ᴊᴀᴍᴇs ᴀᴜʙᴇʟ ǝɹnʇɐǝⅎ ǝɹnʇɐǝɹɔ ǝɥʇ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hedgemaze) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
finalflight2016-11-30 10:45 pm
hedgemaze) wrote in finalflight2016-11-30 10:45 pm
Entry tags:
psl; [a marriage of inconvenience]
THE AUBEL ESTATE is located in Derbyshire, England, a stately old home reminiscent of centuries long past. Long ago, it had fallen into disrepair and abandoned until previous generations of the Aubel family purchased the land for themselves, having found their fortunes in matters of real estate. Since that time, the outside has been restored and the inside has been renovated at least three times. Four, if you ask the uncle who remembers the one summer where the chandelier fell from the dining hall, taking a large portion of the ceiling with it. How embarrassing, if such a thing is true.
In its present state, it straddles the line between the old and new. The large, prominent rooms are ostentatious as they are filled to the brim with austere English culture; the smaller quarters, traditionally used by the servants and staff, are far more modest, and over time have allowed the tendrils of modernity to creep in as a result. Regardless, the home is impressive no matter how you look at it, and there are few who do not cast an envious glance at the estate as they pass by Derbyshire on their way to town, or perhaps northwest to Manchester, if they've even farther to go.
PHILIP AND JAMES AUBEL, father and son respectively, are the owners of the home, though only the father remains for any extended period of time. And even then, he only stays perhaps one or two seasons at a time, until he returns to his home in London, spending one or two seasons there, before returning again, living out his life of retirement to the fullest. James visits nearly every week (driving in from Manchester, and back) in the Spring, until the first freeze of Winter, when nothing will grow. Though they have a staff of two dozen -- give or take, depending upon the time of year -- taking care of the estate and its grounds, James is more diligent about keeping up appearances of the house, showing a special interest in maintaining the complex hedge maze on the land directly behind them. Only he keeps access to its center, a literal walled garden of seasonal flora.
AS RECENT DEVELOPMENTS WOULD HAVE IT, James has been drawn into an arranged marriage by his father and an old business acquaintance. She is scheduled for an extended visit soon, and the staff have done a meticulous job of preparing the hall for her arrival -- and the rest of the rooms, as well, if she is expected to make her living here permanent, one day. Today, the weather is clear and the help is eager to aid her in unpacking. The grounds are green and the family dog, an old greyhound with cataracts in one eye, bounds up to her with a slow wagging tail. The father will greet her, of course, with all the usual formalities, and though he doesn't know her all that well at all, she at least seems nice enough. He disappears soon after, leaving her to her own devices as she sees fit. James himself is nowhere to be found.
Somewhere, sooner rather than later, a collision course of first impressions will take place.
D I R E C T O R Y;
➤ shitpost.
➤ first impressions.
➤ diamonds.
➤ text her, texter.
➤ saviour.
➤ flirt.
➤ closer.
➤ cross-examine.
➤ PARTY CRASHERS.
✶ elle + devon
✶ elle + corvus
✶ ian + james + corvus
✶ devon + james
➤ alien abduction.
➤ sleep now.
➤ bathe.
➤ remember.
➤ drink.
➤ welcome home.
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Corvus stands outside in his human form, wearing the same sleek jacket as the snow outside dances around him and the crows. There really was no delicate way to go about this. He had been waiting for 27 years a tiny amount compared to the total amount of his existence (he can search far back in his mind and remember light years before, stars, a different terrain, where he was neither man nor bird, just an incomprehensible beast).
27 years. It was short, but long enough.
He wants his heart back.
The eyes of all of the birds glint And they start to project and send his voice to the girl.
STAND UP. WALK. OUTSIDE.
COME TO US.
STAND UP. WALK. OUTSIDE.
These were the words that had haunted Devon Winters for every walk she made in sleep, for every incident where she began to move away from the people who loved and cared about her. And it was these words that echoed the loudest tonight in her head as she finds herself in a dream again, of darkness, of being on the edge, of feathers, of nothingness.
From her seat, Devon stands up. She walks. She goes towards the exit leading outside.]
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No-!
[Was it him then? The one telling her to move in her sleep? The words were commands, not directed to him. They must be.
