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[Bjorn]

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Bjørn
Turns out they were neighbours—not just out here on the periphery of the city, but across the mountain range in Lyngvi too. Strange that they’d not crossed paths in all this time, though the simplest explanation was Bjørn’s use of portals and tomes. In any case, they’d decided on meeting here rather than in closed quarters. The gauntlet would come into play eventually, but tonight they weren’t practicing with weapons or powers. Tonight it was good old hand to hand combat, carried out in his backyard amidst the fallen leaves and rain-slicked soil. Before Caligrace learned to rely on any sort of weapon or power (both which could be denied to her in battle), she had to become the weapon.

Dressed in one of his many, many surplus-bought getups (increasingly easy to find with the growing number of soldiers about and the inevitable death of many), Bjørn dropped to his haunches to tighten his leather laces, the military boots he wore seemingly clumpy, but an advantage on the slippery terrain.


Caligrace
When Freyja had told her she’d purchased a farm, she had almost laughed at the audacity of it all. She wasn’t a farm girl - but then, she had spent a few minutes in the solitude. Now, the house was quiet, the only sound the soft rustling of her hoodie as she slid the zipper into place against her ribcage. That, and the sudden ping of her cell. The sound shattered the silence, and she berated herself when she jumped nearly a foot in the air, even as her fingers quickly pulled the device from her pocket. When Bjorn’s named flashed on the screen, along with an image and a message that was so very him, she couldn’t stop the smile that formed.

[t to Bjorn] I’ll be there soon

Often, she allowed herself a witty comment in response - but for now, she was too eager to see him - only for training, of course. There was no other reason she wanted to see him. Yeah, she was bad at lying, even to herself. With a quick shake of her fire-colored curls, she headed for the door, form blurring so she could close the distance in as little time as possible. Within seconds, she was in front of him, her fingers working her hair back into the frayed tie. “Hey there, gorgeous. Miss me?”


Bjørn
“No,” he replied blandly, expression blank. “But I’m glad you missed them,” he motioned with his chin at the lingering forms hovering along the perimeter. They only ever reacted when someone was near, otherwise shuffling mindless as they did, summoned but denied the freedom to roam. It’d cost him a pretty penny to get them in place, and he wasn’t keen on seeing that money go to waste. One day—soon—he’d be able to summon them himself.

Pulling his gaze away from the creature made of shadows, bound by magic to its spot, Bjørn glanced down at the redhead. He’d not received her response, the phone left on the crafting bench inside. As opposed to vampires, smart phones weren’t very resilient. Dropping his hands from his pockets and folding his arms across his broad chest, the telepath widened his stance and held her gaze. “Have you fed recently?”


Caligrace
“Whatever you say, big guy,” she countered, though her expression quickly altered. Gone was the warm smile, even as her eyes remained bright. Instead, she was trying to mimic him. His stance, the blank lines of his face. On him, it looked intimidating. On her, well, she was just glad she didn’t have access to a mirror in that moment. Crossing her arms over her chest, she followed his gaze to the monsters that edged the surface, her eyes widening a fraction as she audibly swallowed. “Yeah, I’m glad I did, too. If I didn’t know any better, I would say you were trying to keep me out.” Her voice - though trembling slightly - still held that teasing lilt.

Forcing her gaze from the summoned ghouls, she instead focused on him, before rolling the sleeve of her hoodie up to show the bracelet snapped to her wrist. “I don’t need to, unless I’ve been injured. It’s safer for everyone if I keep this on. The power keeps my hunger at bay.”


Bjørn
Bjørn’s gaze narrowed as he leaned forward. Yeah, that looked familiar. Elliot used to have a similar relic. Perhaps it was a thing reserved for the rich allurists, because he’d yet to come across one. Truth was, he had no use for such a relic. Feeding no longer attracted unwelcome attention now that he could control himself, and, despite all her failings as a sire, Simone hadn’t passed on any curses that affected his ability to retain his composure and anonymity. “Yeah I’ve seen one of them before,” he said, straightening his posture.

Uncrossing his hands, he hiked up both sleeves to reveal muscled forearms with a mix of leather and metal bracelets across each wrist. The rings on his fingers too were imbued with magic. These were only a few of his collection, coupled with the necklaces hanging from his neck under his clothing. Those that might give him an advantage over her had been securely stored however. “Bit of a hoarder myself,” he explained, shaking down the sleeves as he added with some finality, “Jack of trades and all.”


Caligrace
“I don’t even remember how I got it, to be honest. I think someone gave it to me, but I can’t recall who.” She knew it a strange thing to admit, but when the bracelet had been snapped around her wrist, she had been covered in blood. It was all she could remember; the feeling, taste and smell of the life substance that poured freely from open wounds. Forcing it from her mind, she slowly dropped her arm, her fingers toying with the metal hook of her hoodie’s zipper.

When he followed her previous actions, putting his muscled arms on display, she had to force her gaze from his skin to the bands that adorned his wrists, before trailing the length of his hands until the rings came into view. Most men who wore jewelry couldn’t pull it off, but on him, it only added to appeal. It gave him an air of darkness and only furthered the aura of mystery. “Nothing wrong with holding onto things that you like,” she smiled, her eyes finding his. “Maybe one day you can help me find some for myself. I’ve heard tales, but I’ve never had much luck in the finding.”



Bjørn
“Sure, just let me know. Some are easier to find than others,” he shrugged noncommittally, never one to turn down a chance to do something. Most of his hunts—scavenger and other—were usually due to requirement, but since restoring the farm and calling it home, he’d become somewhat of a hoarded. There was nothing he disliked more than being immersed in a project and being unable to complete it due to his own oversight

With that, his features softened. “So I’ve not done this in a while”—he thought back to Emerson and Meara, neither of which he’d seen much of. The latter had crossed his path a few times, but they were too different to sustain a friendship—“I’m going to need you to tell me what you want. Specifically. Out of this.” The last four words tumbled out as afterthoughts, his need to define things clearly sourced from his own confusion in regards to the redhead.


Caligrace
Her fingers still toying with the zipper, pulling it down to her navel and back up, she studied him. Her eyes searched his face, before dancing over his shoulder, to his arms - and down, down, until she met his boots. His stance, his posture, the way he held himself in that moment was forever ingrained in her memory. Once again, she tried to mimic him, though this time, she didn’t realize she had done it. Her fingers dropped away from her hoodie, the material falling open, allowing the chilled, rain-scented air to brush over the skin of her stomach.

“I will,” she responded, though her voice was distracted as she stretched her fingers out in front of her, the dim light reflecting in the pumpkin colored paint that coated her manicured nails. Halloween, much to everyone’s surprise, was one of her favorite holidays. Cupping one hand around the opposite wrist, she pulled her arms over her head and stretched her back out. She wasn’t trying to put on a show for him - no, this was about survival, about pulling her muscles until the were loose and ready for whatever about to come her way. Once finished, she dropped her arms back to her side and tilted her head as she mulled over his question.

