milliways_bar | (no subject)

What do you know? It might well be needed.

Mel drops down from a rafter, in his way.

"Hey, musicman."

It's no longer a term of affection. That is clear.

"Melaka."

He bows, just a hint, taking refuge in manners. Not, of course, that it will help if she is under Desh-theire's curse, but he does what he can. His hands are still; even if he does not need to move them to make magic many people do not know that.

He's not certain about Mel. Desh-theire, after all, knows the first quarter century of Arithon's life intimately.

How the hell did she ever find his bows charming? What a pile of toy. It's so obvious now, how he's mocking her, with just that tiny movement. How he's been mocking her since she knew him.

"You played at Mike."

Cold, controlled, bitter. A surface over bubbling rage.

He isn't, and if he knew the exact thoughts she had, he would cry out at them. It takes him a moment, and then he realizes what she's talking about. The realization does not show on his face, or in his eyes, and he says quietly,

"I sang, yes."

His music. Desh-theire is attacking him through his music. He could wail, he could scream. He does neither,

"That thing which cursed my brother and myself is here, Melaka. It may have touched you."

She is more than human, and he hopes and prays that she is enough more than human that she can shake off the curse, fight it, come back to him.

"You sang your sex music," she repeats, keeping her voice steady. "You sang your sex music to seduce my boyfriend."

She narrows her eyes, tilting her head. "How could that be, huh? I'm supposed to be protected from curses, right?"

She's not wearing it.

"I sang for pleasure, Melaka. I do not think of men in such a way, and even did I, I would not do such a thing to you."

His voice is quiet, even, but with no attempts at being soothing. He doesn't want to set her off, and is painfully aware that anything could do so,

"I am not so good a Sorcerer as Desh-theire is at cursing. It cursed me, and was I able to ward against its influence I would not be so tainted."

She doesn't even tremble with anger. She just stands there, staring at him, doing quite a good job of owkring herself up to it herself.

"You forced him into it," she repeats. "You worked your magic and you made him feel it."

He can't really deny that. In his mind it was more that he shared it, but perhaps it could be seen the other way as well.

Is all that he has to say, only that and nothing more.

That's it? That's all he can say? Just that word, which could mean anything? Which could be more of his magic - probably is more of his magic.

He's screwed with Mike. He's screwed with her before. He's talked about screwing with Harth.

No more. No more of this rutting toy.

When she finally moves, it's a fast, hard right hook. It would have been a weapon, but she's not carrying that.

If he wasn't tempered by years of war, it would have broken his jaw. If, for that matter, he was his elder brother he would have gone down. Lysaer has a glass jaw. As it is, Arithon staggers to the side raising his arm in a far-too-slow attempt to block the hit.

What can you say when someone you love attacks you like this? Even knowing that it isn't their fault? Knowing that anything you say, or do not say, will only result in them getting more angry?

He doesn't know, so in grim silence he simply attempts to keep from getting killed on the bar's floor.

Coward. Rutting coward, just taking it. Why the hell won't he fight?

Because he knows he's wrong.

Sometimes, Mel just needs one hit to get it out of her system, but at other times, it just gets worse and she wantsneedslustsafterblood

So she follows it up with another punch, with her left, and a kick to the stomach.

Because she is still his purple wildflower, his friend, one of his Ladies.

And besides, keeping her from killing him takes everything he's got. He catches the punch on a bracer, the kick gets through and he staggers back. If he did not always wear leather armor in the bar he would have felt something break deep inside.

It is not the noise (what there is of it), nor quite the sudden explosion of violence that has Raven opening his eyes and peering down from the rafters.

Or maybe it is only that.

Whatever the reason, bright black eyes are watching the battle below, waiting to see what happens.

Perhaps there will be eyeballs, at the end of it. For it seems likely that there has already been blood.