Who Do You Think You Are?

by **Laszlo** on January 12th, 2012, 8:16 am

Silvered eyebrows lowered slowly over a studious pair of amethysts, quickly realizing that the subtle changes (becoming no longer subtle) in Victor's face were not his imagination. Victor's colorless steel eyes were now hued violet, and the gray tint in his normally black hair was not some trick of the light. Even his skin tone was changing—was Alvadas doing this? The human didn't seem aware of it, but the silence had been long and Victor seemed to be studying him. Was he some sort of illusionist? What was happening to him?

It was gone in a matter of seconds. Was this the first time it had happened? Laszlo almost thought…

Without a word, Victor's hand glided down to Laszlo's, his olive tone contrasting sharply with the Ethaefal's pale, grayish skin. The moment had become heavy, wrought with a tense sort of confusion. Victor was detached from this conversation, a common occurrence, but at this time particularly frustrating. The question, What are you doing? occurred to Laszlo, and the words were on his way to his tongue, but he was interrupted.

"Ahh!" Laszlo lurched to the side, trying in vain to twist his arm and correct the angle, but the bone audibly snapped before he could reasonably stop it. A sharp knife of agony ripped through the length of his arm, even his shoulder and side, before fading slowly and receding back to his left hand. Laszlo clutched at his wrist futilely, leaning over his hand like a mother bent over a child. "Victor! What the fuck is wrong with you?!"

Not realizing that his balance had leaned off kilter, Laszlo stumbled into the shelf nearby, knocking over a wine bottle. It fell to the floor and shattered at his feet, but Laszlo was too preoccupied with his own catastrophe, staring in horror at his index finger. It sat at an unnerving angle, hurting so badly that the entire hand ached. Every beat of his heart was a new piercing wave of pain. He didn't dare try to move it. He already knew it was broken. The Symenestra had bones like glass.

The smell of bitter, cheap merlot drifted up from the floorboards. It rapidly became thickly aromatic. The floor would stain.

Laszlo looked up at Victor, but empty space filled the spot where he had once stood. It took the Ethaefal a moment to realize Victor had simply moved away. Laszlo turned clumsily to face him, the soles of his boots shuffling unevenly over the floorboards. He grunted as he watched Victor make for the door, his recovered blade glinting in his hand. Laszlo felt a shiver pass through him, of rage or some other powerful emotion, as he tightly clutched his wrist and nursed his injury. His teeth bared, exposing his lengthened fangs, Laszlo sent a sharp, violet glare across the tavern that could kill a lesser man.

"I've had it with you!" he called involuntarily out of nameless desperation to have the last word. Unsatisfied, his pain-addled mind suggested something else. He couldn't just let him leave like this. "Leave it!" Laszlo hissed, his left arm shuddering. The djed on his tongue tasted hot, and a bit like bile.

The dagger clattered to the hard wooden floor, then Victor pulled the door shut behind him. He probably hadn't even realized he dropped it. Uttering a string of curses as he cradled his hand, Laszlo made his way across the tavern to claim his consolation prize.

This wasn't over.

by **Mirage** on January 27th, 2012, 7:53 pm

The Truth Within the Reality

Laszlo :

Victor :

The Truth Hidden by a Mirage :