Unprecendented [Alexci]

[Silvar]

Once again, oh yes, it was time once again to traverse the long-dead battlefield, and Silv had stopped along his way to look out towards the epicenter, perched precariously atop a jagged protrusion from the earth for a better view.

While his sentiments about this place were something altogether different than most Fey, he was still allowed a minute fraction of reverence, if only in respect to the powerful opponents that had fallen here. As if reliving one of those particular opponents, his hand moved to his side, fingers absently rubbing at the scar that was there as a distant anger bubbled up within him and he quashed it immediately.

He sucked in a breath of air that felt stale and stagnant and felt at home, leaning back against the cool, hard surface of the rock and stretching his wings to their fullest extension and relaxing them as well.

He let the silence and the stillness and the emptiness take him, let his mind go blank, as the Fissure was one of the few places he could accomplish that. Being reminded of Death was actually quite comforting, and if this place could temporarily silence the bloodlust, who was he to question if it were proper or not?

Who was he to care about proper when it served him no purpose?

And in the nothingness that resonated in the air, he allowed himself a rare mood, as well as a rare moment of rest.

[Alexci Dominque]

A false sense of accomplishment, coming here. It was like a flash of light in the bleak area of the wastelands, although it mimicked the gesture of lightning, no sound of thunder proceeded. Like a delay, there was a sudden noise. It was the noise of rock busting in two, jagged pieces of the stone flying everywhere. While the noise bounced off the silent atmosphere, it was the stray piece of rock that landed next to the Dark Fey’s body that might have caused the most annoyance. While there was no real explanation on what had happened, there was a figure standing in a cloud of dust.

The boy was shrouded in black, the hood of his cloak covering his hair, while a feather masked shielded the top part of his face. Alexci waved a hand in front of him, coughing uncontrollably from the dust filling his lungs. At a closer look, two golden irises were watering heavily from the particles attaching themselves to his eyes. It was like a fight had just occurred, and the dark figured Fey fell to his knees. Perhaps from a different point of view, he could have looked like he was about to die.

Instead he was on all fours, coughing, hacking and trying to breath. Finally, a stale breeze shifted through the air, moving the dust away. The odd part was that there was no actual dust particles clinging to the fabric of the boy’s attire. With watering eyes Alex lifted his chin, glancing around to make sure he hadn’t done too much of any damage (who could really damage something that was already damaged, anyway?) Stupidly, a smile shifted to Alex’s face as he began to rise to his feet.

[Silvar]

It was so suddenly that this rest (however shortly intended) was interrupted, the flash of light setting off an echo in the depths of Silv's psyche that snapped his eyes open and sent a rigid and dangerous shock throughout the entirety of him, and as the rock fell near to him he shifted his position, wary and irritated. The dust cloud seemed prominent in the stillness of the wasteland, and the shadows clung to his feet in response to the slowly relaxing beat of his heart.

But when the figure in the dust cloud started to choke on what seemed to be his own entrance gone awry, he felt a bit perplexed. How else was one supposed to feel at such an odd sight?

He took a few careful steps to a lower platform, leaning a bit so as to get a better look at this Fey, golden eyes striking a chord that flickered in his own eyes for only the briefest of seconds before he snuffed it out and anything that dared to come with it.

And yet for several long moments it was the best he could do not to look too terribly perplexed as he stared, as unusual of an expression as it was for him.

[Alexci Dominque]

While his posture straightened out, he had heard a faint noise coming from the east. There really wasn’t much life out here to really take note of, so a single sound caused Alexci’s head to turn. Glancing out to the wasteland, he noted that this place was becoming worse with the scent of death. Bodies from this area had long been decayed, and even harvested for the Death Fey. Had Death Fey smelt of decay? Maybe one was lurking around. Sniffling slightly, Alex turned his footing this time.

It was like clockwork, going in a clockwise direction, stopping at the right time. This was because he was facing the Dark Fey, and through the mask, his eyes stared beyond at the other’s expression -- baffled, was it? How embarrassing. This Fey obviously saw his destructive entrance. He had come out here to practice a technique he was working on, but every time he did, nasty little things in the atmosphere liked to cling to him.

The Light Fey’s mouth turned into an amused smile. All it would take was a blink, and he was right there, a few steps down in the rubble beneath Silvar. The abrupt stop from his movement made Alex want to simply fall headfirst into the shroud of stone, but he did not waver, his eyes seeming to shake a little before they pin-pointed exactly on the other male’s face. Like target practice. Up close Silvar could see the detail in the mask, from the beautifully dark feathers, intertwined with white, some dark with white spots.

