[ P ] End Of The Road

”Ooh I’m gonna leave ya grinning for days and days”, Móinéir teased, giving a nibble to the drunkards cheek as she passed him and took the lead. The drunkard stuck his head beneath her tail and she gave a false jump, giggling, ”Ha, you naughty boy, you just wait til we get where we’re going, will ya?” He laughed too, asking just where they were going, eyes never leaving her rear end. ”You’ll see, I’m sure there’s an alley round here ssssomewhereeee”, she slurred, turning her head and allowing her body to begin wobbling. As her rear drifted, she bounced off a wall, which sent him laughing and falling on his own ass.

”I’m sho glad I met you”, she told him, leading him around another corner and into a street that seemed void of people. It wasn’t, not by a long shot. She knew every pair of eyes that were on them, and as they got to the end, she span her body around to keep her targets attention. The large, white nobleman was dragging his paws a little, stumbling through the buzz she’d helped him enjoy. His blue eyes were hooded, intent on what was coming and not having a single thought outside of the pleasure she’d promised. Typical man, lead by his dick. His mistake.

The thought had her grinning from ear to ear as she backed into the alley, ”Told ya, I gotsss good instincts”. She backed a little farther, still giggling, and pretended to trip. Falling on her back, Mo gave him an eyeful of what he’d come to taste and he stalked into the alley without so much as a backwards glance. ”You sure have, sweetheart”, he drawled, coming to stand over her with every intent of flipping her over. She wiggled, flicking her tail, twice left and then right to give the signal to her friends. She gave a groan of pleasure as he stroked down her side, head bending down to nibble her neck.

She waited for him to lift his head and bit her tongue, eyes flicking behind them to ensure her crew were in place before whispering, ”I’m no one’s sweetheart”. As confusion filled his gaze, her jaws snapped around his neck to cut off the air supply. She clamped down tight as he tried to pull away, moving with him so that she didn’t tear his flesh as she kicked her hind legs at the very thing he’d intended to use on her. Turned out he’d been more than ready for her. His mistake. A whine wheezed out of his nose and he tried to find purchase on the back of her neck but that just made her kick even more. A few chuckles came from behind them and he turned his head, eyes starting to roll.

If he thought there was help to be had, he was very wrong. Body wobbling, he heaved back again, lifting them both up, so she kicked out his hind leg and he toppled over. Her crew waited patiently as the lack of oxygen stopped his heart. They were on cleanup duty. Declan and Cormac gave her some slaps on the shoulders before helping to get the body on Finnegans back. He was a huge dim brute but he had his uses. As the trio departed, another stepped into the alley. ”Clean job, as usual”, Mcnair told her with a sneer, passing over a bag of coins, ”What I promised. Take care Mo”. He gave her a nudge with the piece of nose remaining to him before taking off after his boys.

She waited for them to slip away before departing from the alley, turning back the way she’d come and allowing her drunken demeanour to return. But as she weaved up the narrow street, she felt eyes on her, hairs prickling on the back of her neck, and she paused. Turning her head to her right, she searched the shadows, wondering if her body count would have to double before the night was out.

@Savard

Let’s tell a story about a land riddled in warfare, town between two sides, more or less. On the one side, there are wolves who fight for the sake of order and tradition, fight to maintain some sense of continuity of this world. They fight so that the current king keeps his rightful place atop Castle Stuart, and the insurrection, as they see it, is quelled. They are motivated, alas, by pay, by opportunity, and without either of those, their desire crumbles into dust. And the other side, meanwhile, they support whom they believe to be the rightful claimant of the throne, a wolf whose superior standing and charisma make him more fit to the position. Many of those that support this wolf, they do so not because of the pay or because they stand to gain something. They fight, and they die, willingly and enthusiastically, as martyrs more or less. It would seem almost unthinkable for those fighting to protect the current king to have the same reverence for their cause as the others do. And it is for that reason, having a cause worth giving one’s life over, that may prove the difference between winning and losing.

