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tampered2007-10-21 12:54 pm
kievduchess.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2007-10-21 12:54 pm
Log; Complete {Part 1/2}
When; Oct. 19th, late night
Rating; PG-13
Characters; Ion Fortuna {![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
imperialpride}, Radu Barvon {flammenschwert}, & Astaroth Aslan {kievduchess}
Summary; A trap set by Dietrich von Lohengrin to turn the words of Astaroth to worthless brings Radu and Ion out to talk, waiting for the Duchess to come upon them and attempt to seperate them, ending in Radu injuring her enough to activate her Thirst, making her a loose cannon in need of blood.
Log;
Ion arrived at Xanadu at the time he arranged with Radu, a part of him told him that what he was doing was incredibly foolish to meet with the man who had tried to kill him but that sensible part of himself was repressed by the part of him that still wanted to trust Radu. He couldn’t help but want to trust him, especially after Radu had pleaded in earnest about his need to talk with Ion.
“Where is he?”
The pale Methuselah looked about Xanadu in confusion. It was the right place, though Radu wasn’t there yet.
>>>
The decision had been easy, this time. So easy it left the Methuselah cold. And what was worse, he realised with a distinct void where regrets should have been, was that until this very moment, he had not paid Ion a single thought. It was Astaroth, Dietrich, that thing that he had once used to call Her Majesty - those people held his mind occupied, not the man who was his brother, partner, Tovarăş. He flicked the ash off his cigarette incidentally, closed his eyes for a second and clamped the filter between his teeth when he crossed the grass. Xanadu was beautiful, especially at night, but of course the Methuselah had no appreciation for beauty. There was no point in beauty, or in pride, or dignity. Not for him, especially.
When he made out Ion's white-blond hair almost truantly, he slowed his steps and at last stopped. It took him only a second to ban the coldness from his eyes and give a smile, the sharp malice and trace of spite he felt perfectly hidden.
"Ion... You really came."
>>>
Ion stopped as Radu came into sight, restraining himself from instinctively moving closer to him. He hadn’t seen Radu since he’d returned to the city and he was still having trouble accepting that Radu had betrayed him back in their world. The wound was still there, even if Radu claimed he was from before that time. And unlike his Tovarăş he wasn’t as skilled in schooling his features. Instead he looked unsure as he stood in the gardens.
“Yes, we did. What didst thou need to discuss with us?”
>>>
It should have touched him, but for some reason, it did not. He watched Ion, observed his gestures with the cold interest of a surgeon, and although he lacked the intelligence and experience to analyse things thoroughly, he was a traitor and this situation demanded nothing but his instinct. Believing that everything was well and that all his words were true was enough to leave him secure in his role. And just as genuine, his smile faded, and he looked down, with just faint enough a shame and sadness to avoid suspicion.
"I... Tovarăş, what I want to discuss is..." He paused, and inhaled from his cigarette to buy himself time, to phrase the lies in his head and give the Duchess time to appear. They could not get done with this meeting before she was there.
"I wanted to see you." He only averted Ion's eyes momentarily. When he looked up, the shame was still there, his lips pressed together, but his look had won determination even though faint. "I know what I am supposed to do in our world," he sighed, "but Ion... Ion, please listen to me before leaving me. Please don't just leave me like this. We've always talked about everything, haven't we?"
He let the question linger between them just for a second, just for long enough to know that he would cause a sting in Ion's heart because he knew what the traitor would tell his brother, later in their world as Ion believed. It was a risk to provoke emotions from Ion this way, but Radu brushed it off before real harm could be done. He was talking slowly, on the outside a man carefully controlling his voice to prevent it from betraying him, on the inside contemplating, following instinct and the plan he had laid out earlier. Their talk had a direction it was supposed to take, but it was hard for him to follow plans through. He rather followed his whims, and most of the time, it had worked this way.
"I have a suggestion to make," he said slowly, eyes averted and arms slowly crossing, with a gaze and voice conveniently low and blank. "I know what's going to happen in our world. I don't know when or why, but I don't want it. I can prevent it. I can...
"Ion," he looked up, and for a moment, the despair in his eyes was almost manic, and felt so real it gave him a shiver, "I don't want to end like that!"