Pupils were gone from Alexci’s eyes, simply an ink blot of gold, staring questionably up at the gawking Dark Fey. “You’re quite lovely today,” he mused, extending his left hand out to the Fey above him, “Do you require assistance?”

[Silvar]

A strange display indeed, the way this Fey behaved, and Silv found it difficult to attempt a threat assessment, especially when one moment the strange one was there, and then he was here. The sudden closeness caused him to bristle slightly, shadows stirring briefly at his feet in response to it as he adjusted to meet that golden stare.

The words coming out of the other's mouth (his eyes shifted to the boy's lips for just a moment returning upward) and the extended hand took a moment to process, but as they sank in he felt even more perplexed, and then a bit insulted. The hand he refused to take, feeling affronted by the audacity that this Fey seemed to have, perhaps even a death wish, if this was how he greeted anyone.

"Suicidal?" he questioned, straightening from his lean and letting his head tilt as he regained a sense of balance (or tried to, with the way this strange Fey stood there), "Or are you just foolish?"

He attempted scorn, typically an easy emotion for him, but those eyes were distracting, and something was off that he couldn't quite place, an instinct somewhere deep down telling him he should be doing something more than he was.

[Alexci Dominque]

Silvar’s declining of the hand was obvious. However, the Light Fey held his hand out still. There were little details that people hardly noticed. Alex had his fingers all side by side, his thumb in a straight line, wrist slanted to create a sort of cupping gesture in his palm. Any size of hand would have been perfect to place in there, and so he had kept it out, as though he was receiving some signal by doing it. Even more odd was that Alexci wasn’t moving. He was perfectly poise and still, face still glancing upward.

From how he was acting, he didn’t appear to be observant about the power growing beneath the Dark Fey’s feet. Finally, a part of him moved, the muscles in his face stretching that smile on his face. A set of pearly white teeth showed, and his jaw dropped, finally letting out what seemed like a jolly good laugh -- the laugh was like the boy had told an awfully good joke, but the laughter didn’t touch his eyes, for they continued that long stare outward.

“Do I have to choose?” the laughter died down with his smooth voice, liquid and yet innocent. “I really don’t want to choose, none of them seem really that well. I’ve already tried suicidal and it hurts, and being a fool never hurt the person doing it -- it’s the fool’s foe that usually causes all the mess.” The arm on the Light Fey’s shoulder was becoming heavy, refusing to place it down.

“You’re breaking my heart, my dear.”

[Silvar]

And it kept getting stranger and stranger, an infectious sort of thing that crept into Silv's mind and picked at pieces of himself he tried to keep locked away. It felt like a game, a sickly sweet sort of twist in his gut the way those lips curved, and he found himself wont to mirror it, albeit darker, sharper.

The laughter was a louder sound than he'd wanted to hear, or perhaps simply the wrong side of feeling, and he was glad when it was done, even though again the strange Fey (he still couldn't place him, and he was usually quite skilled at telling) was spouting stranger words, almost as if a child and an elder and an idiot wrapped into one bizarre little package, but it was that hand, still extended, that he found most odd just then.

That is, until the boy spoke again, and he didn't fight the urge to lean forward, almost as if to share a secret as his eyes narrowed into something sharp, feeling the game.

"Then why not give me something else to break?"

[Alexci Dominque]

“I am giving you something,” Alexci commented, moving his other hand at once to gesture to the hand that had yet to move from the air. Usually this had worked on everyone, he would turn up the charm and with willingness, a person would take his hand and lead them down from their heights. Then he’d flash another helpful smile and be gone. How odd! Situations outside of the Light Court were like backward prayers. Suddenly a cold feeling washed into his arm, and then needles came, pricking and pulling.

The Light Fey dropped the arm suddenly, as though it disconnected from his nerves. Frankly, it had; it just it was unnoticeable with the distance between the two. The surge of power he had used at the beginning had cut off his nerves to his arm, and it seemed to get stuck there. But with the blood flowing out and dying, it became impossible to hold up with the mere bone of his shoulder.

“Oh, well, look at that. Too late,” he sounded disappointed that he couldn’t have kept up the charades further, but the smile on his mouth never left his expression. Using the hand that worked, Alexci placed his hand over his chest, bowing in an apology to the Fey above him. “Looks like I am no use to you, what a terrible quandary this is!”