I wish I had the answer to that, she thought, even as he rushed to clarify his meaning. A small smile lifted one corner of her lips, before she sighed. “I want to not die. I want to be able to protect you - and everyone else. I want to be beneficial. I want to be strong, but I also want to keep my humanity in tact for as long as I can.” The words tumbled out of her, and she scrunched her nose adorably. “I want to know how to fight. All forms. I want whatever you can give me.”


Bjørn
The open space surrounding the farm was well-lit, though Bjørn could have easily caught sight of pale skin in the dark given the contrast of black and white. His gaze didn’t linger—not tonight. He was focused on the evening’s choice activity: training. Survival was reserved for the fittest, and despite the initial boost vampirism bestowed on them, strength and preparedness came from practice. Caligrace’s words echoed some of his own, earlier frustrations.

“Well, I don’t need protection,” he started, attempting to brush some of the weight off her shoulders. “The goal is for each one of us to hold our own,” he added, replacing the weight with something else—something she could actually accomplish by not anchoring it to anything other than herself. They could talk until dawn about specifications and preferences, but he’d learned from the few occasions he’d done this that there was no use working without backdrop.

“Take me down,” he instructed, stepping his right leg backwards. His arms remained at his sides.


Caligrace
Even as he deemed himself capable of surviving without her help, she brushed it off. It wouldn’t stop her from coming to his aid if she thought he needed it, but the rest of his sentence made sense. She would only be a hindrance if she didn’t learn to stand on her own two feet. She had taken advantage of what the vampiric life had to offer intellectually, but physically - she had hid from it. When she could have been honing her fighting skills, she had instead buried herself in work, partying, and school. Now, it seemed, it was coming to bite her in her well-toned ***.

Take me down.

His words echoed in her head and earned nothing but silence from her. She didn’t make a sound, she didn’t let the quip that was primed on her tongue to be aired. Instead, she stared openly at him, once again drinking him in. He was large - far larger than her. His height and muscles compared to her own was outright laughable. She was a kitten going against a beast. Swiping her tongue across her lower lip, she shifted her stance, her arms loose at her sides before she moved. She wasn’t as fast as she could have been, deciding to forgo the boost that her power would give her, and instead she depended on the natural vampiric speed.

Her idea was to put her hand to his chest, to push him back, even as her leg swept out to connect with the back of his foot. In her mind, it played out perfectly. With one quick kick, he would be on his back, and she could pin him down with a boot to his throat.


Bjørn
Bjørn’s shoulders unfurled as his chest puffed forward with a deep breath. It was as much a reaction to the studious gaze as it was part of the ritual that drew him into himself. Without blades tucked into hems and holstered guns strapped across his chest, around his thigh, and at his hip, he too had to get into the right mindset.

A trained fighter would have used their smaller frame to get around him, or aimed for his legs to destabilise him. Caligrace did neither of those things, and for that, she’d pay. Reborn a telepath, his synapses fired as he watched, almost knowing before she did what she would do. Coupled with extensive practice, Bjørn was both too solid of an obstacle due to sheer size and strength, and far too nimble to become one in the first place.

His left foot shifted backwards as he pivoted, clearing the space he’d just been standing in. The hand that’d been aimed at his chest flew past him with room to spare, and he stepped his right foot away before it could be caught. It was up to her to catch herself and try again. Once they were done, he’d voice the tally of how many times he could have incapacitated her. So far the count was to .


Caligrace
In the back of her mind, she knew that her plan had failed. It would have been much too easy - much to perfect for her to have been able to take him down on the first try. Refusing to let it deter her, she managed to keep herself upright by digging her heel into the ground when he stepped from her path. She only swayed slightly, the hand that had been aiming for him now prepared to catch her should she actually manage to be brought to her knees. Thankfully, that wasn’t the case. Straightening, she ran her fingers through her hair, the curls still caught within the black tie that was so strained, it was threatening to snap apart at any given moment.

“You’re going to make this hard,” she teased, though there was a determination in her gaze. The fire within her seemed to make the amber flare with life as she once again studied him. There was something in the way he moved - all grace, all predator. If she wanted to take him down, she had to use more than just her body. She had to use her mind. While she wasn’t strong, she was quick and nimble, her size allowing for her to move freely. If she could take him by surprise, maybe then she wouldn’t need to depend on her strength. The problem was, she hadn’t a damned clue how to catch him off guard. He watched her like a hawk would a mouse, leaving no room for her to make an error.

Dropping her hands to her sides, she moved again, this time moving to side-step him. As she did, she brought her arm up. She hoped to trick him, to make him think she was going to take the angle and get behind him, but instead, she planned to hook her arm around his throat and bring him down as she ran by.


Bjørn
Of course Bjørn wasn’t going to make it easy on her. His limited pedagogical experience didn’t translate into being a **** coach; he’d many a times run for his life. He knew how relentless all rift creatures could be, sentient or otherwise. Humans too were capable of great feats of dominance and cruelty. It would be a disservice to her if he instilled in her false confidence. What he had to be careful of, and was not entirely aware of himself yet, was not to crush her spirit. A win here and there was worth more than any tailored recommendation or encouraging word.

Once again he slipped from her grip, though her creativity was not lost on him. She was a fast-learner. More importantly, she seemed determined. There was a fire within her that he’d sensed before, at the lodge. She might smell like summer and offer herself to the world in the image of sandy beaches and tropical breeze, but there was a fire alight in her that tasted like charcoal and ash.

This time he didn’t simply evade her. No, he amped it. The arm she carelessly aimed at him was gripped in an attempt to spin her, the goal to birl her away from him. Unlike the last time he’d tested her reflexes, this wasn’t a defence lesson. “Come on, did you really thing I’d make it easy?” He asked rhetorically, his tone light. He wasn’t taunting or mocking her; he was starting to test which kindling made that fire burn brighter. “Take me down,” he demanded.


Caligrace
It was as though he was in her very thoughts. Whatever move she planned, he was already two steps ahead, his body primed for the attack that she hadn’t fully developed. When she felt his fingers curl around her arm, she knew that she had miscalculated. Before she had a chance to come up with a plan, to pull her arm free or maybe even dip into a crouch in an attempt to throw him over her - she was spinning away from him. This time, she couldn’t stop the trajectory, her foot catching on the wet ground, the motion sending her falling.

Landing on her knees, she took a moment to collect her thoughts before she jumped back to her feet, hands dusting dirt and debris from her clothes. “You can’t blame a girl for trying,” she grinned, though the gold in her eyes only seemed to burn brighter as she turned back to him. If there was one thing that was truly known about the girl, it was that she hated to lose. It wasn’t the thrill from beating her opponent that kept her going, but the knowledge that she could be better. This, this falling, stumbling girl, wasn’t all that she could be. She could take him down. She knew it - she just needed to figure out how. Shrugging from her jacket, she tossed it to the side before she carefully fixing her hair so it continued to stay out of her way. “I’m beginning to think you just want me to pin you,” she taunted - before she said nothing more.

Instead, she charged, her body moving faster than it had previously. She headed straight for him - before changing directions at the last second to twist behind him. Without wasting a beat, she lunged, her arms going to wrap around his neck, her legs aimed to circle his waist. Her goal was to pull him backwards - to make him lose his footing - and at the last moment, she would try to roll so she wouldn’t be pinned beneath his massive body.

