deercountry | 15 . JOHNUARY

[ ~~hecate~~ out of the ash i rise isn't really sure what she expected from the church. something a little more... familiar? iconography from home, maybe, or at the very least some stupidly lavish show of wealth made to flex on everyone else in the district. (and to be fair, the bloodstones? excellent taste. it kind of makes her want to puke a little, which is the correct feeling in this sort of situation, so!)

what she's not expecting is an ominous red glow, like something awful and old and primal is calling out to her. and what she's really not expecting is the voice that speaks up from behind her. her sword arm twitches, her fingers preparing to grab at her rapier - but that isn't there anymore. she's defenseless and unarmed. she stands no chance here.

so instead of admitting defeat, or even taking a remotely defensive stance, she turns to meet the newcomer and speaks with all the third house venom she can muster in her blackened little heart. ]

I don't know. I mean... The bloodstones are a little gauche, don't you think?

[ God, contrary to popular opinion, is not a total idiot: he catches the little twitch of a warrior on alert. If it weren't for the Pthumerians playing translator, maybe he'd recognize somebody speaking House. If she were a necromancer, maybe he'd catch the thanergenic signature of a body attuned to decay.

As it is, he only thinks she's a warrior. This town has a lot of those. ]

It's a little much, maybe, but at least they know what they're going for. I would've gone more for skulls, personally, but that's me.

[ He steps closer to have a look with her, posture at ease. He looks like nobody: crownless, dressed in simple blacks. It's only the eyes that are wrong. ]

Really? [ it's said with the biting wit, the incisive tone of someone who is about to deliver the absolute perfect comeback - right up until she makes direct eye contact. holy hell, this guy's eyes are jet fucking black, aren't they. well then. ] ...wow. Okay, actually, I guess that tracks.

[ he steps closer, and though she crosses her arms she makes no attempt to either back down or get closer. he's treating her like a complete non-issue, which means either he's a complete idiot or he's smart enough to know what he's doing, and either way she's not going to argue with his judgment right about now.

well, at least not on that front. ]

You... you do know you can wear other colors, right? [ it's said in the tone of someone who isn't even sure if they're making fun of someone or offering advice. ] Even if you're just accessorizing. They won't, like... burn you??

[ Ouch. It's a fair shot: he's been committed to this look for a long, long time now. ]

I sometimes indulge in a bit of bone white.

[ It is briefly unclear whether he's joking. Except that he tips his head and adds, more openly wry: ]

But let's try not to give our hosts any ideas. I never know what they'll do with the free outfits.

[ This is his second January, his second party invite and accompanying overwrought cloak left to decay in a closet. If he keeps passing up the offers, the snake in charge might start getting creative. ]

Ha. At least you have some contrast. Maybe try some silver? A bit more refined, a bit less... [ ninth, she wants to say, but who even knows if he has that context in this place, so instead she just says: ] ...macabre? Yeah, that's the word.

[ he's not charging her way, so that gives her some freedom to move. she arcs around him casually, roughly keeping the same distance even as she rotates to look at one of the less dusty shelves. (removing the blockade; opening the way to the door. she's still ready to run if it comes down to it. if she has time.) ]

Ooh, do we get freebies often? The way I heard it, you either offered your service or your blood, and I'm kind of attached to both.

Macabre. [ He murmurs it, softly amused. ] At this point, I think I've thrown in my lot with macabre.

[ She reorients for an escape route, and he lets her, posture casual as he inspects the walls of their spooky glowing church. It's not like he's ruffled by wariness. His reputation precedes him; so too, apparently, does his vibe. ]

Less freebies, more consolation prizes... Sometimes after a particularly rough month you'll get a novelty T-shirt.

Even then, they'll try to get your blood along the way. I try not to take it personally.

[ He always takes it personally regardless. ]

[ she tactfully resists the urge to say "i can tell." mostly because it'd be hammering the joke a little too far, you know? tear would give her shit for it being easy pickings, and honestly, she'd have earned it. under no circumstances can ash allow tear to have that sort of affirmation. ]

A T-shirt? Okay, look. I'm more of a "buy first, pay later" kind of gal, but I'm pretty sure my blood's worth more than that. [ she huffs a sigh, playing at being dramatic... and stays where she is at the shelf, idly thumbing through indecipherable books. looks like she's not taking the chance to run for it just yet. ] So, what, you've been here for a while then?

[ He'll take it. John pauses to drum his fingers on a dusty bookshelf in thought. ]

Year, year and a half? Let me tell you, it feels longer. If we're being polite, I'd call it 'eventful.'

A year and a half?

[ okay, wow. this sucks significantly more than expected. she sighs, halfway between "i hope you know how irritating that is" and genuinely put out. ]

Right. Okay. Stuck on some backwater planet, hopping between city ruins on the slowest transports I've seen in my life, and they literally try to bleed you for what you're worth. And that's before you got to the "eventful" part. Any tips for a new hostage?

