cost you to keep me quiet
The little bit of light that pierced through the veil of leaved branches that hung over them danced across their figures. Mostly, it danced across hers, refracting against the delicate white of her coat and making the blue etchings in her flesh appear to move like the sprigs of a willow. He drank her in, ever observant to the subtle movements of her body.
He read others well, usually. Vince had to in order to survive this long in life without many other merits to thrive with. What he read in her was a kindness that humored him, but a wisdom that did not give in to belief entirely. Her delicate lips fell and Vince knew he needed to perfect his performance if he was going to con the girl out of pitied labor. At least she remained curious enough to ask just how he had been mistreated by the world, so he wasn’t calling the façade quits just yet. He had long since developed a repertoire of stories to tell. It was only a matter of deciding which one.
“It is my own fault, I suppose…” He confessed, oozing hopelessness. “I took my daughter out to the canyons, not far from our home and yet beyond its safety. I wanted her to learn how to survive the desert, to learn where food, water, and shelter could be found in the most desolate of places. I shouldn’t have taken her so far out alone, where the wild dogs roved in packs. I suppose I never thought they’d come upon us so quickly, in such a large group at that…I’m still not sure how many there were. I just…” He forced his eyes shut, tucking his head in and biting back whimpers. “I shouldn’t have been the one to survive…maybe I deserve this…maybe…” Vince shook, a weak shudder visibly moving his shoulders. The pity card was his best, preened from years of getting his way through depreciative behavior.
“Vivienne…” Her name came out as a whisper. The daughter who bore it, the real one, he had been estranged from since she was a filly. He would not feel a loss if the tragedy he wove had happened and he surmised that she would feel the same way about him. She did even back then before she grew up tall, lean, and with a wit with an uncanny sharpness to his own. Vince blinked away the fictionalized sadness, drawing his eyes back up to hers and pressed his gaze in to her own. Empathy was a disease and he believed she was afflicted with it.
With a sigh, he redirected. “Dear Bel, I’m afraid I know so little of the relic except that the Tempus himself has gifted it to this island. When you are hinging on the edge of death, you grasp at strings. I’m desperate to find it, desperate not let this disgusting body fail to an infection brought on by wounds that have been too open for too long.”
She offered him the help of a different kind, one of her healers back home. Oh, that wouldn’t do. Any healer would take one look at him and decide that passive magic is at play. Now the mare was simply being contrary by not taking his lies with grace. “A healer?” He feigned interest, but then a harsh cough overtook him. Easy to fake considering his jagged jowls were already lined with blood. He didn’t swallow, letting it splatter to the ground, staining the moss black. ”I’m so close to the relic. I can feel it. To turn back and go so far…I’m not sure how much time I’ve left.”
“Help me find it, Bel. When I’m well, I will forever be in your debt.” He looked to her with pleading eyes now, silver pools that hid his idolatry for fraud.
@Below Zero | Oh now he’s just pathetic.
@Random Events