On a cold night along the streets of Rionna, Savard found himself considering this matter to himself. Ever since his release, he had been cursed to feel an empty void in his stomach, one that was of his own making. With all he had done, and all he aspired to do, he came to realize that there was not one thing in his life, not one belief or cause, not even one wolf, who he would be willing to die for. There was nothing in this world that kept him motivated, kept him going… and yet there was nothing that made him vulnerable. He had given up the pain of endangering others, losing others, in all his isolation. And yet… he had bestowed upon himself another kind of pain, one of an unfulfilled existence, of loneliness. Sure, he had his associates and his connections, but those were but professional relationships. Superficial. Convenient. Temporary. They might be frank with each other, they might drink until morning together, but they were but opposite sides of the same coin. No matter what, they could never look the same way.

There was the typical commotion about the street, a sensation that never once bothered Savard. Arguments, discussions, drunken revelries. Those who were well-to-do tended to avoid areas like this, feel uncomfortable whenever they felt the sensation of eyes on them. But this was home for Savard, a reminder of where he came from, who he used to be, who he probably still was and would always be at his core. The rules were different here than how some might think. The first, and most important, was that you never saw anything. As Savard made his way, he heard various commotions: the sound of a deal being made, a shakedown being done, perhaps the splash of something, or someone, going into the abandoned canal. He saw nothing, he heard nothing, and he knew nothing.

The second rule? Don’t be a fucking idiot. Savard found his way on a seldom used street, one he had been down many times before. He hard the sound of voices speaking softly in the alley, though their exact words too difficult to understand. And then, watching from only a short distance away, he saw a wolf emerge alone, strutting normally. That is, until her demeanor changed, and her exaggerated steps gave off the impression she’d been intoxicated. Though… the sudden transition was noteworthy for Savard. Not only this, a drunk wolf like her in the middle of the night never boded well. After all, this was Rionna, and in this part of town, nobody was who they conveyed they were. It was best to avoid wolves like that in the middle of the night. And Savard knew that all too well. But rather than walk away, the male continued on his path, as if he hadn’t seen a thing, even though that instinctual part of him knew that the wolfess was up to no good.

She couldn’t see anyone behind her or to the side, so she replaced her smile and continued on for a few more steps when she saw someone coming down the street, closer than she would have liked. It was strange, someone being here at this time of night, but it wasn’t entirely unusual. He couldn’t have seen anything, surely. Still, Mo wasn’t one to take chances. As they closed the distance between each other, she got a better look at the wolf. He was male, only a little bigger than her, like her brother. Brown eyes too, like he’d had. But his coat was russet like her own, with the same white upon the forehead. Well, not quite as uniform as her own but it was there, as was white upon his chin. Well that’s a funny coincidence, she thought, slowing down and humming to herself, eyes on her paws.

That’s why it was easy to pretend that she’d meandered a little too close, nearly bumping into him as they passed. ”Oops, heeey I’m shorry mister”, she mumbled, stumbling back and giving a giggle. She felt the coin purse around her neck bounce against her chest as she steadied herself. She hadn’t needed one earlier. The dead nobleman had been very generous with his own coin, which would have been a useful trait if he’d used it before tonight. His debt had now become his two buddies debt and if they didn’t pay up now, well, no doubt she’d have a little bit more work thrown her way. She hadn’t always been so clean, nor so skilled. That’s where her brother had come in. If he hadn’t gotten himself killed trying to be a hero, he might have been waiting in that alley but no, it was all down to her.

@Savard

It paid to know the way the world really was when one walked the streets. Proceeding slowly enough, Savard seemed to have given the lass no mind, if he had even seen her at all. But make no mistake, for he did indeed see her, and quietly watched her out of the corner of his eye. Of course, it was more difficult to be subtle about it when she started to stumble her way directly towards him. Still, for a moment it were as if the wolf was but a figment of his imagination, a ghost he had blocked out long ago. That didn’t seem to dissuade her, however, as she brazenly drew close, swiping against the male. She seemed inebriated, foolish, but nobody ever really was that foolish. Still, Savard felt it to be in his best interest not to disclose that he knew this wolfess to be after something of his: his attention, his Renown, his life.