[Caligrace]

Bjørn
Bjørn’s gaze dipped curiously to the exposed flesh, but he wasn’t going to be thrown off so easily. Some of the women in this city had seemingly never heard of modesty, and in this context Caligrace’s curves held little power of him. Though the lines between lust, bloodlust, and dominance were all thin, they remained solid—compartmentalising each. Right now, he was enjoying the latter of the three.

It was lucky for her that he too didn’t move to the side when she did. He could have given a bull a run for its money if he chose to make an obstacle of himself, let alone send an angry carrot top rolling. Instead, he stepped away, barely turning on his heel when she jumped onto him. It was an awkward angle to be squirrel’ed upon, but he wasn’t thrown off. His feet remained flat on the ground, the grip of shoes rising to meet the challenge slick soil provided. His knees had been bent, stance wide enough to lower his centre of gravity and keep him from stumbling.

Bjørn didn’t topple over. Crouching into a squat, he hooked his hand under one of her knees, and gripped at the wrists closing in on his chest. With one fluid movement, he moved to buck her off. Had he used the full extend of his strength, he'd have easily thrown her over his shoulders.

He didn't mind harbouring atop his back for a second longer however, his grip just short of crushing. If it weren't for vampiric healing, there'd be bruises on her thigh and wrists. “And I’m beginning to think it’s the other way around.”


Caligrace
She saw him twist, the movement slight, but it was already too late for her to stop her momentum. When she managed to latch onto him - which, she was surprised she had made it that far - it was far from the position she had formed in her mind. Instead, it was slightly to the side, her fingers struggling to find purchase before the fight no longer mattered. Within seconds, he had dipped into a crouch, one hand digging into her calf, the other gripping her wrists. She couldn’t move - even if she had wanted to. He had effectively captured her in his web.

When he bucked, she felt herself shift, but she didn’t lose what little balance she had. It was by complete luck that she managed to hold on for a moment longer, even as her flesh ached where his touch dug in. It wasn’t the type of pain that would she would have felt had she been human, instead a warmth that reminded her that could still feel. When he spoke, she felt the vibrations through their joined bodies, and she couldn’t help the soft smirk that formed. “I most definitely wouldn’t complain,” she teased, though her eyes still held that fire of determination.

She wasn’t about to give up, not yet. She wasn’t wired to stop before she had completed her task, but she knew she had to take a step back and assess the situation. He was too strong, too fast, and far too smart for someone as unskilled as she in battle - and she knew he was holding back. If this was anyone else, if this was one of those that wished to kill her, they would have succeeded. With a shake of her head, she tried to twist out of his grasp before he had a chance to try and throw her off again, her body squirming in his grasp, even as her mind began to formulate her next plan.


Bjørn
There was nothing natural about this position, but Caligrace weighed so little that it didn’t feel uncomfortable either…yet. At some point he’d have to let her go, if only to keep things going. There was little either of them could do this way, and few creatures fought this way. The spider-like creatures in the caves perhaps, but seldom would she come across those in the city. This wasn’t helping her, and it was certainly not helping him. The long fingers splayed across her polyester leggings tightened as the directionless squirming became a threat to the crown jewels. It was an accident he rather avoid. To do so, he slid his hand down from under her knee and wrapped it around her barred ankle. Skin to skin; his matching the night’s cool air. Whatever appearance of mortality and health was shattered by his body’s inability to stay warmer than the temperature of the air around him

“I’ll let go if you stop squirming, otherwise we can both stay here looking pretty ******* stupid I wager.”


Caligrace
She had expected him to use his hold to propel her away from him, her body even bracing for impact, despite the way she continued to struggle in his hold. It would have been the logical thing to do - they were trying to teach her how to survive. Yet, when his hand slid to curl around her ankle, the chilled touch of his skin against her own surprising her, she stilled. His touch did something to her - something she couldn’t quite put a name to (and honestly, she was beginning to wonder if she ever would) - and she quickly worked to mask her expression before he noticed. “You could have easily tried to throw me off again, so I don’t think you really mind, handsome” she chuckled, though she didn’t pick up her errant squirming again.

“Besides, I don’t think we look that stupid - and who’s going to complain? Your ghoulish friends over there?” Her tone light, she wiggled her fingers slightly in a show of surrender.


Bjørn
The corner of his mouth quirked at her words, but he made no outwards show of his amusement. Instead, he tried to clamp down on the part of him that—no, that didn’t work. As soon as her hands relaxed, fingers wiggling in mock derision, he relinquished his hold on her wrist. Simultaneously, he straightened his knees, using the momentum to shove her off. The hand at her ankle loosened before falling away completely. The step he took denied her any anchoring as he left her to her own devices against gravity. It shouldn’t have been unexpected… He had said he would let her go once she stopped squirming.

Turning on his heel, he took a lazy step backwards before rooting his feet shoulder-width apart. “I never said I wouldn’t—throw you off, that is.” The slant of his lips remained—entirely at her expense—as he shrugged off the camo jacket. Beneath, a thin cotton shirt—bright blue like his eyes—revealed the full silhouette of his torso. The leather, silver, and nickel-copper alloy necklace chains were visible around his neck, though the amulets and dog tags laid flat beneath his collar, out of sight. He balled up the jacket and tossed it as one would a baseball, aiming for a patch of dried leaves a good ft behind her.


Caligrace
If she had wanted to say something else - she never got the change. The moment she had signed her surrender, she found herself airborne, and though she tried to find a way to be graceful about her inevitable collapse against the ground, she couldn’t. Once her hands connected with the damp earth, she found herself sliding as she lost purchase, elbows soon finding a home in the dirt. “Now, that was a bit uncalled for,” she muttered, some of the light dimming from her eyes as she took in the mud that caked her skin. It didn’t last long, and soon she was laying back, her hands moving to brush through the tangled curls that had come loose.

With a quick jerk of her wrist, she pulled the snapped tye from the knotted mess and chuckled. “I knew that damned thing wouldn’t last a hour.” With more grace than she thought she deserved, she leaped back to her feet, hands soon moving to brush off the back of her thighs. Her lips parted to say something more - something along the lines of thinking he enjoyed tossing her onto the ground - but then she took note of the way he moved when he removed his jacket, and the way the shirt clung to his body and brought out the color in his eyes. Damn, this man is not fair, she thought, before crossing her arms across her stomach. “Try again?”


Bjørn
There was something incredibly endearing about seeing her caked in mud.

The corners of his lips quirked further as she brought up time. There was a depraved quip he could easily have retorted with, something about how long things could easily last more than hour, but the nature of their acquaintance meant lines were still being drawn. He cleared his throat, straightened his face, and rolled his shoulders back. Her question only vocalised what the shifts of his body already suggested.

“One more try,” he replied. “There are other ways to take me out than assault me,” he offered, bending his knees, ready for her. “Think—what makes us different?”