>>>
Radu’s words, just as intended, stabbed right to the heart of the matter and nearly made Ion flinch. He drew his arms closer to himself protectively, not noticing as his nails dug in a bit, trying to ground himself before he forgot himself and spoke without thinking about it. “We… We had thought we knew everything about you, Radu. But then…” He bit his lip, trying to organize his thoughts, everything was such a jumble it was hard to think.
“How is it that we can trust thou? We have been betrayed once before, how can thou guarantee it will not happen again in the exact same way?” Ion didn’t – couldn’t – school his features with this, the hurt in his eyes quite evident.
“We do not know if we can even trust in you To-“ He stopped himself from using that familiar term and forced it down. “Radu.”
>>>
Those words brought a sad smile on Radu's lips, which was as real as his desperation. He lifted his hand to touch Ion's cheek, but then stopped, hesitated, recoiled. Instead, he sank on one knee before the older man, drawing a deep breath and tossing his cigarette away casually before looking up with a painful calm and sincerity in his eyes.
"There's a way to prevent it, Ion." His lips curved up to a smile, the weak attempt of an apology and an almost amused sadness in an expression of deepest trust and love. He leaned in only a little to be below Ion's eyelevel, and whispered with soft comfort, "Tovarăş. If I die here, nothing of this will ever happen."
>>>
Astaroth could not find Ion Fortuna.
She had searched the apartments, the building, and now she was racing through the streets, making good use of her haste, golden eyes seeking out any signs of the young Count of Memphis. She had explicitly told him to tell her before he went out, and yet when she had awoken that night, he had been gone.
… Damn it.
It wasn’t until she reached Xanadu, her nerves beginning to burn from the use of haste, that she truly realized how foolish he was. Eyes widened at the sight of the man she hated most, at the sight of Radu Barvon, so close to her charge, to the boy she had sworn to the Empress to protect.
“Ion Fortuna…” Her voice rung out, wind whipping through ivory hair in the moonlight along with the rustle of leaves and flowers. “Step away from the Baron of Luxor.” Her fine hand found the hilt of her weapon, drew and leveled it at the man who had killed the woman who ruled her country, their country, her face twisted into a mask of fury.
>>>
There she was. With perfect timing, as could be expected from a noblewoman. Radu did not even turn to look at her immediately. Instead, he stood up - slowly, so as not to give Ion the impression of any aggression intended - put a cold hand on Ion's shoulder and only then threw her a glance over his shoulder, cold and spiteful and triumphant. She had come - the rest would be easy. His lips momentarily twisted into a pitiful smile before he stepped behind Ion, closer to him, his hand still on the other man's shoulder. He stood too close for Ion to look at his face, and despite the malice in his eyes, his features became a calm mask of concern again easily enough.
"Your Grace... You don't understand." She was so pitiful.
>>>
“I understand perfectly, traitor.” She tried to compose herself, tried to keep herself from attacking, and hell, it was hard. She wanted to slam her spear into his throat to shut him up, slam him into the ground and cut off his goddamned head, anything-
“You have ten seconds to step away from the Count of Memphis.” Her hand shook with the desire to attack him, to rip in and tear, her eyes narrowed to slits and thighs taught in the anticipation to spring forward.
>>>
Her anger was obvious and it was just what he wanted. She could not last long in a real fight against him, but he needed her to attack him, and Astaroth Aslan was not known as the most peaceful of the Boierii. Radu did not move a centimeter away from Ion but brought his hand up behind him slowly.
"I'm afraid you are too late," he explained with a weak, apologetic smile, and in time, a blue spark ignited in his free palm.
>>>
That was all it took, one threat to Ion Fortuna and her legs sprung, nerves wired as she rushed the man, couldn’t risk activating her weapon with the Count of Memphis so close to him, damn it all, but she could get Radu Barvon away from him, allot her time to at least get a good shot, a shout of rage and anger ripped from her throat.
Because this man wasn’t just threatening her charge.
He’d killed the Empress.
