[ P ] you knew me in my spiral

It's been four days. Four days since she walked out that door with no intention of returning. Four days since she threw away the entire culmination of her life without a single idea what she would do next—where she would go. She had considered what she knows about Odysseus of course, had considered finding the stone manor in the Redwood, but what had happened there feels sacred to Senka, and she is too stubborn to sully it with desperation. So she wound up here, on the outskirts of Sussex at an inn that houses a bustling bar on its main floor. And she'd remained here—for four days.

Admittedly, she had spent the first day breaking her sobriety with a riotous influx of alcohol. Her drunken stupor was so impressive, she could have rivaled Augustine for most inebriated patron. And, perhaps a bit pettily, she'd used his coin to do it. Even now, she's confident that he won't care enough to bother with confronting her.

By the time she awoke in her room sometime in the late afternoon of the second day, Senka had been gloriously hungover—and subsequently, gloriously ill. That was two days ago. Wisely, she's had no further drunken escapades, but she is no better; whatever plagues her can no longer be blamed on alcohol. She's drawn all the curtains closed, shading the room in darkness, and alters between disorienting naps and upending the measly contents of her stomach into a bucket. Senka does not look like much of a noblewoman now, with her fur sleep rumpled and dark hollows beneath her eyes, burrowed in a bed with messy sheets, hiding from the sunlight.

What Senka does not recall is that sometime during her blackout-drunk escapades, she had sent a bird to the Redwood roost with a message for Odysseus, the contents of which contained the name of the inn, her room number, and nothing more. There's a countdown ticking, and she doesn't even know it.

how strange,
to dream of you

even when
i am wide awake

code // art

fangs out in the moonlight

Odysseus stood outside the inn. The message had been suspiciously vague. This inn and a room number, presumably where the wolf would be waiting for him. Signed with only the letter ‘s’, the ebony wolf had nothing to go on. It could be assumed the the senders name started with ‘s’ but that still left a list of wolves. A part of him wondered if it was Senka, he hadn’t seen her since she stepped foot into his home. It was wishful thinking and Odysseus wasn’t one to step into the unknown with just that. So he had watched the inn for a few days, observing patrons and patterns, seeing who returned again and again. Nothing had sparked any real interest so he pushed open the inn door on the fourth day.

His companion had gone in ahead of him, as they had determined before their arrival. The snowy wolf hadn’t given him any signal for alarm. Waiting was now only delaying the inevitable. Stepping inside, the air was warm and stuffy, heavy with the scent of smoke and booze. Amethyst eyes scanned the crowd and while a few peered him at him curiously, no one seemed overly interested in his presence here.

Walking up the stairs, he spoke to no one as he searched for the room number. Even when he found it, he didn’t immediately swing the door open. The old wood groaned beneath his paws, the floor boards protesting against his weight. Dark ears strained forward, but the room was quietly. Nostrils flared and his nose immediately wrinkled with distaste. The pungent smell of stale alcohol and vomit permeated from the room, overriding anything else. His attention only shifted when his ivory coated companion stepped into the hall, blocking the path down the stairs. Whoever was waiting for him wasn’t leaving today.

Without any preamble, the wolf swung open the rooms door, letting it creak open and thump lightly against the wall. Without the flimsy piece of wood between him and the rooms occupant, his senses were assaulted with the sour stench of vomit. Again his nose wrinkled. But inside, a familiar perfume lingered beneath the pungent odor. Senka.

The room was dark, the air stuffy like she hadn’t left in days. Triangular ears stood attention while his eyes adjusted to the dim light before he found her. Slumped in bed, she looked worse for wear. Concern made his brow furrow. “Senka?” Kicking the door closed behind him, he would approach her without hesitation. He had questions, so many questions. What in the hell was she doing here? Why did she look like she just finished a four day binder? And perhaps most importantly, why did she smell different? It was subtle, barely noticeable, but there was something different. “What happened?” His voice was low as he brushed his nose against her cheek.

"speech"

code // art

In the stark silence of the room, the door thudding gently into the wall is enough to catch Senka's attention immediately, though her reflexes are considerably slower to respond. One eye cracks open blearily, and then the other, shifting sluggishly towards the dark figure in the doorway; before she can manage to gather the energy to tell whoever it is to leave her the hell alone, her own name fills the space in a familiar and concerned tone, and the shadow comes closer. The door closes behind him more loudly than it had opened, forcing an involuntary flinch from Senka as her throbbing head protests the sound.