[ John says year and a half in the way most people would say a few minutes, but he can respect the sentiment. He holds up a hand, pauses as though in grave consideration, and begins ticking it off on his fingers: ]

Don't eat anything you didn't watch a human being cook; you cannot win a fight against the magic ocean; and when in doubt, the puzzle can be solved by talking about your feelings.

In order: worrisome, absolutely terrifying, and the worst thing I've ever heard! Awesome. Perfect.

[ one hand drifts up, massaging at her temples. she sighs, heavy and exhausted. ]

...I suppose I owe you a "thank you." I mean, advice, fashion, and you haven't even tried to murder me? That's better treatment than I've had for most of my life.

[ He gives a wry smile, faintly sympathetic. ]

I'm trying to keep up my no-murdering streak.

[ All that's between them is a short stretch of dusty church floor. He takes a step forward to offer a handshake, and that smile quirks with quiet amusement, like the banal introduction is somehow also a joke: ]

I'm John.

Ha. I respect the effort.

[ "john?" well, if that isn't... a name. not a name she's ever heard before, but a name nonetheless. she takes her hand in his, and while she keeps her grip gentle and formal there's no denying the wiry muscle beneath. ]

Princess Hecate Triphosphera, Cavalier Primary to the Heirs of the House of the Third. [ a beat, as she lets go of his hand- ] I mean, technically, I'm not supposed to use that name anymore? But I happen to like it quite a bit, so. Fuck that. I worked very hard for each part of that name, you know?

[ Well. That's not one he expected.

John's expression does something complicated. His eyebrows jump in open surprise, then furrow into puzzlement; his lips part around Heirs like he'll be able to find some meaning in the shape of it. It subsides into the background thoughtfulness of a man turning over some kind of logistical puzzle— and then the wry edge returns to his expression, less humor to it now. ]

I believe it. [ He drops his hand and looks her up and down, noting again the way she stands, the twitch of hand to hip, the opinions on bloodstones. ] Why leave it behind?

[ unfortunately for john, the cavalier formerly known as princess hecate triphosphera is a shockingly observant young woman. fortunately for john, she's observant in all the wrong ways - and she's been here just long enough to get the talk from ianthe and check out the blank stares when she talks. she understands that she's on a completely new world with completely new rules. a world where necromancy isn't well understood.

a world where she doesn't really have to worry too much about this guy knowing what she means when she says: ]

So the, uh. The twins I mentioned? It's sort of my job to go wherever they go. Like, "cavalier primary" sounds cool and all, and there's a lot of formal parts to it, but in the end my job is to stand at their side and stab anything they need me to stab. It's the one thing I have to do. I really can't stress that enough. So if they tell me to give up my name, and head to some planet in the middle of nowhere, and live in a fucking bunker where the showers take way too long to get hot? I say "wow, you ignorant skank, that sounds like an absolutely terrible idea, but I guess I'm in anyway!"

[ a long, exasperated sigh. this one's not even for the drama. listen. she loves the girls with all her heart, she really does. ]

Ugh. "From the Ash I Rise." It just doesn't have the same feel, you know?

[ John seems to experience all stages of grief in extremely rapid succession. Entire expressions cross his face, escalate, and die. He mourns the nice moment of neighborly camaraderie. He comes to accept that this is infinitely funnier. ]

I am very sorry to hear, [ says the King Undying, dry as grave dirt, ] about the state of the showers.

[ John raises a hand to rub at the crease of his brow like a man at a loss. He regards Hecate from under the plain brown lines of his fingers, openly exhausted. ]

It's really just "From the Ash I Rise"? There aren't two additional, increasingly silly extra parts?

[ for her own part, hecate's reaction is readable in an entirely different direction. it's a bit simpler than john's, though no less storied for its simplicity: a beautiful moment of noncomprehension, followed by the exact moment where her soul leaves her body from regret. if fuckups powered necromancy, the thalergic emission here would be stunning.

hecate breathes in. her back straightens; her calves tense in that all-too-familiar stance. and finally, she speaks in the clearest tones she can muster. ]

"From the Ash I Rise Je Veux Te Revanche I'm Beggin' of You Please Don't Take My Man." Yeah. It's a mouthful. [ she looks like she wants to die, a little. from her faux pas? from her name? perhaps it's both! ] So, uh. "John." I'm guessing you don't have a second, kind of garbage name?

[ oh, man. if she doesn't get eviscerated by some necromancy bullshit, she is absolutely going to get torn apart by coronabeth. ]

Of course it is, [ says John, very slowly. He really has to savor these, sometimes. And they say he's the one doing crimes against humanity. ] Turns out I have a fourth helpful tip.