Caligrace
With another quick move of her hands to remove what she could of the dirt - she frowned. She wasn’t really the type of girl to care about getting dirty, but it was as good of a distraction as any in that moment. He’d asked her a question - and she didn’t answer. She kept silent, her eyes finally lifting from the ground to focus on him. She watched as he bent his knees, his stance ready for anything. There was a strength within him she could never hope to master. Working her lower lip between her teeth, she began to bite into it, the skin tearing beneath her fang. The small bite of pain didn’t bother her, her attention never leaving him as she thought.

“We’re faster,” she began, her hand lifting as she began to tick off the answers, “smarter. Stronger. We can sustain more damage, we’re far more cunning…” Trailing off, she watched for a change in his expression to show if she was getting closer. Frustration sparked in her eyes, and suddenly the amber seemed to be more alive, as if actual fire danced beneath the surface. Her hand lifted then so her fingers could curl around the back of her neck, nails digging into the skin there as she tried to find an opening - or something, to allow her to succeed. A quiet growl vibrated from her throat then, catching on the soft breeze as she suddenly dropped her arms and stretched them out to her sides, her body moving fluidly with the motion. Still, she didn’t make a move for him, the gears turning rapidly in her mind as she tried to find the right way.


Bjørn
Bjørn watched her, unable to discern the thoughts coursing through her mind. Being a telepath didn’t come with a lifetime subscription to mind-reading, unfortunately. They’d not spent enough time in each other’s company for him to make any observations. Frustration, perhaps? He watched her worry her lip, idly licking his own. Everyone had a different thought process. Though he wasn’t necessarily asking for a vocalised answer, the passing of time was becoming palpable.

The calm before the storm. He considered her words, watched the shift in her body language. Whatever was brewing beneath the surface was inaccessible to him. Confidence, perhaps? His eyebrows drew together as he watched her, unblinking despite the breeze picking up. Her scent—airy and balmy—was tarnished by petrichor. It suited her better.

“No,” he replied, gaze unwavering. “Not us and them—you and me.”


Caligrace
As he continued to watch her, his gaze as unwavering as her own, she took a step forward. Her teeth stopped the assault on her lip, the bitter taste of her blood dancing along her senses as she narrowed her eyes on him. His question rephrased, she came to a stop - just a few steps away. “Between you and me,” she repeated slowly, head tilting to one side. “Allurist and telepath. You’re mental, I’m charm,” she continued, fingers lifting to press to the abused skin of her lip. “You’re male, I’m female.” By the time she said those words, she was directly in front of him, her mind racing to put the pieces of the puzzle into place. The tactic she had in her mind wasn’t something she would normally try - but a full on assault was getting her nowhere.

Taking another step, she waited to see if he would move - if he would step away, or disappear in a cloud of smoke like in one of those cartoons she used to watch as a child. “You’re a far better fighter,” she whispered, close enough now to touch him. If she got him distracted enough, she could take him down. He was a man - albeit a strong willed one. There was no certainty that her using the charm that she was reborn with would even work. Tucking a curl behind her ear, she tilted her head back - she’d be close enough to brush her lips against his, though not quite (and only if he didn’t choose to move) - and presented him with a soft, genuine smile. His scent tantalizing her, she reached to curl her fingers against the back of his neck, her touch would have been almost featherlight as she tried to distract him, before she would hook her foot against the back of his to kick his leg out from beneath him.


Bjørn
Aside from that really bad haircut a few years back that made his ridiculously small ears stick out, Bjørn had attracted a fair share of attention from the both sexes. He’d basked in it as a teenager (a little less so in the male attention), but ego and vanity had taken a tumble following his rebirth. Elliot helped him out of the mess he’d brought upon himself all those months running wild—orphaned and reckless—and instilled in him contrition and humility instead. The telepath had joked with Every that his libido had died alongside his humanity but that wasn’t entirely true. This Bjørn—vampire Bjørn—had gained a new perspective on all things, including attraction, lust, and all the things that were tangled between them. Allurist or not, it was a vampire’s nature to prey upon and seduce. Caligrace’s act, while effective in ways few others had managed, was not % ineffable.

His hand cradled her elbow, fingertips grazing along her forearm until he encircled her wrist once more. Why he felt compelled to shackle her was attributed to his predatory nature, but there was surely more to it that he refused to face. His pupils widened, thinning out the blue irises. His other hand hovered over her barred waist. He licked his lips, not breaking away from her gaze. It was hypnotising—he could see why she was reborn a charmer—but he’d stared into the eyes of spider women and not fallen prey to their siren song.

“…and you’re predictable,” he whispered back, nudging his nose against hers before hooking his foot around her ankle and tightening his grip on both wrist and waist.


Caligrace
When she had begun to formulate her plan, she hadn’t added in the one variable that would cause to become so incredibly flawed. She had thought it would be simple to distract him - but she hadn’t calculated in how she would react to him. His close proximity was intoxicating, and she found herself swaying closer to him, as if the spell she had tried to weave had entangled her, as well. Of course, his touch could have had something to do it, as well. His skin brushing along hers sent a chill coursing down her spine, and she found herself biting once more into the pliable flesh of her lip. Her eyes, usually bright, began to darken as she watched his features for any subtle change - anything, to let her know that her plan had worked.

It was the change in his eyes that should have clued her in - but by the time she came to the realization, it was already too late. His words washed over his skin, the whisper sending delicious sparks sparking through her veins, and she knew she was a goner. “Of all the things you’ve said to me, I think that stings the most,” she breathed, the fingers that pressed to the back of his neck beginning to lightly dance along the sensitive skin, nails grazing against his hairline. She knew she only had one more chance - and so she moved, her free hand coming to press against his chest with what she hoped was enough strength to send him tumbling.


Bjørn
“You know”—he spoke quietly—“I’m so down to see you try this on a mooncalf.”

Mooncalf—with its rolls of flesh and mismatch of limbs. The image was all he needed to snap out from the lull that her nails were orchestrating along his hairline.

Bjørn should have acted sooner, his balance threatened as he kept his foot between hers, ready to trip her. He stumbled when she pushed into his chest, but the hand hovering over her waist clamped down in response, drawing her backward with him. It was only a few steps. Hardly what he’d asked for, but at least better than her former attempts.

“Not as much as this will,” he warned. The fingers teasing what would have been her pulse point tightened. Fighting was much like dancing, and what he did next could have been misconstrued as the latter. He plucked the arm leaning on his shoulder off it, swinging it over her as the unforgiving grip on her bare waist pushed her into the spin. If she resisted, her wrist could snap. But if it did, it was nothing compared to what shattered breast bone and jagged ribs felt like puncturing the lungs with the fell swoop of a fadebeast’s maw.

[Bjorn]

Caligrace
It was during that first time they met that she realized this man was going to be trouble for her. The way she felt around him was dangerous, and it seemed in that moment, that it was one-sided. There was no way she could have been pulled so quickly from the spell that had been cast around them, and yet, he seemed to snap free as if he had been electrocuted. When he stumbled back, the few steps far from satisfactory, she blinked to clear the haze that his scent had caused on her mind. It was if she was suffocating and was only just now allowed to come up for fresh air - and just in time to hear his warning brush along her ear.