Of course, that large sack of Renown she carried around didn’t make things any easier on herself. The sound was unmistakable to the wolf, and it made the wolf stand out for a few reasons. For one, to carry that much around in the middle of the night, in a bad part of the city, that just didn’t happen. And it wasn’t exactly in the smartest of spots. Around her neck, plain and free to just take. Granted, where else one might put such a large sum of Renown, one might ask? Surely, one ought not to wear it so brazenly. And, given her choice to approach, not to flaunt it in front of strangers. You never know, after all, who it is that can cross one’s path unexpectedly. A fatal mistake, more often than not.

Of course, Savard knew that the most likely reason why this drunk had so much money on her was not one that boded well. A pretty fae, a rich one at that, happening to take a keen interest in a lonely male? It was too good to be true, and those in the know, knew that. That, or she was the luckiest idiot there was in the entire city. Of course, it was best to keep the status quo as it was. After all, should Savard make things tense, who knows how this wolf might react? “Hmm,” Savard gruffed, shrugging off the wolf’s contact as if it were nothing, “accidents happen.” The older male, however, could not wipe away his stoic, perhaps grim expression, as he walked away.

And yet, there was something about this wolf that made him stop and turn back towards her. Something in the way she looked, sounded, tickled at part of his brain, as if he had seen her before. If had had, that was almost always suspicious, especially given recent events and encounters. Perhaps, just perhaps, she had been following him? What better place to take him down, after all, than in the middle of nowhere? That… or maybe this was just a matter of wrong place, wrong time. Time would tell which one that was. For now… the façade stayed up. “Nice pouch,” Savard said, pointing to her coin purse, as if to draw attention to the obviously noisy and tempting bag of Renown, “can’t say I’d be as brave as you are, wearing it like that. Hopefully someone doesn’t think it’s filled with Renown.”

The stranger didn’t give much of a reaction to her trespass into his space, though he wasn’t all too happy about it, which wasn’t a surprise. His body was stiff as he walked away, simply claiming that accidents happen. If he’d seen anything, or been interested in trouble, surely he’d have had a bigger response. ”My mama always said I was clumsy”, she mumbled as she straightened up out of the half crouch and gave a shake, satisfied that she’d be fine from here on out. Mo had barely taken a step when the older male spoke up again. Her brows raised as she half turned, catching him pointing at her pay load and commenting about how tempting it would be to a thief.

Let em try and take what’s mine, she thought, giving a snort and a little shrug. ”oh I’m sure it’ll be fine mister, never had no problems like that before”, she drawled, giving him a lopsided smile and a cheeky wink, ”besides, even if it does disappear, I knows how to make more of it”. She’d let him come to his own conclusions about just how she’d make more Renown. The easy guess would be a long line of Johns, but that business was behind her. She’d never know how her mother managed to keep at the job for so long, never looking for alternate means, but then, her mama had been built from a different kind of cloth, and she’d had pups to feed.

”but all the same, thankshhh for your concern”, she concluded, beginning to hum a little ditty to herself that her mother used to sing as she prepared to be on her way.

@Savard

The young wolf had an odd confidence about her as she spoke to him, as if she feared not one consequence in her life. She had a vibrant personality, that one… but why she did ought not be of any surprise. It was clear, by her looks, her behavior, her confidence, that her profession fit this part of town very well. Her subtleties were not lost on Savard, as she acted as she did about him. It was best not to get involved with wolves like that… it never ended well. Long ago, Savard had made that mistake, falling in love, however brief it was, with a wolf he paid to love him. He broke it off, thankfully, before he invested more into any of the relationship than he already had. And frankly, ever since then, besides a bunch of one-night stands, thoughts of what could have been or what once were, Savard found it hard to love another. Maybe it was just the way he lived his life, that he knew eventually he would have to see the ones he loved put at risk. Maybe the thought of losing someone he loved terrified him beyond words could convey. Maybe he was just cowardly.

