⧼ a glimpse of light in the dark / zeke & talia ⧽

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sidney
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⧼ a glimpse of light in the dark / zeke & talia ⧽ May 1, 2019 20:47:14 GMT -5

Post by sidney on May 1, 2019 20:47:14 GMT -5

CAUSE YOUR BODY'S READY FOR WAR
AND MY BODY WAS BUILT TO ENDURE

It's a day like all the rest, filled with violence from the moment he wakes up. Remnants of the fight he'd gotten in four days ago still cling to him in scars and scrapes, in bandages wrapped around his knuckles and a half-bad stitch job to his side. His eyes aren't as swollen and today he can open them both—good, better to glare at Parker that way as he makes his way out the door—so it's a good day already.

"New recruits today," he says excitedly, chugging back the last bit of juice in his glass with a smirk. "Bring your a-game, sis."

To anyone else, it would probably seem like a brother playfully teasing his little sister, joking around and poking a little harmless fun. But they both know better than that; when Zeke bears his fangs, it is never for show.

"Might have to wipe the floor with you to show them what they're in for." He leaves it at that with a sinister smile bred from violence once again and a promise Parker should know he intends to keep.

It was always one step forward and two steps back.

————————————

The morning is filled with lackluster offerings. Slim pickings in the way of trainees, so much so that he all but resigns himself to sparring for the day after the last one. A blond, curly-headed boy with chubby cheeks and a spattering of freckles. He'd jumped into the ring excitedly, ready and willing to face Zeke head-on, unlike most of the others gathered around. All of which had inhaled sharply in union each time he flattened one after the other atop the mat. Most of which only took one blow.

But this boy had been different, with more guts than the others who paced back and forth unsure of what to do once they stepped up to the figurative plate that was Zeke. He'd jumped in and ran head first, completely reckless and inexperienced, and all it took was a solid arm held out straight and Zeke had clotheslined the wind right from his lungs in the blink of an eye.

"Really?" He laughed, hearty and cruel, shaking his head as he pinched at the bridge of his nose. "All right," his hands fall to his hips and he lets out a frustrated sigh, very nearly at end of his rope with all these hopeless idiots. "Let's take ten. Get some water or something." He trails off in a whisper under his breath, "Not that it's going to help."

————————————

The break passes and Zeke spends it taking sloppy notes, describing each one he's seen with little monikers.

Ponytail. Mop head. Princess. Mouthbreather. Little shit.

But after a few minutes pass, they all start to bleed together. Each comment about their performance worse than the last, and he just slams shut the leather-bound book in frustration, tossing it back into the bag that rests at his feet.

"Gather up!" He hollers out to the group, trying to reign in their attention so they can pick up where they left off, but all Zeke wants its a little competition. Something—anything—to break up the monotonous line of failure that sits before him. "Find a partner," he sighs again as he scans across the faces, some more recognizable than others; those he's already had the displeasure of defeating. "We'll double up and spar, that way you're all on the same level this time." One comes into view, though, more piercing than the rest, with olive eyes and pale-as-moonlight skin.

I know you, he thinks. But from where? He strains to place her, getting lost in her gaze for far longer than he should. This was his workplace, for all intents and purposes. But it was also his home. This building. This room. In that ring in the center of it. Where he felt most at peace. And something about her being here just felt right. In all the ways it shouldn't.

He parts the chattering crowd with his shoulders, harshly and with no regard for anyone else's personal space or existence, really, but hers, and makes a bee-line directly for her, brows furrowed and mouth slightly agape. In disbelief to her really being there, that face. Zeke remembers now, as he gets closer. In the alley where he was jumped. Lurking around in the shadows as he dealt out killing blow after killing blow.

A glimpse of light in the dark.

Salvation in the flesh.

"No partner yet... ?" He trails off on a high-note, unsure of what to call her and hoping to a god he certainly doesn't believe in that a creature as beautiful as her would bless him with that, at least.

Zeke Lachlan doesn't deserve much, but perhaps the name of an angel who saved him isn't too much to ask for.

YOU MAKE ME FEEL LIKE I'M A GOD
FEEL LIKE I'VE BEEN ANOINTED

Last Edit: May 1, 2019 20:48:46 GMT -5 by sidney

gamemaker 🍒 maryn hale
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⧼ a glimpse of light in the dark / zeke & talia ⧽ May 2, 2019 12:48:30 GMT -5

Post by gamemaker 🍒 maryn hale on May 2, 2019 12:48:30 GMT -5

dark was the night,
her shape burned a void in my eyes

She remembers the blood.

How it ran down the faces of the fallen like a baptism, how it dripped from his hands like an unholy offering — and Talia Wayland knows, within herself, what she saw on that fateful day. By the alleyway, standing halfway in the shadows and the sun; all at once bright and invisible in the way that only she could be. She had stumbled upon a sacrifice to a god of war and dared to watch the act. Never flinching.

And she fled when the battle was over, when the man collapsed to his knees and took hold of his victory — something sacred in a scarred palm, knuckles bleeding. She ran, into the sunlight where she could not be seen, and now she scolds herself for it. Not in the sense that she believes she should have helped him; she is no healer, her words and her intentions are not gentle. Death has no use for girls like her.

This does not mean
she has no use for Him.