His head had been lowered, and it gave him insight to what was going around. The other male was obviously a Dark Fey. These grounds were soaked with blood, never to return with futility. Alex shifted his head upward in his bow, the lids covering half of the gold architecture of his eyes. Beneath the shrouded shadow from his hood, the irises glowed white, as though a flash light in this desolate place.

“Remarkably lovely, from head to toe~.”

[Silvar]

It wasn't what Silv'd had in mind, not at all, and he almost snickered (almost) at the pretty thing for that, though a dark sort of amusement shone in crimson eyes. Though in the end, it seemed that the other Fey had managed to break something of his own, and he raised a silver brow just slightly as that arm fell back to the boy's side.

No use? As if he had been to begin with? All the boy had done was interrupt an extremely rare moment of near tranquility with his bizarre antics and too-pretty face (of what he could see, it was indeed), and those eyes that were too distracting. His mannerisms, though, while strange...

But those eyes were back, and something twisted, something snapped, and it was plain in his eyes as it ticked, ticked, ticked down as things fell into place and made a little more sense before it was hard to make any sense of anything.

Light! was a scream through his being and it made his stomach churn, made the shadows tremble and the upward curve of his lips to twist into something beyond dark, a tension rolling through him from the tips of his fingers to the tips of his toes. It screamed KILL, and yet he remained rooted to the spot, teeth audibly clenched and murder in his eyes but why couldn't he move?

He wanted to rip this thing before him into shreds and yet something was stopping him.

[Alexci Dominque]

Silence. All of it was deafening. The Light Fey snapped back up to his standing position, noticing the sudden realization in the atmosphere. Alexci could not read minds to see that the Dark Fey figured something out, but it was quite obvious there was a sudden tension. Feeling started to expand back into his arm, the blood moving forward, warming the flesh all over again. Once the feeling hit the thumb, Alex sprung his fingers apart before furling into his palms and outward again.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly, trying to sound sincere. It was like a child’s antics, a persona flooding forward to pick up the situation. The glow continued off his eyes, the fog of the air moving beneath them. This time the Light Fey was rising upward, his feet finding the rubble that ascended to Silvar. Now he was staring at the Dark Fey, eye-to-eye, and he was smiling rather grimly. “Your secret will be mine,” he whispered, the concerned looked still there, despite the words conveying no real meaning.

With this new proximity, the other Fey would be able to feel the strands of his hair rising slightly. It was the static in the air, coming off from Alex. He had acted like they were two friends from the start, but him leaning forward so that he could stare into this burning eyes, only confirmed that perhaps he really thought it. “Are you alive in there?” normally he would have reached out to tap the other boy like a broken clock. While he loved to act like a suicidal fool, he did not venture onto those physical grounds. Who knew what powers could manifest from those Darklings?

Was there a soul, beneath that face of Silvar’s? Suddenly, Alex shifted his lips into a little ‘o’ and blew air upon the other’s face.

[Silvar]

The Light Fey's first words did not reach Silv's ears through the pounding of his own pulse, but the last thing he'd expected was for his enemy to move closer.

The audacity of him! And with that the shadows were living things, curling up from the ground at their feet as if just as hungry for this Light to be extinguished and yet the first whisper caused them to still abruptly. The second seemed to freeze the tension rolling through him, and the breath on his skin seemed to make it all move in reverse, make all of him take an inner shift backwards while his body stayed rooted to the spot and when it all came crashing down-

He felt sick with himself, and it was this Light before him doing it, and though he raised his arm and brought his hand near he couldn't grasp the boy's throat like he wanted to, too hesitant, and even then the motion itself seemed strained (and a part of him seemed to feel an unprecedented defeat). The grit of his teeth was like a curse, and the rage in his eyes had dimmed as a centuries old bitterness welled up like bile in the back of his throat.

Get away from me.

[Alexci Dominque]

The hand coming for Alexci had caused a trigger to go off. It wasn’t a natural thing he really had control over, after all. A burst of light appeared behind the Light Fey, revealing wings that shifted outward. The feathers were transparent, glistening even in the desolate wastelands. Another shock had occurred, and a glimmer of gold appeared. The gold shifted outward, exposing an object that rolled from the cuff of his sleeve to his palm. In which the thing extended. It was a scythe, the weapon much larger than Alexci. He didn’t purposely go into a battle mode, but this was the only way he knew how to deal with such occurrences.