“Of course you haven’t,” Savard replied kindly, albeit playfully, “most wolves don’t learn that lesson twice.” She’d end up dead if she crossed the wrong kind of wolf. And the way she conducted herself, she either had a very fortunate upbringing, or she was very well-connected, and/or skilled in her own right. He knew by the way she spoke those words that this was her turf, one she felt very comfortable in. She knew how to pick them, drunk, desperate fools who were easier to read than royal banners. And if she was picking them on this part of town, not up in those royal estates where no doubt political marriages grow sour and rotten… she was more than just skilled. She was dangerous. She hadn’t set his sights on him, but perhaps it was in his best interest for them to go their separate ways. After all, their pleasantries had drawn to an end, and the last thing Savard wanted was for him to have yet another wolf to watch over his shoulder for. With one paw in front of the other, the two began to separate.

That is… until the male heard her hum a song. It wasn’t just any song, though, but rather a sequence of notes that unlocked a rather buried memory. He had heard that song before, time and time again, many years ago. Why he remembered it he couldn’t remember… but it wasn’t something he could ever forget. After all… that Highlander song he practically once knew the words of, the way she always sang it. Yes… how could he forget about Nessa? There were surely plenty of Highlander whores in Rionna, but none who sang the same song, over and over, something she clung to as part of herself more than her own fur. And as long as he lived, he’d never forget that song. It made Savard almost lose himself in his own head, as he remember what it felt to be in love. He loved that whore, he really did. But then he remembered why things fell apart… and to no surprise, it was his fault. She might have been twice his age, but part of that curiosity might be just the thing to take a step towards atoning for his past… and maybe easing any sort of tension with this wolf.

“I know that song,” Savard said, as he turned back around, “you’re Highlander, aren’t you?” It wasn’t perhaps the most adequate comment to give, but it would surely be a lot better than any more specific explanation about him and Nessa met. After all… this had to have been her mother. Just by looking at her, he could see her in her eyes. But then again… Nessa might have had dozens of children running about Rionna, probably none of them having the lives she would have hoped them to have. Still… to make it this far in life, with a bag full of Renown around one’s neck was a far better lot in life to have than so many things. “More specifically,” Savard continued, “the whore who used to stand outside the tavern not too far from here… you’re her daughter. Tessa… right?” He knew better than to say he never forgot her name. Sometimes... acting cold and impersonal was one's best means to survive.

”I know that song… you’re Highlander, aren’t you?”

The unexpected question caught her of guard, not something that happened very often. Her body turned halfway towards him as it was on the tip of her tongue to ask him what it meant to him to know. After all, could she really consider herself a Highlander when she had never even been north? Her mother may have been, and her grandparents, yet her heritage boiled down to one song that she could sing in either Gaelic or English. It was the only Gaelic she knew, having never been able to pick up the language, unlike Shay. There had been a few stories of the fae when she was a pup, but they were none sense fairytales.

Her words never made it out of her throat because another question left the stranger, one that was quite specific. Another might of said it was a small world, but a whore met many people. A thrill of tension rode up her back as she turned around to face him, her lazy smile hanging on for dear life because of the misnaming of her mother. It took reminding herself that a whores name was rarely remembered, no more than a Johns, unless they became a regular, to keep the bastard in place with any semblance of calm. ”Her name was Nessa”, she corrected, a slight edge marking her tone, ”and she hasn’t stood outside that tavern for over eight months”.

No, for as soon as her mother could barely stand, it had been Mo stood outside that brothel house, peddling the flesh her ma had made. She hadn’t even been two, but then, there was nothing pulled Johns like the young and unspoiled. Her virginity had sold for a pretty high price, and that same night that she lost her dignity, Shay drank himself so far into the gutter that she’d taken a week pulling him out of it. Problem was, she’d worked every night of that week and it must have showed because he could barely look at her. Perhaps she could have tolerated it better if it hadn’t been for that. Over the next four months, her pride, self respect and confidence had gone the same way as her dignity, but their deaths had been slower.

