Anna Demirovna (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
indiscreet) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
multiversallogs2011-08-04 05:26 am
indiscreet) wrote in multiversallogs2011-08-04 05:26 am
Entry tags:
I see a bad moon rising
Who: the Huntress (Anna) and “lucky” you (OPEN)
What: breaking down and going full True Fae, for your pleasure and entertainment
Where: ~moonpools~
When: the night after the Missions conclude
Notes: For the binding in question, see this log. Also, the Huntress is fun, but difficult, to write... so tags may be on the slow side.
Warnings: creepiness, and possible triggery-ness. This is the sort of character who will casually talk of violence and of using mortal humans as playthings. Oh, and skinny dipping.
The worst part of the fog, she thought, had been the way it had clawed at not just her body, but her mind. Yes, there had been dangers of the kind she could shoot, but that hadn’t really been the point of them, had it? They were a distraction, more like, as sharp teeth and serpents drained whatever mental resolve had been keeping Anna and the Huntress separate.
She had remembered things, out in the fog, from before she was Anna. Beautiful, vivid, perfect hunts through Arcadian forests, chasing deer that had once been mortals. Crimson blood is so very striking on white fur, and white skin.
Anna recalled hearing about the moonpools, when she first arrived in Baedal. They had interested her, then, but -- the realization had hit her suddenly, after Nuala’s binding -- not because of the part of her that was Anna. Now, that barrier is crumbling, and covering herself in liquid moonlight seems like exactly the recovery she is owed. She rubs her thumb along the embroidered ribbon tied about her left wrist. The stitching is frayed, though she can’t recall how it got that way.
And she loves the forest at night, doesn’t she? Hasn’t she always? It’s so easy to get there, her power quickening her feet. There’s a flicker of a thought: that she ought to hold back, that there is something she shouldn’t be doing. But her mind is tired, and glamour is heavy. Silly to wear one, and she shrugs it off, lightning streaming through her dark hair and over her pale skin. A sigh of relief: how light she feels, like she had forgotten how it felt to be anything but clumsy and heavy.
The Huntress scatters Anna’s clothing over the moss and the ferns, and slides herself into a silvery pool.
What: breaking down and going full True Fae, for your pleasure and entertainment
Where: ~moonpools~
When: the night after the Missions conclude
Notes: For the binding in question, see this log. Also, the Huntress is fun, but difficult, to write... so tags may be on the slow side.
Warnings: creepiness, and possible triggery-ness. This is the sort of character who will casually talk of violence and of using mortal humans as playthings. Oh, and skinny dipping.
The worst part of the fog, she thought, had been the way it had clawed at not just her body, but her mind. Yes, there had been dangers of the kind she could shoot, but that hadn’t really been the point of them, had it? They were a distraction, more like, as sharp teeth and serpents drained whatever mental resolve had been keeping Anna and the Huntress separate.
She had remembered things, out in the fog, from before she was Anna. Beautiful, vivid, perfect hunts through Arcadian forests, chasing deer that had once been mortals. Crimson blood is so very striking on white fur, and white skin.
Anna recalled hearing about the moonpools, when she first arrived in Baedal. They had interested her, then, but -- the realization had hit her suddenly, after Nuala’s binding -- not because of the part of her that was Anna. Now, that barrier is crumbling, and covering herself in liquid moonlight seems like exactly the recovery she is owed. She rubs her thumb along the embroidered ribbon tied about her left wrist. The stitching is frayed, though she can’t recall how it got that way.
And she loves the forest at night, doesn’t she? Hasn’t she always? It’s so easy to get there, her power quickening her feet. There’s a flicker of a thought: that she ought to hold back, that there is something she shouldn’t be doing. But her mind is tired, and glamour is heavy. Silly to wear one, and she shrugs it off, lightning streaming through her dark hair and over her pale skin. A sigh of relief: how light she feels, like she had forgotten how it felt to be anything but clumsy and heavy.
The Huntress scatters Anna’s clothing over the moss and the ferns, and slides herself into a silvery pool.
no subject
Admittedly, in this frame of mind, he's paying less attention to his surroundings (provided he gets no twinge of incoming Death Eaters) than he ought to.
no subject
An arc of her arm summons her longbow; she leans against the high bank of the pool, holding it. No arrows, though: the Huntress is unconcerned by the possibility (the impossibly slim possibility, in her mind) that the man could be any kind of threat.
When she sees the man's body appear between the trees, she lets herself smile: he is...interesting, somehow, in a way she can't quite place. Interesting is enough, though, to make him worth her time.
"You are either brave or foolish, mortal." Her tone is casual and even, and pleased. She makes no particular effort to raise her voice, though: it matters little one way or the other whether the man hears her.
no subject
Once he hears her voice, his attention in pulled back to the present and a quick assessment of the situation suggests he'd best keep his line of sight up and well over Anna's (the Huntress') shoulder.
"Foolish to the point that I've taken it as my own name. Please forgive me, I was out walking and lost track of time and place," he says with sincerity and a slight bow. Sebastian has read enough mythology to be concerned about being torn apart by his own service dog.
no subject
Liquid moonlight traces the curves of her small pale breasts, but she seems unconcerned where he rests his eyes.
"This is a good place," she replies simply. "I think I should like to have one like it." A pause; she tilts her head, considering him. Nuala's brand is near-blinding obvious, all golden heat and infuriating. "Alas, such things are not easily arranged. And...you are already claimed. What did you do to get so interesting?" The Huntress's eyes narrow.
no subject
no subject
But speaking with him was hardly forbidden, and the nature of the bargain he describes reminds her of...herself.
"I traded myself, once, and received myself in return," she says mildly. Fae or not, she doesn't truly intend to speak in riddles; rather, it is difficult to distinguish between Anna's actions and her own. "And even if it was meant to be a gift, not a trade, I think the Queen got plenty out of it to suit herself."
By now she has pulled herself entirely from the pool to sit on the high bank, toes dangling just above the surface of the moonlight.
no subject
"They usually do and now, if you'll excuse me, I ought to continue homewards." As much as he's curious about the Huntress, he's not foolish enough to stay any longer than he needs to. While she may be aware of Nuala's protection, Sebastian isn't.
no subject
Bitterly, she turns away, then musters a bit of power to chase his footsteps with mist.