkest parts of herself that she would never give words to, proving the truth of his words by their mere existence. The ugliness that she tries to scrub out of her own heart is a match set for his.
Though her expression remains dolorous, she stills, steadier for the way the warmth of his faith swells in her chest and the way light and hope break through the haunted darkness in her eyes. It floors her, how he undermines every reason she'd feared to come to him after Andres in one fell swoop. The way she'd worried that his own attitudes might make him myopically incapable of understanding, or feared that he might internalize it as some food for his own self-loathing. If anything, it smoothes the rough edges of her frantic fear, allowing him to interpret the things she leaves unsaid.
She leans into him, foreheads pressed together, slowly shutting her eyes while she takes his remarks in. Gratitude dies on her lips; it feels too small in the face of all he's said and done for her. ]
I think I'm beginning to see why you retired.
[ Her wry tone tries to take the edge off, lessen the gravity of the barrel they're both staring down. If Des knows what Hell is like, there's every possibility they should start asking for vacation tips now. Sooner or later, this battle they're fighting is going to kill them, and when it does, it won't be pretty. For either of them.
(She belligerently avoids thinking, then, that he'd still be safely retired in Venice had he never met her.)
A part of her remains incredulous that she has him here like this, wonders if she even deserves it, or if that even matters when push comes to shove. Her eyes flash open, examining his face from only a few inches away. With only the heavy sounds of their breath to fill the silence that spans, his lips catch her gaze.
A bad decision waiting to be made, given every reason she came here with him instead of remaining in the suite the other Knights secured.
Her fingertips brush against the underneath of his jaw, curling forward as if to quietly draw him in. But she catches herself, breath short in her throat, green eyes darting upward to level on his dark gaze. ] Rafael, I — [ She drops her chin, taking a heavy moment to search for words, then steadies her hand against his chest. ] We should get some sleep. After a long night of almost dying, tomorrow seems like as good a time as any for more talking.
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