He had already been in a trance when he got here, but Silv’s gesture and surge of power woke up the drowsy power in him. Immediately, the Light Fey shifted the scythe’s blade down, moving it toward the ground so he could give the Dark Fey a perplexed look. “This wouldn’t have happened if you simply took my hand in the first place,” he said, the bitterness in his voice sounding a far cry different from what his voice had been.

The free-hand shifted outward, and he reached for the other male’s hand quickly, before the boy could react to the wings and to the weapon. Alexci smashed his fingers into Silv’s palms, a sense of warmth on his flesh, as though it had been touched with even the slightest feeling of happiness. “Don’t,” was the one word conveyed, letting it know that he had the Dark Fey in his grasp. It wasn’t a threat, but if Silvar decided to act upon what he had just seen -- it would be an unnecessary battle.

“You’re safe here.”

[Silvar]

There was tension still, but Silv found it hard to focus on, too many repressed memories bubbling up to the surface through a murk and mire he'd buried them so deep beneath, all unwanted in this situation and all striking chords he would have rather never felt again.

The emergence of those wings stung his eyes, and the shadows recoiled, curling up around his legs and away from the Light Fey's brilliance. The bitterness was noted and yet he had plenty of his own but he choked on his words at that simple touch, such a foreign feeling that it made him want to curl away but he was transfixed there, and despite centuries of masking his emotions the mess he was feeling was evident in his eyes.

Without prompting or thought, his free hand reached for the scar on his side. How ironic, every bit of it that his brows furrowed and his lips curled into something hollow and wry, the laugh that slipped through them sounding very much the same.

"What do you take me for?" was supposed to sound bitter and caustic, but fell drastically short of that.

[Alexci Dominque]

Alexci tightened his grip on the Dark Fey’s hand, squeezing at the skin, to apply just enough to pressure to really be felt. There was no pain from his touch. At this rate he could have probably just shocked the hell out of Silvar, but he decided against it. The boy across from him was merely lost in-between a memory and a thought process. Around the two was a general cast of light, glowing from the wings and his weapon, even his eyes. To be touched by the Light was such a wonderful thing to some, but Alex doubted that really meant anything to the Dark.

After all, how many Light Fey were mercilessly slaughtered by Dark? There was just too much to really figure out the numbers accurately. While he could have threw his rage upon Silvar, he did not. Assumptions always led to disasters, and what if he had accidentally struck down a Dark Fey who had been innocent from the very beginning? Was there such a Dark Fey?

No, this one wasn’t innocent. There was a scar on the man’s face, and it seemed more apparently with the wave of light. The red of Silvar’s eyes were glowing, crimson, a certain color of bloodshed. If the mask hadn’t obstructed Alexci’s face so much, the Dark Fey would be able to tell that he was getting irate. As though the question was a request, Alexci released Silv’s fingers. The Light Fey flipped the weapon around, the blade glimmering within the light, the edge hovering over Alex’s shoulder.

“It’s too soon to say,” he replied, the Light Fey jumping back from his raised position. Alex stood where had first started out, where had raised his hand in offering. “I have no reason to strike at you, for as I can tell now, you are unarmed and unwilling to fight with me. For your secret, is very precious to me -- just as lovely as you are.”

Alex flipped his weapon to his other hand, moving his palm outwards, as though demonstrating. “Take this next time,” he meant the helping hand, and retracted his arm back. Moving backwards slowly, the glow of his eyes unnatural on his face. Perhaps he was going to leave.

[Silvar]

There had been too much contact, even in those few minutes since the Light Fey had appeared, and this tumultuous wave of things best left buried was plenty of reason for Silv to kill first, ask questions never when it came to this type. But there had been too much contact, and he'd looked too hard for too long, and finally, finally he was released.

Even still it was a few moments before he was able to draw his hand back (or perhaps wanted to), and one by one his masks slipped back into their proper places, though how fresh the wound seemed, blood just beneath the surface of every layer he placed upon himself. Unprecedented, that this Light Fey should stand before him unharmed, that he should feel...

A twist in his gut that showed only slightly in his eyes, a wrench somewhere higher up. He wanted to make a scathing remark about taking the Fey's life instead, but the words didn't come, and each step back the Light took was a sinking within him, back to what was normal, what made sense. If the boy was leaving, it was best, better if they never crossed paths again. An enemy he couldn't kill was nothing but a disgrace, after all, a distraction, and he did not answer the boy's once again strange words, ignoring the twinge.