MUSE IS UNDER TRUTH SERUM FOR ONE HOUR. ASK ME ANYTHING. NOTHING IS OFF LIMITS AND EVERYTHING MUST BE ANSWERED.
Sif smiled a cocky, half-smile, and closed her journal, placing it beside her on the couch. She stood now, tossing ebony waves casually over her shoulder as she closed the distance between the two. When she reached Lilé, she sat beside her on the couch and turned to face her. Placing a hand through her hair to old it back, Sif gently brought Lilé’s neck close to her mouth and brushed her lips across it. With a small giggle, she gently nipped at the skin, then kissed the spot to make the pain subside. She tugged with light suction until, when she pulled away, a light red mark was left where her lips had been.
When she pulled away, she smiled at her but did not say a word, simply walked back over to the other couch and sat down in her original position, grabbing her journal and opening it up as if nothing happened.
Lilé smiled as Sif giggled against her neck, but then she inhaled as teeth grazed and lips sucked. A soft sound of pleasure left her, but she stared in incredulity as Sif simply left and sat back down on the couch. Eyes narrowing, she got up and moved to the lady warrior, closing her journal and straddling the woman’s lap. “Is that it, my lady? Just one, chaste bite? Nothing more for poor little me?” She smirked, running a finger along Sif’s jaw.
Darkness bellows around him, screams of children, mothers, fathers, Midgardian families and friends calling out desperately for one another in their last minutes of life meeting the monarch’s ears. These are the sounds of his legacy; wars within his realm have elicited such cries and pleads from the strained vocal chords of human victims. They remind him of all that have made the god-king what he is, but also bring back the painful knowledge that in order to have obtained what he has, hundreds of thousands have perished. Wincing, he bowed his head, infuriated and shocked by the wicked power the small one has so malevolently bestowed upon him.
Maw grinding as he fights to block out the onslaught of painful sounds, Loki raises that countenance only as they tendril of dark energy recedes back to its conjurer, permitting him less pain and therefore more movement without hindrance. ”Desire to watch as you may," he spits out in distaste, thoroughly unnerved by her display, ”but interfere not. My patience extends only to those who observe without involvement. The very second you or your people intervene, I shall show not a sliver of mercy.”
"I wouldn’t expect you to," she answers, a little more confident. Her shadows work. They thrive. Taking a few steps back, she inclines her head, guilt flickering across her face for the briefest of moments. "I didn’t want to do that, but it did the job. Don’t touch me again." She let loose a soft stream of golden light, threads brushing away the remnants of the darkness. "There. Now you won’t be haunted. Hopefully."
Lilé looked at the god-king, raising a brow. “That’s all we want, for the moment. Observation minus the involvement. I told you it’s not in our nature to get involved. But being half-human, I feel more involved than most. Yet I’ll just watch for the moment. Now, are you going to let me leave? I’m not keen to break your magic keeping me in here. It could be messy.”
this is so hot
"You make it sound like it’s something cute." The skinwalker chuckled. "Messing up your floors with your own blood isn’t exactly cute. That stuff is hard to scrub out, and Dai always makes me after I’ve had an accident."
"Because I’m the one who does the healing. It’s only fair that you clean up after your own mess. I always do when I get injured." Returning his attention to Lilé with a smile, he nodded. "Fair enough."
"Scrubbing blood is, as the mortals say, a bitch," Lilé laughed. "I’ve done my fair share of it too. Mostly when it isn’t my own. I have plenty of cleaning tips if you ever want any." She threw both of them smiles. "The worst I ever had to scrub out was someone literally ripped limb from limb. Blood and tissue everywhere. Made for a lovely scene. Delightful. Not."
The smallest bit of a smile showed. “Perhaps a little however that is not a bad thing necessarily.” Adam gave a little shrug as if to dismiss any negative connotation to his answer. “There is nothing wrong with knowing what you prefer and what you don’t.” The conversation startled him somewhat on one level. He was not usually given to talking with a near stranger so openly. Something about her was relaxing and encouraged him to be more forthcoming.
"Good answer. Diplomatic." She laughed, flipping her pencil between her fingers. "What takes your fancy besides music? Are you a reader, an artist, a scientist, inventor?" She glanced at a rat scampering along the road, briefly wondering where it might be going, before smiling and looking back at him. "How do you untangle life’s mysteries?"
Sif looked up from her journal, an eyebrow raised at the sentence. She had never known Lilé to be so forward, so she questioned her for reaffirmation. “I’m sorry? You want me to do what now?” She smiled at her so as to not shy the woman away.
"I don’t think I understood you clearly, darling."
"I think you understood me perfectly," Lilé smiled. "I want you to bite me." So shoot her, she was feeling playful, and Sif looked like fun. She looked like a woman who liked to take control, and Lilé was more than a little bit curious. Her eyes lingered on Sif’s lips, wondering just how sharp her teeth might be.
He rose his own cup towards his lips, breathing in the scent as is consumed his tired body. It woke him, but not enough to last an hour or so without any further sleep. It was a temporary fix, but given the beverage it was worth it in his own eyes. Archie was only able to take one sip before she moved the mug from his hands to place it upon the counter. He would have given a wine had he not sorely needed the comfort she freely granted him.
The skinwalker shook his head, a bittersweet laugh sounded in his throat. How he wished he could sleep well and without disruption, but those days still seemed far away. His nights were better now, but they could not be considered pleasant by most people’s standards.
His returned smile was weary but true, the comfort of another would likely soothe his mind and allow him the sleep he desired. “Would it be a bother? For you?”
She gave him a soft smile, shaking her head. “You know it wouldn’t be, love. Never.” She took his cup, setting it on the side, before leaning up to kiss his cheek. Her hand took his, gently squeezing, thumb rubbing the side. “Come on. Let’s get you to bed, yes? You’ll feel better, my darling.”
She began to pull him gently towards the kitchen entrance, eyes nothing but warm. If she could get him to sleep, things would be much better. He wouldn’t be so tired, so stressed, so chaotic.
Her therapy would not be easy, a mind so burdened with torment and horrors that would be eagerly awaiting her during her slumber could not be fixed within a month or so — Hannibal Lecter suspected she’d be a patient for at the very least a year. Unless his curiosity dared him to tread further; catching the little white rabbit in the snare so the fox may toy with its prey.
It’d be a pity to waste her life, but to shape it to better suit his fascination would be a true game.
Hannibal had no nightmares, he’d dealt with his own horrors in the most satisfying of ways. The memories were indeed unpleasant, but they did not disrupt his sleep nor taint his content mind. Although he thought it odd; each day he was faced with the vulgarity of someone’s mind, their descriptions would form such ugly images within his mind. And yet he did not suffer. It was as though the cannibal was immune to their nightmarish tales; where fear should linger, fascination took hold.
"How frequently do these nightmares haunt your sleep?" he pushed, head tilted in intrigue, "Is there ever any slight change?"
She could see him tilt his head, but out of the corner of her eye, nothing more. Whatever he was thinking, she could not tell. Her fingers twitched in her lap, lip worried by her teeth. How to answer him…. Could she even give him an answer?
"Almost every night," she whispered, finally turning her head to look at him in the eye. "It doesn’t really change in frequency. Sometimes I wake up crying, sometimes not. But they’re always terrifying." Her fingers clenched; she resisted the urge to curl up on the seat, strong as it was. She doubted the psychiatrist would think any better of her if she acted like a child. "I never used to get nightmares. Only after they died did they start. And they haven’t stopped since. I’ve tried everything else. Medicine, herbs, relaxation techniques, but nothing’s worked. So here I am."