The grip on her wrist became painful, and her features contorted in a wince, but before she could so much as utter a word - she was spinning. The act of resistance was automatic, the need to pull herself from his hold and put distance between them as strong as her attraction. It was that need that proved nearly fatal. She felt the bones in her wrist grind together, and with a pained sound, she tried to escape the very thing that was hurting her - him. When she tried to step away, her foot caught on his, and she was stumbling into him, her back to his chest. The hold on her wrist never loosened, the pain radiating in sharp shocks to her elbow and back up again. It wasn’t broken - she could tell that almost instantly - but ****, it hurt.

“Mooncalves are so not as appealing as you are,” she grit out, her voice wavering slightly. How she was able to still find it in her to say something like that surprised her, but she let it go as her head came to rest against his shoulder, her body stilling in the beat of a second. “Either you’re too good at this, or I’m just god awful and will end up dead in a matter of seconds.” Her words were quiet, but even still, she didn’t allow herself to stop trying. Her hand not captured by his came up, and she tried to pry his death-grip from her wrist. When that failed, she went for something that she had only seen in movies - she grabbed at his bicep, and tried to use what strength she possessed to shove him away and put space between them. From this angle - and with her utter lack of muscle - she already knew it was more than likely going to prove futile.


Bjørn
Bjørn hadn’t been born into a physical path. He’d been gifted brain over brawn upon his rebirth, and the latter he’d had to work hard for. Over two years of experience he had doing exactly this. Two years of bullets seeping blood from his skull for days on end, and limbs growing back with regenerating nerves to the open air—the pain inexorable. He’d learned from experience. He’d learned because not doing so meant experiencing the terror over and over and over and over and over again. And he had, for years now, and that led him here. Every bone he broke still hurt, every bullet stung, but the injuries were less frequent than they’d used to be. It wasn’t innate, and that meant it was attainable.

What Caligrace had to do was realise that their differences did not come down to their sex or path, but to their approach to fighting. Perhaps if they kept doing this she’d eventually figure out a way to take him down, but that wasn’t the lesson to be learned. It was learning to do things differently and learn from every failed attempt. She was shorter, lighter, and just as quick as he was. Then again, perhaps their paths were to be accounted for, as well as their experience. He was not disposed to charm and lure—at least not in the beginning; he was disposed to think—to think about his surroundings, his failure, his limitations, and to catalogue every detail he could about the thing or person before him.

“I learned.”

The hold on his bicep didn’t go unfelt, the sharp edges of her nails digging into his flesh. He responded by pressing the pads of his fingers in to the sharp edge of her hipbone. His chin pressed into the top of her head as he closed his eyes. It was more than purely physical the way he ensnared her. His mind to hers, his synapses and nerves tracing onto hers. The images and sensations he shared were a thing of nightmares, glimpses in quick succession. Lungs filling with blood, chest caved in, throat gurgling. Claws ripping into his throat and everything going back. Searing pain rousing from that darkness, left arm ripped clean, the pain ten fold worse after the sharp and barbed severing. The world topsy turvy as the bullet pressed in a place he couldn’t reach without causing himself blinding pain with every poke of dirty nail to exposed brain fold. Hunters, mooncalves, fadebeasts, alphas, spider women, wendigos, vampires… There was no order to what poured out of him. It was a dizzying road-trip down the map of scars that’d healed on the outside but not within.


Caligrace
The pain was becoming second nature to her - the ache disappearing beneath the feel of his embrace. Even as she clawed against his hand, she knew she was getting nowhere. He didn’t try to release her, and instead, dug his thumb into her hip. The pressure there caused her to hiss, her back arching with the slightest of movement - before she felt herself sinking. “What’s happeni---” Her words were a whispered plea that ended on a choke as she fell into the abyss. Her mind, much like her body, was no longer his. Somehow, he had managed to gain control of her entirely, her safety - her very being - suddenly at his complete disposal. He could end her now, and she would be powerless to stop it, her mind trapped as it was by the images.

Blood, pain, tears, sorrow.
Claws, bullets, venom, wings.

The scenes played out one by one, each more gruesome and horrific than the last. She tried to escape, to pull herself free, but the more she resisted - the clearer they became. It was as though she was living them with him - no, within him. She had never felt something so invasive before. She could taste the change in the air, the blood on her tongue. She could hear the sound of their breathing, their hearts racing with the thrill of the hunt. She felt the claws marr her flesh just as she could feel the bullet digging into her skull. The pain was too much - but it was the emotion that proved to be her downfall. The anger, bloodlust and fear. The pain and the frustration. It built inside of her, until she heard a scream in the distance.

Trapped as she was within his memories, she hadn’t a clue that the scream was her own. Her throat was tearing from the force, her tears staining her cheeks and dripping onto their joined arms as she began to twist and turn in his hold. She didn’t care that each movement made her wrist threaten to snap. It was nothing compared to the onslaught of emotion and images.

It felt as if her chest was ripping in two, and it had nothing to do with the nightmarish creature that had just attacked him. “Make it stop, make it stop. I can’t, I can’t, Bjorn, please,” she gasped, blood staining her lips as another scream tore from her throat. “I understand, I understand, oh god, it hurts. It’s too much, too much!”


Bjørn
Accidentally he’d shared a memory with Robbie. That’s how he’d found out that he could do more than livestream Netflix and share images and visual representation of ideas. This was the first time he used it knowingly, and like an unexperienced driver growing increasingly distressed and drunk from pain, he was going to crash. He’d underestimated how much it’d cost him to relive the memories. His hands on her body were trembling, his mind running too much current through his brain as it amped up to jumpstart hers as well. The scream was hellish, the proximity of it disorientating.

It was the second scream and the words that pulled him—and her—out. Like a camera flash, everything went white. The world slowly filtered back into existence. Overexposed, Bjørn relinquished his hold and staggered back, the heels of his hands pressing into his eye sockets. The harder he pressed, the more stars played across the dark. The phosphenes fizzled out as the pressure slackened, hands dropping to his knees. Hunched over, he breathed air he didn’t. The scents were overwhelming, but he needed to clear his palette, to remember where he was. The staleness of blood and catacombs and caverns was replaced by the crisp night air.

And her scent. It’d changed. The ash and charcoal had turned acrid, as if he’d licked an ashtray. The coconut traces made him nauseous, so at odds with whatever it was that clung in the air. Was it him? Was it her? Was it them? Was it the memories still lingering in the back of his throat? He gagged, not straightening as his hands shook, knuckles white as he gripped his knees for support.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed out. His voice was hoarse, broken.



Caligrace
She didn’t hear him.

The moment he released her, she had collapsed to the ground, her knees and hands digging into the damp earth. Her body shook with the force her sobs, the emotions still burning through her. She was bent, broken, her soul torn into a thousand pieces. “I can’t…” The words fell from her on repeat, a harsh sound escaping her as she slammed her fist into the ground. The pain shot up her arm, but still, it didn’t settle her. She was lost beneath the waves as they crashed over her - past and present. His exhaustion, confusion, and suffering twisted with the pain from his memories, the tethers pulling taut until she lost herself completely.