Then he's there, his nose cool against her feverish skin, his concern a security blanket she wants to sink into. Odysseus. She draws in the smell of him, her eyelids drooping heavily—and then the confusion finally finds her, and she forces her eyes open and drags her gaze to find his, brows furrowing. "What are you doing here?" comes her ragged, perplexed voice. There is no part of Senka that doesn't want him here, preferably wrapped around her like a protective cocoon from the world, but her addled brain cannot fathom how he found her in the first place. Because sober, logical Senka would never have sent such a message—and fates, she might feel like absolute dog shit at the moment, but she's definitely sober.

It occurs to her, belatedly, that he'd asked her something. What happened? Nothing more than the inevitable, really. Nothing she couldn't recover from after wallowing for a day or two. Her plan had gone decidedly haywire when her body decided to punish her soundly to the point where she's quite certain that trying to remove herself from this bed will only result in another upheaving of her stomach. "We happened," she finally says, offering him a faint smile. There's no sorrow in it, no wistfulness—just simple acceptance of action and reaction. It had not been anguish that drove Senka so deep into the bottle, but anger; she'd grieved the death of her marriage long before now.

"You may want to practice caution when you next see Augustine," Senka muses as an afterthought, her sluggish mind failing to consider assuring him that she did not rat him out. Between whatever dirty laundry that woman had aired at the bar to Augustine and her biting accusation at Senka's front door, the mayor would have to be a complete moron not to connect the dots to his business partner with whom his wife had traveled across Rionnach on multiple occasions. Augustine Scowcroft is many things, but he is not a moron. A pompous, self-absorbed ass, most definitely—but not a moron.

how strange,
to dream of you

even when
i am wide awake

code // art

fangs out in the moonlight

There wasn’t much that managed to slip by Odysseus’s keen eyes. He noticed everything around him - the stale meal she’d left untouched, the empty cups that were carelessly knocked over, the way she flinched at the sound of the door shutting behind him. The Barin wolf saw it all. Amethyst eyes scanned her from head to toe and from he could see, she was unharmed. But there was still something wrong with her. Maybe he was simply getting the opportunity to see a hungover Senka, but that didn’t explain the subtle change in her scent. He couldn’t quite place a finger on it.

A dark brow would arch in question when she questioned his arrival. He could both see and hear her own confusion. “You sent a bird with a rather cryptic message.” He explained. “The name of the inn, your room number and the letter ‘s’”. He waited for her recognition because he needed to know that it was in fact her who had sent it and not someone who had been keeping tabs on them both closely enough to know he’d come if she called. Just thought was enough to make his hackles stiffen.

Her answer to his question is slow but it comes with a faint smile, one that holds no bitterness, no sorrow. We happened. It would seem the little vixen was only capable of cryptic answers when she wasn’t feeling well. Then she mentioned Augustine. Turning from her, he padded back towards the door, opening it enough to request water and a small meal, nodding vaguely to the pale man that accompanied him here. The ivory wolf wouldn’t leave, he would do what he did best. With his back to Senka, he didn’t bother to hide the victorious sneer that curled his dark lips. It would undoubtedly create problems for him professionally, August wouldn’t take kindly to him stealing Senka from their marriage bed. In the end, Augustine could be as mad as he liked but he could do nothing to change it. Odysseus knew where the bodies were buried, every drop of blood that stained the majors hands, all the back alley deals that secured his position and power.

Schooling his expression he turned back to her, returning to her only when he has bland food and water in hand, he would set it in front of her. “Don’t worry about Augustine.” Odysseus was confident in himself to be able to deal with the fallout. “Drink.” He nudged the fresh water towards her, his tone suggesting she would be taking a drink, even if he had to pour it down her throat.

"speech"

code // art

"You sent a bird..." Senka stares at him for a long moment, a combination of understanding and horror slowly creeping across her features. Tucking her chin between her forelegs, Senka throws a paw across her eyes and groans softly, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "I'm never drinking again," she mutters into the mattress. She'd had every intention of contacting Odysseus later, but she hadn't much liked the idea of leaping out of the frying pan and into the fire; evidently, Drunk Senka had different plans. Scandalous plans, if her rapidly sharpening flashback of sending that raven is anything to go by. Fates help her.

The sound of his fading footsteps has her peeking at him from beneath her paw, her heart stammering against her chest; while she hadn't intended to summon him here, Senka would be devastated if he leaves her now. But he stops at the door and speaks quietly to someone in the hall, and she sinks back into the sheets with a soft sigh, her eyes fluttering closed with the satisfaction that he isn't going anywhere.

When Odysseus returns to the bedside and tells her not to worry about Augustine, she cracks her eyes open to find his gaze and murmurs, "I'm not." And before she can think better of it, she admits, "I'm worried about you." This is as much his mess as it is hers, and Augustine has played a heavy hand in it, but Senka would only blame herself if Odysseus came to harm as a result. In his fury, she isn't certain what her estranged husband is capable of, or the depth of his connections.