Panic flashes through him, but anger is stronger. James runs, down the hall, down to the other end of the house, to where Devon was last. The fireplace. He rushes in, heart beating fast.]
Devon?!
[She's not there.]
Shit...!
[He scowls. She must be outside, and he had to hurry.
James leaves the room, but not before picking up a heavy fire poker from the fireplace on his way out. ]
1/2
Her heart is pounding. Her body is not hers. Her heart is not hers. As she walks outside, it keeps drumming, pounding, uneven, unsteady beats. There's a silvery glow that shines through her ribs, through her skin, and through her clothing.
Outside, the crows fly above her, black feathers drifting down like a dark feathery rain. She's closer now, closer to the point of no return.]
no subject
The girl stops in front of Corvus. Finally. The moment has come. He is not a being of many words. He studies her for a moment, eyes resting at the silver glow in her chest. His own half is beating from being in such close proximity.
Finally. He'll be whole again.
As if giving her, her last rights, Corvus raises one hand and brushes the back of her cheek lightly.]
... You're supposed to be dead you know. It was a kindness, letting you out of our grasp all those years.
[Some of the crows land around them, making something of an eeri semi circle as they watch their leader drag and finger down and push against her chest, the glowing spot where his heart is.]
I kept you alive. Be grateful that I'll give you a second life.
[His eyes turn dark and glassy and both hands are around Devon's throat giving it a squeeze. She will die. They will all feast on her. He will be whole again.]
no subject
His feet take him across the the grounds, as fast as they will take him. His lungs are screaming at him; he tells them to bugger off, and forces his body to adjust. To work. It complies.
He can see her in the distance, along with that man. Something is glowing in her chest, and he's reaching out to her, hand around her neck-]
(Stop!)
[His mind screams at him from afar. His feet take him closer, firepoker clutched tightly in his hand.
James' presence is flaring anger. Like an encroaching avalanche. Like swarm of hornets, piercing the night.]
Let go of her. Now.
[Devon's chest glows, but James doesn't question it. Something that he was doing to her likely, the bloody bastard.]
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Corvus can feel the other man's anger quite clearly. He drops Devon to the ground and she lies in the snow at his feet... Knocked out. Not quite dead. He'll finish her off and fish out his heart. He turns around to fully face James, eyes still black.
He speaks back to James coldly with his mind.]
(It seems to me that there will be TWO bodies by the end of this night.)
(Although I wonder. What is inside of this man? Is it even a man? Or was this girl going to be wed to a THING?)
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He ignores the angry cawing from the crows. His focus is razor sharp, and directed at the man in front of him. The man who looked at him with black eyes.]
(You think I'm afraid of you, you fucking bastard? You think I care about what you think of me? Touch her again and I'll tear your goddamn heart out.)
[What an irony in those words.]
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He speaks with his voice aloud this time. Calm. Cold. A hiss.]
That. That is my heart. Not hers. Never hers.
[His face begins to morph, nose and mouth replaced by a beak, skin bubbling and erupting into blueish black feathers. ]
I'm taking it back.
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James doesn't have to. He knows that he intends to kill her, and his words to Ian come flooding back to him. He'd die first before that happened. He wouldn't even hesitate, he couldn't lose her now, he couldn't-]
Not on my life.
[But when he lifts his gaze, even James has to freeze from shock. The sight of the man's face... transforming. Into something resembling his crow kin, all around.
What was he? Was he like him? The bastard's form was becoming different, and there was something distinctly unearthly about his features now. More than just looking like a crow; eerie and alien.
James hovers in front of Devon's form, weapon clutched defensively.]
This is your last warning. Go back to where you came from.
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(ALL OF ME WILL GO BACK.)
[And with those final words, Corvus lifts himself upwards a few feet in the air and then swoops down to use his clawed appendages to grab Devon's body. The rest of the crows fly with him and surround James intending to blind his sight. He's one against many. He cannot take them all down.]
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This was really beginning to piss him off.
He wasn't going to get away with this. That leader of these crows was going to give Devon back to him, or so help him he would really kill him.]
(Where do you think you're going?!)
[Anger releases again in a wave, and then nothing.
And then everything.