Her vision blurred, and her arms shook for a second more before finally giving out. Turning onto her side, she drew her legs up to her chest, her arms moving to cover her head as she began to rock back and forth, her sobs showing no sign of stopping. She wanted to tell him it wasn’t his fault - she wanted to speak, to say something, anything, but she could find herself within the storm. Fingers twisting into her hair, she began to pull at the curls, her nails scraping her face with enough force to draw blood. If she needed air, she would have passed out, her lungs unable to pull anything into them. She knew what she needed - her jacket.

It was out of reach, though, and she couldn’t part her lips with anything more than a broken sound to ask for it. Instead, she remained in that position, willing herself to remember who she was - where she was - so she could pull herself out of the darkness and finally see the light again.


Bjørn
Bjørn glanced up at where Caligrace toppled over. He stared at her but didn’t really see her. No, he only needed a singular point of focus as he reigned in the mess of unseen tethers he’d unleashed. Somehow he couldn’t quite fit them all as they’d been, neatly compartmentalised. It was like trying to put toothpaste back into the tube. Pointless.

And so he did the only thing he could in that situation, he flipped the faucet on and willed the toothpaste down the drain. In a way, he pushed it into the ground, and pushed himself to his full height by digging his boots deeper too. He swayed, reached to hold his head, and looked back at Caligrace.

Looking down at his hands, he watched the tremors rattle his fingers. He looked back at the allurist. Out of the two, he was doing better, even if better sucked. This was his fault. He had to assume responsibility for it. He should have asked. He should have explained what he was going to try to do. He should have stuck to the no powers rule he’d made. He shouldn’t have put her through that for the sake of teaching her… what, exactly? That he couldn’t be trusted?

Bjørn hobbled closer and stopped, hesitant. This was his doing and there was no reason for him to be able to undo it. “Hey,” he called out. He cleared his throat, but the pressure didn’t relent. “Hey, CG…” he tried again, getting down onto his knees and leaning onto his hands. He hesitated to proceed, his voice falling on deaf ears. It didn’t occur to him that his confusion and worry and the ebbing sickness that’d drained him could acerbate her state the closer he got.

His fingers ghosted over her ankle as his gaze darted about. He spotted her jacket, then looked down at the tremors. Would it help? Cold and heat had little effect on their kind but… It occurred to him it wasn’t the cold air, but something else entirely. If their reactions were one and the same then… He pushed back onto his feet, struggling to find his balance. Long legs crossed the distance in no time.

He didn’t move to touch her, draping both her and his jacket over her.
Tucking his hands under his armpits, he collapsed into a seated position a few feet ahead of her, legs crossed and shoulders hunched forward.


Caligrace
Chaos.

That was the only word to explain what was happening inside of her. Her demons had come out to play - and in front of one of the few she never wanted to see her like this. With another choked sound, her nails dug deeper into her temple, a thin trail of blood dripping onto her cheek to mix with her tears as she continued to rock back and forth. This had only happened twice - the first time, she had been alone, and the second - the second, she had wished she had been alone. It would have been better than to be abandoned by the one that promised to never leave.

Swallowing thickly, she almost cried out when she felt that wave of guilt, but somehow, she managed to keep it at bay - and it was his voice that allowed it. She heard the soft, hoarse sound, and she clung to it like a lifeline. When he uttered her name, she tried to call out to him, to beg him to come closer and keep talking, but nothing but silence emerged. Then, it was too late. He was pulling away from her, and the hollow feeling it left was almost too much. It wasn’t until she caught his scent - strong and warm - that she realized he had returned, the jackets acting as weight to push against her skin. It was almost as if she were being held, and the motion caused the tears to start to subside, but still, it wasn’t enough. Not yet.

When she realized her own jacket was against his, she quickly moved her hand within the pocket, the tin rolling out onto the ground, pills somehow ending up in her palm. With a violent tremor in her hand, she managed to get two into her mouth, and swallowed dry. Those, mixed with the scent of him - and finally, the look in his eyes when she was able to open her own - began to dull the torment her power had subjected her to. The sight of him, hunched and unsure, tore at her heart, and she reached out a blood stained hand, though she wasn’t sure if he would take it - or even know what she was asking for.

“It’s--it’s not your fault,” she breathed, her voice shattered.


Bjørn
His fingertips pressed into the dip between shoulder blade and ribs, palms flat on either side of him. As a human this had always comforted him, the warmth of his own body a foolproof remedy to the vulnerability he felt. There was no heat now, yet the motion was familiar and the grip on his sides was distracting enough from the weight of forearms crossed over his chest. At least he didn’t need to breathe.

And he resolutely didn’t. The smell of her blood was jarring and he didn’t want to smell it. It was why he didn’t speak, vocal chords useless without air. If he was honest with himself, he didn’t want to be here. He wanted to grow the skin that felt too tight and allow himself to bask in the instincts that were seldom given a chance to take over. But he wouldn’t do it. Not now, not in front of her. He’d revealed enough of himself, more than he’d ever intended on doing.

Bjørn watched her.
He didn’t reach for her hand, not immediately.

“Don’t lie. It is.” 
He argued with no heat.
Huffing the rest of the air out, not wanting to smell her, he glanced back at her hand. It was bloody, like her face, and he had no idea whether this was habitual for her or a reaction to the….thing. The pills served as a stepping stone towards a hypothesis, one he didn’t feel right asking now. Instead, he reached forward and gingerly took her hand.


Caligrace
Between the weight of the jackets, the scent of him that came from the leather, to the pills making quick work in her system - she was beginning to come back to herself. The sound of the wind and the rustle of the leaves soothed her, and she watched him as he curled in on himself. Her hand remained outstretched, the self-inflicted wounds in her skin already beginning to heal. In a matter of seconds, they were gone, and then his hand was in hers. Without thinking, she laced their fingers together, her own applying pressure as she forced herself to her knees.

“No, it’s not,” she whispered as her world tilted on its axis. “It’s mine. The… emotions. It wouldn’t have happened if I wasn’t broken,” she continued, and her body shifted closer to his - but not enough to invade his space and make him uncomfortable. If he wanted her closer, he could pull her in, but she made sure her body was angled enough so he knew it was an option. “I felt too much. I feel too much - of everyone around me. It… it overloads my senses, in its own way.” Her voice still shaking, she lifted her free hand to press it through her hair.

“It’s not your fault, honey. You were teaching me something - you did teach me something, and I thank you for that. I’m just sorry that I… that I’m like this. It’s what the pills are for. I only just now started to depend on them, to make it easier, because I don’t know how to control it.” There. It was all out on the table now - and he probably thought she was crazy, but he deserved to know after the show she just put on for him.

[Caligrace]

Bjørn
The telepath had not asked for an explanation. 
He didn’t want an explanation. 
He didn’t want to talk or be talked to.

The voluntary holding of her hand should have been enough, and had she known him better she might have known not to push it. Bjørn used touch in particular ways, and this was not one in which he was comfortable. There was no warmth to her hand that he could leech from, no pulse he could hypnotise himself with.