Four days pass, in shades of red — until she finds that god once again. In the midst of another sacrifice, surrounded by his disciples. The task had been less difficult than she thought, a series of questions answered with tones of pity; sad stares that always seemed to say, 'Don't seek him out. He'll eat you raw.' Maybe that's what she wants, to be devoured. Maybe that's why she walks into his sanctuary without invitation.

Her gift is going unnoticed — her curse. She watches in silence, unwelcome and unseen, as he trains his flock of sheep to be wolves. There's nothing but flesh on the floor, bloodstained wool. She only sees one wolf, frustrated and damaged and starving. For a challenge, it seems, or perhaps something more. It's none of her concern; she is not here to save this man. She wants him to stay feral, to continue his destruction.

His gaze finds hers in an impossible way — in the way that no one ever looks to her with purpose, like it's what they meant to see. She goes back to that alley as he approaches, feels her stomach churn, but her legs remain solid. She doesn't run. He's exactly the warrior she imagined, all sharp edges and teeth. He could tear her open. She could allow it. This is a dance of the old gods, of the monsters in the woods.

"No partner yet...?" His greeting is a masked thing, a question inside of a question. She will not sell her name to a deity she does not know. "No, I don't have one. I'm not part of your class." She folds her arms over her chest, as if he might turn her away; as if she could resist him. "I saw you, a few days ago. What you were capable of." Her voice is strange coming from her lips, like it doesn't belong. Too cold and dry.

Like bone.

"I want to learn how to fight, so I asked around. Figured out who you were." She smiles, but it is a small and dying thing. "I was surprised to hear you already were a trainer, and now I see what you can offer." She looks to him, then to the room. This is not a home for careers who are loved, only those who are feared. "So, teach me. I don't have money, but I'll figure something out. I can start whenever."

There's a pause, like she should explain why she wants this — but it doesn't matter. Her reasons are not his, and his are not hers. He shouldn't stare at her like that, like an angel has come to walk among them. She is the daughter of a woman in the night and a man with no face, given to the streets and raised by the damned. Nothing good comes out of the darkness, only terrors. And here is one standing right before her.

And here she is,
ready to become the same.

it was black but so violently bright,
like the birth of a sun

sidney
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⧼ a glimpse of light in the dark / zeke & talia ⧽ May 7, 2019 21:54:18 GMT -5

Post by sidney on May 7, 2019 21:54:18 GMT -5

CAUSE YOUR BODY'S READY FOR WAR
AND MY BODY WAS BUILT TO ENDURE

Instantly, he feels exposed. Like a nerve. Knowing she saw him, and saw him not just fight, not just pummel a few sad sacks of shit until they ran away to cry to mother—no. He'd seen him do it for sport. Because he liked the way it felt when their bones cracked beneath his knuckles. Because he loved the sound of their whimpering as they begged for mercy. Because it was Death who he worshiped, first and foremost, and who worshipped him in return.

But with the way she was looking at him right now—like watching him that night had been the most exciting thing she'd ever seen, like he was a warrior unmatched and unrivaled, like she wanted to be just as good—this girl might be a close second.

I saw you, a few days ago. What you were capable of.

She talks, but he stays in his own head for the time being, studies her sharp features, notes the softness around her eyes and the subtle arch of her brow when she's curious. Which is what he imagines she is right now, curious. Inquiring about his class. About him. Zeke tries focus, to listen to what she's saying but all he can think is he could wield his sword for a face like hers. For a look like the one she was giving him. A part of him thinks he will one day. That it's as inevitable as her spotting him had been.

"I thought I recognized you," he says flatly, doing his best to stifle the flames her gaze was igniting within his chest, unfamiliar and—

I was surprised to hear you already were a trainer.

"Of course I am," he bites back before he can stop himself, defensive at the drop of a hat, always. A bad habit, but Zeke is so used to walking around with something to prove, it's hard to just... stop. Even when a pretty girl turns and asks you to—

Teach me.

"You're not enrolled?" He laughs, but not at her. At the sheer audacity of strolling into the district's top academy without a spot or a dime to pay for it and expecting something. "How did you even get in here?" Zeke looks left, then right, over her shoulders and then back over his own, wondering if Peacekeepers were going to storm into the room at any moment. It was their whole purpose, to weed out the rule breakers, teach them lessons so as to never do it again, and most days Zeke agrees with such 'lessons'. Sometimes it's a lashing, sometimes it's losing a hand. It was their job to keep order just as it was his job to train the people in this room, but he had a gnawing feeling in his gut that anyone who tried to put their hands on the girl standing before him—well, it would be the last thing they'd do.

"Show me what you've got," he insists, stepping aside as he extends a hand out to one of the open mats along the wall. Thankfully, he'd laid the ring to rest for the day and there was no chance for anyone else to embarrass themselves in front of everyone. "If you can prove yourself worthy, money or not, they might let you stay." The idea brings a rare smile to his face, but she still had a long way to go. "They never say no to a new career," he takes a stance, feet shoulder-width apart, hands clenched into fists, like he's ready for war. "Impress me, first. Maybe I'll put in a good word," he says with a smirk. "I don't personally train just anyone."

YOU MAKE ME FEEL LIKE I'M A GOD
FEEL LIKE I'VE BEEN ANOINTED