What remained now were the shattered remains of each, plastered together to use as a disguise. A small part had rekindled with her current work, for no one could deny she was good at her job. But a whore was always a whore, and she was as much one now as she was then, only difference being that she was the one who did the fucking, rather than the one being fucked. The ones that hired her for her skills were just a different style of pimp. At the end of the day, it was her paws getting dirtied, not theirs, and it would be her throat slit if a job went bad. They would walk away and find someone else. Maybe not all of them… Some were good eggs, or had been good to her and Shay at any rate.

One thing she could say that was true was she had respect for whores like her mother. They gave everything for very little return. If it wasn’t for John’s who wanted to use them, they wouldn’t need to fall to such lows, but they’d also be out of work. It was a vicious cycle, one that she had narrowly escaped by not having pups her first season and trapping herself. It was Shays last gift to her; herbs that made her too ill to carry life, freeing her from their mams fate.

”And I am her daughter, or I was… fact is, she died a while back. You were one of her Johns I take it?”, she asked, doing her best to keep her tone even, though her smile never met her eyes. To lose her brother and then her mother a month apart… the pain was still raw, even if she hid it well. Nothing like a flesh peddlers ability to hide what she didn’t want others to see.

@Savard

It seems that, however unintentional it might have been, Savard had struck a nerve with the young wolf. All of a sudden, that faked demeanor of intoxication seemed to fall away, and with ever so faint an aggressive tone, corrected Savard on the name of her mother. Nessa… that name definitely rang some bells in his head. Not loud ones, of course… but a memory or two came to mind. They were hazy, of course, since after all he was hardly sober when he came to a place like this. But Nessa… there was definitely more than a little something when it came to that name. Of course, keeping himself cold and distant to the familiar was his only means of self-preservation. If one pretends he possesses nothing of value, after all, one finds his adversaries do not know that which he covets, and find it difficult to know his weaknesses. That… or perhaps there was something more to this interaction that he both wished to uncover, but at the same time was afraid of what he might find. The wolf went on to give more information about herself and her upbringing, as well as recent events. Nessa had not been seen for over eight months, a fact that, suffice to say, was not something he had concerned himself with. It was funny, wasn’t it, how Savard always had time to check in and keep tabs on all these other wolves he knew… but when it came to Nessa, the news caught him with such surprise, he almost felt hollow from it. Was it a pang of regret? He’d been there for people for far less, made a difference in the lives of so many. But when it came to one of his many flings, it was almost like he was ashamed to have ever known her. It almost formed a lump in his throat, as if he was troubled by the fact that he had never gotten the chance to say goodbye to her. There was a moment of shock as he processed the news, one that, if this young wolf were adept, she just might catch a glimpse of. But as he realized that he had made the choices that he did, and that Nessa was one of the many prices he paid for a second chance, it was gone. “I see,” Savard at last spoke, nodding his head in a show of condolence, “I can’t say I was one of Nessa’s clients. In my youth though I visited the brothel more than once… spent a lot of Renown too… but I can’t say I spent any time with Nessa. She was popular… and expensive.” It hurt his memory of her to keep the truth so hidden, to distort it in a way to distance himself from her. But it wasn’t all falsehood. Nessa was well known in this place for her skills. She was kind, genuine… and when they spoke to one another, they spoke of things that were far more personal… sophisticated even. Any whore can provide pleasure… but Nessa provided comfort of the soul. It struck Savard with so much regret to said what he said to the wolf then and there… knowing that it was only because of Nessa that he was given this second chance at all. It was a stain on his character, a reminder that he could never be what he hoped he might one day be: redeemed. But, sensing that these were thoughts that would inevitably lead to more words he might regret, Savard found it prudent to change the subject. “I’m sorry,” he said then, finding it to be the only sensible thing he could say, “I didn’t grow up with a whole lot… but I can only imagine you didn’t have it easy.” He found it rude to shame a wolf for her line of work… but a place like this was no place to raise a wolf. Seeing so much from an early age, how cruel and vile some can be. Not to mention, not having the stability of family or of income that others might have. It saddened him, somewhat, that this wolf might not ever know who her siblings were, or perhaps even her own father. She was alone, perhaps… and although that made her have no weaknesses or vulnerabilities, he almost pitied how lonely she must have felt. So he endeavored to ask but one more question. “Do you have any other family you know of?” Savard inquired, expecting her answer to be one of dead ends.