James Aubel projects, his empathy swallowing the crows and Corvus in equal measure. They'd try to blind him with feathers? He would blind them emotion, he would break them with it.
Twisting fear, crippling grief, drowning sorrow. Panic and anxiety, confusion and paranoia. It all comes from James in a strategic stream; his feelings are bullets piercing through them, they're missiles, they're goddamn nuclear warheads.
It's enough to make a man sick to his stomach. It's enough to make a creature from beyond the earth, unfamiliar with human emotions, shatter.]
no subject
The crows around Corvus are overwhelmed with the barrage of emotions that they have no experience with. Most are falling to their deaths as their forms cannot handle this attack.
Corvus tries to endure these emotions, these sickly weaponized sensations, but to no avail. He's only ever known his own sorrow, his own pains and gains. What would he care for the other, the human? He feels himself sinking down back to the surface, his claws loosening and dropping his load.
Devon is released and she tumbles into the snow. Her shine in her body lights up the area around them. The giant crow above them screeches and fumbles about in the air trying to fight back the empathy, but failing miserably until he also falls like his brethren.]
YOU...!!
[Then he tries for the next best thing, facing James head on. He has the advantage of size and girth, but he's weakened, weakened to his stomach, his heart is not of healing, it is of twisting and transforming, his mind can only scream at James as he tries to stab with his beak.]
no subject
He rushes forward without hesitation to where her unconscious body lay, but suddenly he hears the beating of wings, large and intimidating. Corvus lands directly in front of him, screaming into his mind, snapping at him with a large beak. The razor sharp edges catch at his sleeve, pulling and tearing, just barely missing skin -- far too close for comfort.
(He wonders if this is what an insect feels, being pecked at by a large avian creature in the grass.)
But James knows he has the advantage. He can feel Corvus' mind reeling, his stomach sick with human emotion. Finding an opening, he rushes in, swinging at the massive crow's beak. His neck, his wings. Anything. Once, twice, three times.
And at the same time, he blasts him with more emotion. This time, more personal. The sorrow of losing someone precious (the young James from another lifetime ago, the grief twisting into him like a knife), the confusion of someone you loved turning on you (his mother screaming at him, chasing him through the hedges), the fear of dying (his heart stopping, his lungs restricting). This time, the pain is sharper because it's more familiar. James refuses to relent.]
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(No, that is not the whole picture, he had always watched his better half live her life, surrounded by friends, surrounded by family, and while she kept her secrets, she used them to heal other creatures, she found ways to fix what she could even if she was not successful, why did he always hesitate, why did she become the better him, why, why, why, was she brighter, why did she make his half glow so much brighter than any other mate could?)
The blunt force of the poker and the combination of James' psychic attacks is making its toll. Corvus can barely see. His wings are fumbling everywhere and his aerial body is easily injured. He flops to the ground letting out a strained screech a choke. The pain, the pain, the pain...!!!
If he had his heart, if he had his half, he wouldn't hurt so much...!!
(He remembers falling to Earth, a helpless blob of incomprehensible flesh, he remembers the crows surrounding him, shielding him with their wings...)
There is no one to help him. His crows lay dead around them. He is injured, he is bleeding, he lets out one last noise and then silence.
He lies still.]
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If his priorities did not lie elsewhere, he would check and see if he were really dead, or if his breathing was merely shallow. As it stands, his mind immediately moves to Devon, the alarm in him triggering again. He drops the poker to the snow, and turning around, rushes over to her. He drops to his knees, propping her up with one hand, and the other supports the back of her head.]
Devon?! Devon!
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The light in her chest continues to glow and the bruises begin to disappear as if they were never there to begin with. Once they're all gone including any other scratches from the struggle, the light dims until it completely disappears.]
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And then the glow brightens, the one in her chest, the one the man had called her heart. It beats and makes her bruises disappear, it feels warm, pushing away the cold of the snow around them.
Her healing? the thought whispers in his mind. Was it really related to her heart?
When the light dims, all he wants to do is hold her close. And he does.]
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And then he moves. Slowly. Gradually. He forces himself through the pain to become smaller, the same shape as a normal sized crow.
With one last searing caw, he shoots up into the air disappearing into the night sky. He will find another way to return. But for now he needs to rest. He needs to reconsider. He needs to get away.]