[ He drops his hand from his eyes and looks at her dead-on, the burning halos of his eyes lit up in the church's bad red flicker. ]

This town has a sense of humor, but only ever at your expense.

[ He spreads his hands like ta-da, like the delivery of a punchline. ]

I hear they're just calling me the big evil wizard, these days.

[ look. hecate isn't sure what she's expecting, other than something bad. and each word of buildup just makes it worse! this sucks. this buildup sucks. no matter how bad it is, she is confident it's not worth all this anxious buildup.

at least, she's confident right up until he says the whole "big evil wizard" part. which makes her squint for a moment as she tries to remember just who that is - not her proudest moment, she'll admit - before her eyes go saucer-wide. ]

Oh, no fucking way.

[ look. there's no simply other way to put it. she is absolutely, categorically, theologically fucked right now. her stance just... slumps, any remote attempt at keeping herself prepared flying out the window. after a moment, she looks up and into his eyes, offering the earnest smile of a woman who has decided to challenge the grim reaper to a game despite knowing full well she's already dead. ]

Well. I feel like. We might be past the point of explaining things away? So instead I would just like to say that I've met several of your Holy Saints in the past week, and they've been very lovely, and I feel like the fact that they decided not to murder me means that maybe you might appreciate me alive too?

[ It is, admittedly, pretty satisfying. All the local kids have lost their holy awe of him, and sometimes a guy needs a little boost to the ego, right? Especially after so many rough weeks and lost fights. It's a relief to be God again for a minute.

He's always liked the chance to be a kindly God. ]

No, this is interesting stuff. No one's ever willing to give me the gossip.

[ Except for the information he gets from people tied to chairs, but they don't have to acknowledge that particular elephant. It's frankly embarrassing. His fight isn't with her; it's one thing for his Lyctors to throw betrayal in his face, knowing what they know about the shape of things. It's another to watch kids flounder in a fight they don't understand. He's too tired to make a thing of it, and too far from home.

He steps forward, all the same. Whether she hits her knees or stands her ground, he has a piece to say. ]

You said it yourself... you were acting as a cavalier. That's loyalty, if you'd follow your necromancer to an unfriendly planet with shitty showers.

[ He quirks a smile at her, kind of awkward, kind of wry. It's the same guy he'd been a minute ago, joking about his no-murder streak-- which, to be fair, he might have oversold-- except that he looks somehow steadier and more tired, now. ]

I do appreciate you alive, Hecate Triphosphera, Cavalier Primary to the Third. For as long as you consider that your name, I'll consider you one of mine.

[ Even if he has no clue who she is. ]

[ from the moment she was old enough to hold a rapier, princess hecate triphosphera has trained for that exact purpose. it isn't that she particularly enjoys fighting; in fact, truth be told, she finds it utterly distasteful except for those rare cases where she gets to humiliate a challenger. but endless hours of practice have molded her, and countless drills have been beaten and berated into her until they were woven into the very cells of her body, and what is left is less a human being and more a finely tuned machine. her rapier is an extension of her body, as a cavalier's must be. and she, in turn, is an extension of her necromancer, as a cavalier should be. she must always be ready; she must stand unflinching, an eternal sentinel at her charge's side. one flesh, one end.

and all of this is the only thing that keeps her from falling prostrate - keeps her upright when her knees begin to shake, when she finds her breath forced out of her lungs - before his celestial kindliness, the first reborn, the necrolord prime, as he approaches her. ]

That's! Wow! [ oh, god. is she hyperventilating? how incredibly embarrassing. she tries to regulate her breath, as best as she can while she's, you know. face to face with a living deity. ] I'm glad! You think so!

[ against all odds, she manages to keep that awkward smile on her face - even as tears start to form and fall from the corners of her eyes. sorry, god! involuntary response! totes embarrassing! she finally manages a full sentence, after a moment and a particularly sharp breath, and it even sounds like she's mostly talking normally: ]

God, you wouldn't believe how garbage the food is.

[ She quails, but doesn't crumple, which is nice. Very steady of her, and also less awkward. It feels like an absurdly long time since he's been in this position, since anything has been so reassuringly simple as a kid scared shitless to meet God.

And so maybe they're calling her by old lyrics they've never known the tune to, and it's embarrassing all around. He can let that slide. It's never been so easy to simply not give a damn.

He touches a hand to her shoulder, and gives it a steadying squeeze. ]

I absolutely believe how garbage the food is.

[ He releases her, and exhales a slow sigh as though considering the situation before them. ]

Well, that's some context, I guess. Hell. Now that I've led with John, it feels a little silly to take a my Lord. If you want a title, call me Teacher.

[ It feels like decades since he's said that to anyone. It doesn't come as easy as it used to. ]

15 . JOHNUARY

take me to church

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