everything he touched fell apart

code // art

shadows mutter, mist replies; darkness purrs as midnight sighs

The look of surprise was brief, followed by something else… sadness? Surely not. Whatever it was disappeared as quickly as it came, covered by a careful bit of ice that she had to admire. Like herself, it seemed he was adept at controlling himself. He proceeded to state that he wasn’t one of her clients, that though he had frequented the Dancing Dryad, Nessa had been out of his pay grade. It was possible. She had made herself highly sought out, due to her sweet personality and ability to figure out exactly what each of her clients needed. Those who kept coming back remained loyal even as the cancer had eaten her strength away, but her physical decline had meant a decline of profits for the brothel, which wasn’t taken lightly. It’s why the ultimatum had been made in the end, since the Madam could plainly see that Mo had inherited all her mother’s best qualities. Well, almost all of them.

What made her suspicious though was the fact that he had recognised the lullaby from only a few hummed notes. Nessa may have sang in the main bull pit from time to time, but that song had been a private affair, at least as far as her own memory served. Perhaps things had been different before the twins were born? Mo tried her best to relax her posture, tilting her head as he offered his condolences only for her brows to furrow as he commented on how she mustn’t have had it easy growing up. He wasn’t wrong but what did that matter to him? Tragedy and sad stories were around every corner, especially in this neck of the ‘woods’. Hell, she’d just made somebody’s story tragic by ending it. She briefly wondered if there was someone who would miss the silly drunk but it was swept quickly away by the strangers question.

She quickly shook head and gave a shrug, doing her best to seem nonchalant, like it was no big fucking deal. Even though it was but that wasn’t this guys problem, or anyone else’s. It simply was what it was. ”My twin brother died a month before our mam and my older siblings, well, they could be anywhere, not that they’re worth knowing”, she offered, feeling a little generous. Her brother and sisters were as good as useless, having abandoned Nessa and her young to the brothel life. So long as they could get on with their lives… Feeling bitter, she added another to the list that would have otherwise stayed unnamed given that a ghost with a name was all he’d ever been to Shay and herself. ”As for my father, all I’ve got is a name, Childeric. I mean, it’s more than most kids born to whores get so I shouldn’t really complain should I?”