He hadn’t reached out with the intent of being tangled again. He had only wanted to hold her hand, give it a squeeze, and withdraw. When she called him ’honey’, he withdrew. The nature of his relationship with Every was not one filled with physical affection; the physicality bordered on violence, just not the threatening kind. This… in this state, he didn’t like.

“Elliot has that—or had that”—**** if he knew exactly how the cure had altered the man—“Though I don’t remember…” Bjørn trailed off though, realising as the words bubbled to his mouth that he didn’t want to kick her while she was down. He understood becoming overwhelmed however. His solution was to avoid the situations that led to attacks, but he presumed that isolation was not for everyone, especially not an allurist. He had nothing to offer, to add. He didn’t want to talk.

“Do you want me to call Eve?” He asked, neither equipped nor inclined to take on the role of whatever this was. As he did this, he rose to his feet, a little less gracefully than he was capable off, and dusted off the back of his trousers. He didn’t retreated behind a wall, though the fence was being put back together. He offered his hand to help her up. “I’ll walk you home and call her.”


Caligrace
She was too raw - too open in that moment. Her hands still shook, her shoulders falling in defeat as her gaze dropped to the ground. For a second, she simply sat there, studying a single blade of grass as she tried to pull herself back in. This - this was too similar to her past. Something told her that he was as exhausted as she was. When she heard the rustle of his clothing as he stood, she didn’t wanted to be strong and stand on her own. She wanted to keep her head held high - but when she moved, her knees shook, and she knew she would need him, at least once more.

Without a word, she curled her fingers around his wrist and hoisted herself up - but then she pulled back as if he burned her. Hands quickly reached for her jacket, the material sliding onto her arms and and the zipper sliding up to her ribs. With a quick flick of her fingers, the hood was in place, concealing most of her hair and shadowing her face from his view. She didn’t want him to see the pain in her rapidly dulling eyes, she didn’t want him to bear anymore witness to the one weakness she tried so hard to conceal from the world. Her lower lip trembled when she started to speak, and she had to clear her throat and force a smile into her voice - though, a perfect stranger would be able to see how utterly fake it was.

“No, don’t bother her. I’ll be fine. I always am. I think I’ve made enough of a fool of myself for one day.” Bending down, she grabbed his jacket from where it had fallen when she stood, and dusted it off before handing it to him. “I can make my way back on my own. Thanks, though.” She was trying to remain strong, to keep herself light, but there was a heaviness she couldn’t shake - but she didn’t want him to think her ungrateful, if he was thinking of her at all. “I don’t want to burden you anymore than I have today. I’ll be careful of your security, don’t worry.”


Bjørn
Their acquaintance was too new. Standing on the cusp of what could become friendship, they lacked whatever intimacy was required to navigate this moment together. They knew next to nothing about one another apart from where they stood along the steep climb that separated a person in the present from their past trauma. Despite standing at different levels, it was clear that they both still had a long way to go.

Bjørn had been ready to assume responsibility for this, but as he slowly returned to his senses, ghost pain and unsteadiness ebbing away, he decided not to. This wasn’t his fault. He’d handled it poorly, yes, but it was necessary for Caligrace to see how violent the world him and Every inhabited truly was. It wasn’t just a faceless paladin that might want her dead next time, but a shop owner with mirrors or a unexpected fadebeast. The rift had been torn further apart, birthing new creatures. A growing portion of the population was becoming more and more prepared against that they deemed the vampire thread. The world was not going to yield to her charms.

“I’ll walk you out,” he said, shrugging the canvas jacket back on. There was a radiance to Caligrace that was nowhere in sight, and he knew better than to take her smile at face value. He tried, knowing full well it might miss its mark and fall flat, to follow suit, offer a genuine lifeline as he turned on his heel. “I want to make sure you don’t go trying to kill the boys. I don’t feel like explaining that one to Shortrib.”

With that he begun to walk — unhurried and with smaller steps than he would have otherwise. Spending so much time with Every had taught him to take into account shorter legs. His words cradled an unspoken promise: he would be explaining something to Every.


Caligrace
“I think I’ve already proven that I’m just shy of useless, so I doubt I’d be much of a threat to them,” she muttered, though it wasn’t from self-pity. It was a mix of amusement and observation, something spoken in a feeble attempt to lighten the darkness that settled on their shoulders. The burden should have been hers alone to bear - and the thought that she had brought him into the fold left her unsteady, her chest aching in a way it hadn’t in over a year. When she parted her lips to speak again, another apology was primed to roll off her tongue, but she quickly snapped her mouth closed and tightened her jaw. She could scream she was sorry to the sky, but it wouldn’t make a difference. It was done - her truth had been laid out between them.

There had always been an unbearable need inside of her to explain everything away, to make someone see her for who she really was. The knowledge that he could think her insane or pathetic weighed heavily on her mind - but nowhere near as heavy as the reason for it. She had thought she was getting better, that she was close to finally seeing the light, to understanding what exactly she had been blessed - or in her case, cursed - with. Tonight had taken that hope and dug its claws into it, ripping it into shreds. Freyja spent so much time trying to convince her that she was perfect, she didn’t see the flaws that were literally burying her alive. She didn’t want to be perfect - she wanted to be whole.

Lost in her thoughts as she was, she didn’t realize that she had started to follow him, her arms crossed loose around her stomach, as if protecting herself from the world. “It’s not normally this bad,” she whispered, but to him - or herself - she wasn’t sure. He hadn’t asked. It wasn’t his responsibility - nor should it be. The words were spoken into the world for her to hear the truth of them, to taste it on her tongue. Something was different - she just didn’t know what.

“Thank you, for trying to help me. I really do want this, you know. To be more than what I am, to mean something. So, despite all of the --- “ insanity - “mess at the end, today meant a lot to me.”


Bjørn
Bjørn offered a simple hm as she began to explain herself, hands finding the jacket’s deep pockets. He surveyed the perimeter of the estate as they walked across the field towards the front gates. The ghouls paid them no mind, all save for one. Staring it down served no purpose, magic binding it to its spot but doing nothing to temper its vampire-craving nature. Instead his gaze flitted down to the redhead before returning to its surveillance of the plot of land he called his own. It wasn’t much compared to what many had, but it was a start, and that was enough. It’d one day become so much more, and he waited for that day impatiently.

Rolling his shoulders, the telepath chose not to acknowledge her words. To him this had only been a trial run, and he’d been saddled with the reality that things were more complicated than they’d seem. Bjørn wouldn’t be able to do it alone. [ Every ] he called out mentally. It was much like simultaneously knocking on a closed door and leaving a message. It was all but urgent, the meaning clear before he voiced it as well: [ We need to talk about Caligrace ]

Without skipping a beat, naturally inclined to shift between telepathy and the spoken word, Bjørn addressed the redhead in question: “Next time I tell you not to bring any weapons, you bring a weapon.” He glanced down at her, but his gaze didn’t linger. “What happened back there”—he referred to her screaming and his shared vulnerability—“If you had had a knife on you, then you could have stopped it as soon as it started.” To him, the meaning of his words were clear.