>>>
He let her charge hit him fully, let it look as if he was taken by surprise, did not even let Ion's shoulder go so that the older man was pulled down with him. It was risky and it hurt, but she had no possibility of killing him in only one blow, not without her weapon, and it seemed she was in all her rage still intelligent enough not to use it yet. There was a brief glimpse of triumph in Radu's eyes with her attack hit him, only to be replaced with fake surprise and alarm. He was not so stupid that he would have allowed her time or space, and Marionettenspieler had been clear enough with his instructions.
"Let me explain," He hissed vehemently, but at the same time charged to counter her attack.
>>>
“Damn it-“ He hadn’t let go of Ion, making her check the force behind her charge, and as he charged back, one hand fisted at his collar and she suddenly crouched, made to use his momentum to flip the male Methuselah over her, her other hand drawing her spear from the holster on her hip, prepared to activate the lost technology once Radu was clear of the of the Count of Memphis.
“No.”
>>>
Damn it. Her manoeuvre worked and he realised too late - the Duchess was weaker than him, but lack of planning was once again Radu's downfall. But it would not be over this quickly. He caught his fall easily, creating a flame in his palm simultaneously, and threw it at the ground before her before even fully recovering his momentum. It did not have to hit her, but it would buy him time. For now, he would have to pretend that he was trying to stop her without harming her - except that accidents were allowed to happen, and her frenzied rage would excuse it for him. Having recovered from the surprising fall, he charged forward again, jumped and lunged out, claws extended.
>>>
The minute Radu was free of Ion the spear of Gae Bolg was drawn, brought into play and activated, the lost technology’s energy thrumming in her hand, the bright weapon’s emissions almost like a whip extension, coiling about long legs before she had to jump back to avoid the heat of Ifrit flames, landing crouched and neck snapping up to see the Baron’s charge, snarling a curse and the spear coming up to block, falling back to kick up, aiming to throw the male again away from her and give her room to maneuver.
>>>
Radu could barely bite back a smirk. This was the reaction he had hoped for. His charge missed her, knees hitting the ground hard, and the hand that came down too late revealed the renewed blue spark of flames, which now weren't aimed at the ground anymore but at Astaroth's raised spear. The Ifrit took care that he was not distancing himself too much from Ion, who proved to be a reliable protection to hinder the woman from more dangerous attacks, but at the same time placed himself between the two as if to protect his beloved Tovarăş. She was far too easy to play with.
>>>
“Shit-“ The flames hit the spear and she wrested herself away, a bright flash of reaction from the weapon momentarily hazing her vision as she stumbled back, trying to focus heat-blind eyes on the Baron of Luxor, spear whipped around her hip, at ready, but caught off balance before she struck out at where he had been last.
>>>
The moment of blindness and distraction was all that Radu needed; nature had decided to make him a deadly fighting match, and even for that, he was fast.
"STOP IT!"
In what was a faked assault of panic to protect his friend and restrain a mad woman, Radu charged forward again, slashing his claws into her neck and fighting arm with apparently no aim, ripping through her skin with almost frantic zeal. Blood gushed against him and when he pulled back and stared in fake horror at what had happened, he knew he had succeeded.
>>>
“You…” While normally, Astaroth would counter, manage to fight through pain, keep going, regenerate the damage, her body had reached the limits bacillus would sustain her on the meager hemoglobin she had to feed it. She stood there, shocked, as blood leaked heavy from the wound, skin ripped from neck down arm, crimson staining her ripped uniform, golden eyes widening.
“You-“ She tried to speak even as her eyes sharply slit into pupils, as she seized up in what seemed to be an attack, but what Methuselah would recognize easily.
Thirst.
>>>
Unseen by Ion who was still behind him, Radu shot Astaroth a short, unmistakable glance of spite and triumph through the smoke of burnt grass and the blood splattered on his face and clothes from her ripped artery. He had won. She had lost. The battle was over.
His expression died down an instant later and made place for a stare of dread and disgust. A Methuselah Boier losing control - in public. Unthinkable.
"Ion..." His voice strained and raspy, he took a step back, then another one, throwing a nervous look at Ion and back at Astaroth, never leaving his eyes of her for long. "Ion, she... She..."
Words were meaningless here and now, and the condition would turn her into a raging monster in the next seconds. The Ifrit barely let another second slip before he rushed to Ion, closed his arms tightly around the man's fragile shape, and with support of Haste charged to bring himself and the other away from the place, to safety. Astaroth Aslan was left to her own fate, and so was whoever would run into her. The Orden had already won.