@Savard

It was well known, truly, that there was hardly a soul in all of Rionna who didn’t know the meaning of the word hardship. It was so common, truly, that to even pity it was deemed unnecessary, the same way that one might complain of how wet the rain is, or how warm the sun is, or how stiff the gales blow during Springtime. Still, Savard found it ethical, to at least appear genuinely sympathetic to the daughter of a whore, one who was now on her own. Her fate was set in stone before she had even realized it, and to see it in someone else, to look outward instead of inward, was still a foreign concept for Savard. Still, what else was one supposed to say to the inconsolable? He had to say at least something, he felt… even though chances were it was best to have said nothing at all. And for her, she felt the need someone who understood. It was always a prostitute’s job to listen well to one’s client, to be there for them, to soothe and comfort them, to advocate for them, all for one measly lie that the client believed. But who, pray tell, would be there for the whore in her time of need, to listen to her stories, her qualms, and to do so above all else not to take advantage of the situation? Sympathy, unlike tragedy, was a rarity in places like this. It was not the circumstances of her fragmented family that shocked Savard as it did, however. There was hardly a bat of an eye as she talked about her mother’s passing, her twin brother’s death, her other siblings, however many she might have, but dust in the air. He had seen it all before to be sure… but he had also been the reason that several might find themselves in such straits. It used to not matter who or when or even why… sometimes he just felt a need to bring a wolf to their lowest, to break their spirit through blood. But perhaps this was his punishment for all the things he had done. Especially as he learned from the wolf about her father. He need not even hear another word as soon as the name was spoken. He was almost at a loss for words. Childeric… it was a name that few knew, that few only lived to know. It was his moniker for certain jobs that required a bit of… subtlety. And he knew that as soon as she uttered the name, his name… that everything began to fall in place. Childeric was a name he took for himself when he took his first big job. He was to acquire certain poisons from an imperial healer looking to make some Renown on the side. Only problem is… he had no intention on paying, and to avoid the apothecary from recognizing the danger, he posed as a more upstanding underworld dog than the putrid rat he really was. They never saw it coming, not when that wolf was beaten in a dark alley not far from here. She gave up everything she had, and of course, any information that was worth even the slightest price. Savard remembered hearing that she died of her injuries not long after the Imperial guards found her broken body, and by that time, Childeric was long gone. And from then on, whenever there was a job so foul and so cunning that Savard could not connect himself to it, the name was used instead. He remembered the last time he used the name, a job that involved the very same Dancing Dryad he was now stationed in front of. He remembered how his gang had wondered how they might take the establishment over, to undermine its proprietors. It was Malachi who proposed the scheme, to be sure, that one of them frequent as a client, get to know each and every wolf, to size the place up, identify those who had the most to lose from their nocturnal activities going public. Then, they would dismantle it, follicle by follicle, until there was no reason for the owners to hold on. And then, it would have been all theirs. Naturally, Childeric was quick to volunteer as the mole, given that whoring was such a part of his empty, pointless existence. It didn’t take long for his presence to catch the eye of one of the more expensive products the brothel to offer, a wolf whose talents were truly endless. So much so, in fact, that she seemed to know just what Savard needed in his life, like she knew what he was after all along, but played along just to see how he might act. Time and time again, he would visit her, and time and time again, she would feed him breadcrumb after breadcrumb. But after some time, they both forgot why they had been there with each other in the first place. Savard saw her for what she was, a wolf who wanted better, who regretted her choices, who wanted a better life than she had. And perhaps she, too, saw that he wished the same for himself. And yet… he lied to her about himself, never telling her about the terrible thinge he had done, about why he was there in the first place, not even his real name. He wondered if Nessa was even her real name. But still, he found himself thinking nothing else but of her, to the point that he was to get together the Renown he had just to get her out of her life. All he needed was one more job… and it was that same job that got him arrested, and Malachi killed. She had asked to see him, the day before, something urgent, but he never knew what. All that remained of those days were a dark pit of despair, an emptiness he could hardly understand. He knew, now, what she wanted to tell him, and he knew it to be the most wonderful, yet terrible news he could hope to hear. There was a pause in Savard’s speech as he sought to find what to say. But such a conflict was fleeting, momentary, as he realized why he had never found the courage to tell Nessa who exactly he was. It was a means of protection. Were Nessa to be known as Savard’s favorite, a terrible fate would have befallen her. That is the price of emotional connections in a place like this. To keep no one close to one’s self is difficult, but entirely safe. But the price is steep, perhaps far more severe than death or dismemberment might ever be. No doubt, that Childeric’s child would be no different. To have known himself to be a father ought to have inspired joy in most… and yet it only inspired a sense of dread, of a need to process everything he had missed out on, that he had failed to prevent, that he might one day be able to do. Was it too late? Would it never be enough? He knew what his charge was… at least his mind made up rather hastily. To keep the status quo was to keep her safe, and it was that very lack of love that was perhaps the greatest love Savard might provide for the kid he never knew he had had. “I see,” Savard spoke, not even finding the strength to lie outright, though by no means would he confess, even under the most abysmal of torture, “have you ever sought him out? Or felt the need to? Not that fathers like him would care or even know.” He felt the need to distance himself from Childeric, treating him as a different wolf entirely, a stranger, rather than himself. It made it easy to lie, to hide from the truth, in a way that served him better than to know what she knew, without arousing any suspicion. It was hard to stomach the shock still… an anxiety of who knew what bubbling like a meal of rotten meat. Still, he knew that it was best to stay the course, even if he knew that this course only led to the heart of a hurricane of failure.

everything he touched fell apart

code // art