Caligrace
There was a flash of relief in her eyes - her features warming with a genuine smile when he mentioned a next time - before she turned her head away. The creatures they passed - the ones she had managed to run through without much of a thought - now took her interest. They were things of nightmares, and she found her steps slowing as she moved closer to him on instinct. "They can't get to me right now, can they?" At the last second, she shook herself and straightened, her fingers curling into fists at her sides.

“I feel like that’s a trick,” she replied, a brow raising, “but as you wish.”

She wanted to be defensive - it was a natural reaction, to want to stand up and try to explain away the nearly psychotic break - but she couldn’t. It had happened. It was there, and just because she was a second away from crying due to shame - fingers already lifting to press to her eyes to ease the burn - didn’t make it any less real. After a second (and only when she was certain she had her emotions under control), she pushed her hood back, her fingers moving through her hair as she took a breath in - held it for a second - and slowly released it.

She didn’t need the air, but it was the motion that calmed her, the feeling of normalcy. She needed that right then - something normal to hold onto, if only for a second. It helped to center her, and some of the tension eased from her shoulders. She was still raw, still walking on unsteady feet, but she was slowly clawing her way back up - she just hoped she made it all the way.


Bjørn
Bjørn shook his head.

“If they could, then they would already have.”

It seemed obvious to him, but perhaps she was not familiar with these creatures. Unless she got close enough for them to reach her, there was little harm that could befall her.

“A trick?” he asked, stilling as his brow furrowed.

They were close enough that the ghouls were beginning to take an interest.

Sniffing, the telepath focused the full weight of his stare on her.


Caligrace
“They don’t seem to know that…” Her voice trailed off as a quiver of fear entered it, and she stilled as he did, her arms dropping to hang loose at her sides. Her fingers flexed, as if she were preparing to bolt - as her eyes remained focused on one of the monsters. It was his question that had her shaking her head, her attention turning back to him, only to find his gaze locked on her. She had to work to find her voice again, his question bouncing in her mind without making sense, before she was able to connect the dots.

A ghost of a smile formed, and she gave a shrug of her shoulder, one hand moving to curl against the back of her neck. “Yeah, a trick. You tell me to not bring a weapon, I bring a weapon, because you told me just now to disregard what you say in the future. Either way, I break a rule.”


Bjørn
“Rule? You think there are rules?”

His stare didn’t waver, left eyebrow arching.

In his mind, the telepath was already warming to the idea of a Fight Club rewatch. As tempting as it was to recapitulate the eight rules of fight club, he didn’t. Then again, they could easily be two halves of a Tyler Durden—him the murderous explosive maker and her the uncomfortable other with the extreme mental disorder.


Caligrace
As much as she wanted to take a step back from the intensity of his stare, she remained where she was, her eyes never leaving his. The hand at the back of her neck lifted, fingers stretching through her hair to curl it behind her ear as she once again raised her brow to watch hers.

“Aren’t there? That’s basically what that just was,” she said, free hand moving to wave between them. “You told me not to do something - to not bring a weapon. That sounded like a rule. Then, you told me to ignore what you said --” She stopped talking then, her nose wrinkling. This man before her was proving to be quite the infuriating enigma.


Bjørn
The thing about being within range of the wifi meant becoming able to do **** like this:

“Rule. Noun. One of a set of explicit or understood regulations or principles governing conduct or procedure within a particular area of activity.” His voice was flat. He arched his second brow as he finished, widening his stance and sniffling. That was not as easy as it usually was, no doubt due to the strain he’d put himself (and her) through.

“Fighting is neither regulated nor principled. The only”—he shrugged his shoulders and scrunched up his face, saying the next word in such a way that he made his position very clear—“rule is to turn every loss into a reason you never lose again.”


Caligrace

The hand in her hair stalled, her eyes narrowing into a glare the moment the word noun was spoken. “I know what the word rule means, Bjorn,” she grumbled, his name spoken easily, even if she rarely used it. She remained still when his stance shifted, drinking him in, though not in a hungry way. Her stare was more to watch how he moved, to try and learn his body as an outsider - so next time, she could find a weakness. Of course, it did help that he was drop dead gorgeous. Pulling her hair over her shoulder, she dropped her hand, fingers drifting over her throat, only to close around the edge of hoodie where she began to toy with the tie there.

“If that’s true, then why do they have rules and regulations posted at places like a boxing ring?” Yeah, she’d gone to one - once, on a date, and it was awful. She didn’t share that, though. “Fine. The only rule is to get better after every loss. I guess I can just ignore everything else you say then,” she quipped, though her smile - and slight spark in her eyes - proved she was kidding.


Bjørn
Bjørn’s shoulders dropped—a shrug worth a thousand words.

“You sure you’ll get home okay?”

His left brow arched, gaze intently searching for any sign of a lie.

One thing about Every that made their friendship so easy was that she couldn’t lie. Yes, she might be capable of manipulating the truth, but he wasn’t worth the effort. In turn he kept it straight with her. For the most part, anyway. He didn’t tell her he occasionally appraised his absent sire, half-expecting to either find the loosened link completely severed or sense her within reach, neither alternative a favoured outcome. He didn’t tell her… a lot of things, but that was the nature of relationships.

Perhaps even if he spotted a lie he’d keep quiet, no longer in the mood to keep quiet. If he’d wanted to hang around and talk, he’d not have followed up with the question he did.


Caligrace
She could have lied to him. She could have said a simple ‘yes’, waved her hand, and turned her back on him. She could have lied a thousand times over, but she was an awful liar, and she knew it. Pair that with the fact she didn’t want to lie to him, and the truth was coming out.

“No,” she answered, her gaze unwavering, even as she began to take a step away, her hands dropping to dip into the pockets of her hoodie. “I won’t get home okay, but I will get home.”

In retrospect, the words didn’t make a lot of sense, but they were the truth. She wasn’t okay now - she doubted she’d be okay in a day - or a week. That didn’t mean, however, that she wouldn’t survive and come out for the better after everything was said and done.

He had made a point when he said to learn from her losses, and this was the biggest one she’s face yet (which, admittedly, terrified her for what was to come). She planned to educate herself on it, even if it hurt like hell in the meantime.

“I’ve taken up enough of your time for one day. It was good to see you again, and I’m sure I’ll see you around at some point, gorgeous.” This time, she didn’t even bother to paint on a smile. Instead, she finally tore her gaze from his to cast one last wary look at the monsters, before stepping in the direction of the farmlands exit.


Bjørn
Absolute honesty isn’t always the most diplomatic nor the safest form of communication between emotional beings, he quotes to himself. It was from one of Christopher Nolan’s many movies. Which one, he couldn’t remember. The more he thought about it, the more he realised a quiet movie night was long overdue. Fight Club would be first on the list. Maybe he’d even tinker with weapon parts as he watched. One thing he didn’t need was to think about what had transpired…

Bjørn offered Caligrace a parting nod and remained standing in the same spot as she neared the open gates. Once she’d walked past them, he turned on his heel and began to walk back to the half-finished house.