Rating; PG-13
Characters; Ion Fortuna {
imperialpride}, Radu Barvon {flammenschwert}, & Astaroth Aslan {kievduchess}Summary; A trap set by Dietrich von Lohengrin to turn the words of Astaroth to worthless brings Radu and Ion out to talk, waiting for the Duchess to come upon them and attempt to seperate them, ending in Radu injuring her enough to activate her Thirst, making her a loose cannon in need of blood.
Log;
Ion arrived at Xanadu at the time he arranged with Radu, a part of him told him that what he was doing was incredibly foolish to meet with the man who had tried to kill him but that sensible part of himself was repressed by the part of him that still wanted to trust Radu. He couldn’t help but want to trust him, especially after Radu had pleaded in earnest about his need to talk with Ion.
“Where is he?”
The pale Methuselah looked about Xanadu in confusion. It was the right place, though Radu wasn’t there yet.
>>>
The decision had been easy, this time. So easy it left the Methuselah cold. And what was worse, he realised with a distinct void where regrets should have been, was that until this very moment, he had not paid Ion a single thought. It was Astaroth, Dietrich, that thing that he had once used to call Her Majesty - those people held his mind occupied, not the man who was his brother, partner, Tovarăş. He flicked the ash off his cigarette incidentally, closed his eyes for a second and clamped the filter between his teeth when he crossed the grass. Xanadu was beautiful, especially at night, but of course the Methuselah had no appreciation for beauty. There was no point in beauty, or in pride, or dignity. Not for him, especially.
When he made out Ion's white-blond hair almost truantly, he slowed his steps and at last stopped. It took him only a second to ban the coldness from his eyes and give a smile, the sharp malice and trace of spite he felt perfectly hidden.
"Ion... You really came."
>>>
Ion stopped as Radu came into sight, restraining himself from instinctively moving closer to him. He hadn’t seen Radu since he’d returned to the city and he was still having trouble accepting that Radu had betrayed him back in their world. The wound was still there, even if Radu claimed he was from before that time. And unlike his Tovarăş he wasn’t as skilled in schooling his features. Instead he looked unsure as he stood in the gardens.
“Yes, we did. What didst thou need to discuss with us?”
>>>
It should have touched him, but for some reason, it did not. He watched Ion, observed his gestures with the cold interest of a surgeon, and although he lacked the intelligence and experience to analyse things thoroughly, he was a traitor and this situation demanded nothing but his instinct. Believing that everything was well and that all his words were true was enough to leave him secure in his role. And just as genuine, his smile faded, and he looked down, with just faint enough a shame and sadness to avoid suspicion.
"I... Tovarăş, what I want to discuss is..." He paused, and inhaled from his cigarette to buy himself time, to phrase the lies in his head and give the Duchess time to appear. They could not get done with this meeting before she was there.
"I wanted to see you." He only averted Ion's eyes momentarily. When he looked up, the shame was still there, his lips pressed together, but his look had won determination even though faint. "I know what I am supposed to do in our world," he sighed, "but Ion... Ion, please listen to me before leaving me. Please don't just leave me like this. We've always talked about everything, haven't we?"
He let the question linger between them just for a second, just for long enough to know that he would cause a sting in Ion's heart because he knew what the traitor would tell his brother, later in their world as Ion believed. It was a risk to provoke emotions from Ion this way, but Radu brushed it off before real harm could be done. He was talking slowly, on the outside a man carefully controlling his voice to prevent it from betraying him, on the inside contemplating, following instinct and the plan he had laid out earlier. Their talk had a direction it was supposed to take, but it was hard for him to follow plans through. He rather followed his whims, and most of the time, it had worked this way.
"I have a suggestion to make," he said slowly, eyes averted and arms slowly crossing, with a gaze and voice conveniently low and blank. "I know what's going to happen in our world. I don't know when or why, but I don't want it. I can prevent it. I can...
"Ion," he looked up, and for a moment, the despair in his eyes was almost manic, and felt so real it gave him a shiver, "I don't want to end like that!"
>>>
Radu’s words, just as intended, stabbed right to the heart of the matter and nearly made Ion flinch. He drew his arms closer to himself protectively, not noticing as his nails dug in a bit, trying to ground himself before he forgot himself and spoke without thinking about it. “We… We had thought we knew everything about you, Radu. But then…” He bit his lip, trying to organize his thoughts, everything was such a jumble it was hard to think.
“How is it that we can trust thou? We have been betrayed once before, how can thou guarantee it will not happen again in the exact same way?” Ion didn’t – couldn’t – school his features with this, the hurt in his eyes quite evident.
“We do not know if we can even trust in you To-“ He stopped himself from using that familiar term and forced it down. “Radu.”
>>>
Those words brought a sad smile on Radu's lips, which was as real as his desperation. He lifted his hand to touch Ion's cheek, but then stopped, hesitated, recoiled. Instead, he sank on one knee before the older man, drawing a deep breath and tossing his cigarette away casually before looking up with a painful calm and sincerity in his eyes.
"There's a way to prevent it, Ion." His lips curved up to a smile, the weak attempt of an apology and an almost amused sadness in an expression of deepest trust and love. He leaned in only a little to be below Ion's eyelevel, and whispered with soft comfort, "Tovarăş. If I die here, nothing of this will ever happen."
>>>
Astaroth could not find Ion Fortuna.
She had searched the apartments, the building, and now she was racing through the streets, making good use of her haste, golden eyes seeking out any signs of the young Count of Memphis. She had explicitly told him to tell her before he went out, and yet when she had awoken that night, he had been gone.
… Damn it.
It wasn’t until she reached Xanadu, her nerves beginning to burn from the use of haste, that she truly realized how foolish he was. Eyes widened at the sight of the man she hated most, at the sight of Radu Barvon, so close to her charge, to the boy she had sworn to the Empress to protect.
“Ion Fortuna…” Her voice rung out, wind whipping through ivory hair in the moonlight along with the rustle of leaves and flowers. “Step away from the Baron of Luxor.” Her fine hand found the hilt of her weapon, drew and leveled it at the man who had killed the woman who ruled her country, their country, her face twisted into a mask of fury.
>>>
There she was. With perfect timing, as could be expected from a noblewoman. Radu did not even turn to look at her immediately. Instead, he stood up - slowly, so as not to give Ion the impression of any aggression intended - put a cold hand on Ion's shoulder and only then threw her a glance over his shoulder, cold and spiteful and triumphant. She had come - the rest would be easy. His lips momentarily twisted into a pitiful smile before he stepped behind Ion, closer to him, his hand still on the other man's shoulder. He stood too close for Ion to look at his face, and despite the malice in his eyes, his features became a calm mask of concern again easily enough.
"Your Grace... You don't understand." She was so pitiful.
>>>
“I understand perfectly, traitor.” She tried to compose herself, tried to keep herself from attacking, and hell, it was hard. She wanted to slam her spear into his throat to shut him up, slam him into the ground and cut off his goddamned head, anything-
“You have ten seconds to step away from the Count of Memphis.” Her hand shook with the desire to attack him, to rip in and tear, her eyes narrowed to slits and thighs taught in the anticipation to spring forward.
>>>
Her anger was obvious and it was just what he wanted. She could not last long in a real fight against him, but he needed her to attack him, and Astaroth Aslan was not known as the most peaceful of the Boierii. Radu did not move a centimeter away from Ion but brought his hand up behind him slowly.
"I'm afraid you are too late," he explained with a weak, apologetic smile, and in time, a blue spark ignited in his free palm.
>>>
That was all it took, one threat to Ion Fortuna and her legs sprung, nerves wired as she rushed the man, couldn’t risk activating her weapon with the Count of Memphis so close to him, damn it all, but she could get Radu Barvon away from him, allot her time to at least get a good shot, a shout of rage and anger ripped from her throat.
Because this man wasn’t just threatening her charge.
He’d killed the Empress.
>>>
He let her charge hit him fully, let it look as if he was taken by surprise, did not even let Ion's shoulder go so that the older man was pulled down with him. It was risky and it hurt, but she had no possibility of killing him in only one blow, not without her weapon, and it seemed she was in all her rage still intelligent enough not to use it yet. There was a brief glimpse of triumph in Radu's eyes with her attack hit him, only to be replaced with fake surprise and alarm. He was not so stupid that he would have allowed her time or space, and Marionettenspieler had been clear enough with his instructions.
"Let me explain," He hissed vehemently, but at the same time charged to counter her attack.
>>>
“Damn it-“ He hadn’t let go of Ion, making her check the force behind her charge, and as he charged back, one hand fisted at his collar and she suddenly crouched, made to use his momentum to flip the male Methuselah over her, her other hand drawing her spear from the holster on her hip, prepared to activate the lost technology once Radu was clear of the of the Count of Memphis.
“No.”
>>>
Damn it. Her manoeuvre worked and he realised too late - the Duchess was weaker than him, but lack of planning was once again Radu's downfall. But it would not be over this quickly. He caught his fall easily, creating a flame in his palm simultaneously, and threw it at the ground before her before even fully recovering his momentum. It did not have to hit her, but it would buy him time. For now, he would have to pretend that he was trying to stop her without harming her - except that accidents were allowed to happen, and her frenzied rage would excuse it for him. Having recovered from the surprising fall, he charged forward again, jumped and lunged out, claws extended.
>>>
The minute Radu was free of Ion the spear of Gae Bolg was drawn, brought into play and activated, the lost technology’s energy thrumming in her hand, the bright weapon’s emissions almost like a whip extension, coiling about long legs before she had to jump back to avoid the heat of Ifrit flames, landing crouched and neck snapping up to see the Baron’s charge, snarling a curse and the spear coming up to block, falling back to kick up, aiming to throw the male again away from her and give her room to maneuver.
>>>
Radu could barely bite back a smirk. This was the reaction he had hoped for. His charge missed her, knees hitting the ground hard, and the hand that came down too late revealed the renewed blue spark of flames, which now weren't aimed at the ground anymore but at Astaroth's raised spear. The Ifrit took care that he was not distancing himself too much from Ion, who proved to be a reliable protection to hinder the woman from more dangerous attacks, but at the same time placed himself between the two as if to protect his beloved Tovarăş. She was far too easy to play with.
>>>
“Shit-“ The flames hit the spear and she wrested herself away, a bright flash of reaction from the weapon momentarily hazing her vision as she stumbled back, trying to focus heat-blind eyes on the Baron of Luxor, spear whipped around her hip, at ready, but caught off balance before she struck out at where he had been last.
>>>
The moment of blindness and distraction was all that Radu needed; nature had decided to make him a deadly fighting match, and even for that, he was fast.
"STOP IT!"
In what was a faked assault of panic to protect his friend and restrain a mad woman, Radu charged forward again, slashing his claws into her neck and fighting arm with apparently no aim, ripping through her skin with almost frantic zeal. Blood gushed against him and when he pulled back and stared in fake horror at what had happened, he knew he had succeeded.
>>>
“You…” While normally, Astaroth would counter, manage to fight through pain, keep going, regenerate the damage, her body had reached the limits bacillus would sustain her on the meager hemoglobin she had to feed it. She stood there, shocked, as blood leaked heavy from the wound, skin ripped from neck down arm, crimson staining her ripped uniform, golden eyes widening.
“You-“ She tried to speak even as her eyes sharply slit into pupils, as she seized up in what seemed to be an attack, but what Methuselah would recognize easily.
Thirst.
>>>
Unseen by Ion who was still behind him, Radu shot Astaroth a short, unmistakable glance of spite and triumph through the smoke of burnt grass and the blood splattered on his face and clothes from her ripped artery. He had won. She had lost. The battle was over.
His expression died down an instant later and made place for a stare of dread and disgust. A Methuselah Boier losing control - in public. Unthinkable.
"Ion..." His voice strained and raspy, he took a step back, then another one, throwing a nervous look at Ion and back at Astaroth, never leaving his eyes of her for long. "Ion, she... She..."
Words were meaningless here and now, and the condition would turn her into a raging monster in the next seconds. The Ifrit barely let another second slip before he rushed to Ion, closed his arms tightly around the man's fragile shape, and with support of Haste charged to bring himself and the other away from the place, to safety. Astaroth Aslan was left to her own fate, and so was whoever would run into her. The Orden had already won.