"Drink," he commands in that overbearing tone that leaves no room for argument, the one she's become so familiar with. Admittedly, there is a part of Senka that wants to deny him just to get a rise out of him, but she's too tired for such games—and the last few days have left her dehydrated as it is. So she does as she's told, cupping the glass between her paws and taking cautious sips, eyeing Odysseus over the rim. There's a longing in her stare she can't put to words, a desire to have him as close as he'd been in his manor in the Redwoods, a yearning to pillow her head on his chest and pretend her life as she knows it isn't going up in riotous flames.

But for the first time in a long time, she feels uncertain beneath the weight of Odysseus's gaze, so she says nothing at all.

how strange,
to dream of you

even when
i am wide awake

code // art

fangs out in the moonlight

The seconds tick by as she digs through murky memories until she pieces it together. Relief seeped quietly through his veins. Inky lips still tipped up in a smirk when embarrassment warmed her cheeks as she attempted to hide her face from him. Amusement softened the lines of his face and the low rumble of his chuckle filled the room. However, he wasn't here to tease her about drunk calling him, at least not yet. Amusement faded just as quickly as he regarded her with a questioning stare. Something had happened to lead her here.

I'm not. He resists the urge to arch a brow. Without knowing what exactly happened, he wasn't sure what to make of her denial. I'm worried about you. For a second time, lips lifted in a smirk. This time it was with affection. She was worried about him. "Augustine is hardly the worst to come after me." He mused. The mayor was a large man, his ego undoubtedly enflamed by his success in the war, but Odysseus didn't yet consider him a real threat.

Had she argued with him, he wouldn't have been entirely surprised. But she drank her water without fuss. Silently, he watched. Unflinching, he met her gaze over the rim of her glass. The longing in her eyes was unabashed. It was different though, it wasn't the raw sexual tension that set his skin on fire. There was an unmistakable shift in the dynamic. Whatever had happened with Augustine, it seemed to be over since she hadn't kicked him out yet. Nothing stood between them. With a few words, he could make her his. Still, something kept him from doing so, from immediately staking claim over her newly found freedom. She was his, nothing could change that now, but he resisted collaring her, curious to see how she would blossom when she was no longer restricted by duty.

No matter the games he enjoyed playing, this wasn't the time to toy with her. But he wanted to be sure. "Your marriage is over then?" Blunt and to the point. The was something dark and eager in the shadow of his eyes. Odysseus hadn't forgotten about the meal still waiting for her, so he pushed it towards her, his expression saying what he did not. Eat. "How'd he find out?" A part of him was genuinely curious. Little did he know that he was about to learn the true meaning of curiosity killed the cat. They had always been careful and Augustine was absent enough that there wasn't a huge concern for him stumbling in on them. Amethyst hues regarded her intently, waiting for both her explanation and compliance.

"speech"

code // art

Augustine doesn't need to be the worst, she thinks—he just needs to be the angriest, the most determined. His deep pockets work in his favor as well, but Odysseus knows all of this as well as she does. Senka is rather certain that he knows Augustine better than her, actually; he knows the truth of the mayor's crimes and nature. Her sentiment rings true all the same: be careful.

She wants desperately to know what he's thinking behind that impassive stare, and the quiet stretches between them as Senka resists the urge to fidget in the weight of his presence. When he finally speaks, Odysseus is to the point as he ever has been, and she nods slowly, unflinching from the stark reality. "Unequivocally," she says quietly, depositing the empty glass on the side table, though she refuses his unspoken command with a slight wrinkle of her nose, dropping her head onto the pillow. Senka hopes he doesn't push the issue—she doesn't have the energy to fight with him today.

A slight noise of distress catches in her throat at his next question, and Senka closes her eyes for a long moment, wanting nothing more than to withhold the answer from him—for his sake, more than hers. She still hasn't forgotten his demeanor after the lagoon, the way she'd had to unfurl him from his shell with naked honesty, the anger she felt on his behalf for being made to feel less than. It's only made worse by the events of a few nights ago, but she knows he deserves the truth of it

Releasing a slow breath, she meets his stare again and says carefully, "when we were...in the lagoon. There was someone in the woods." They both know this, even if they hadn't spoken about it then; Senka had thought Odysseus entitled to his secrets at the time, but she feels foolish now for not pressing the matter. "I don't know how, but she was drinking in a bar with Augustine and Baptista. They brought her back to the house and she—recognized me." For all his faults, and the part in it that he'd played, Senka doesn't think Augustine deserved discovering her infidelity with an audience. "Should I be worried about her?" Senka asks after a moment, eyeing him with a faint wariness; she's smart enough to put together the puzzle pieces of jealousy, and the boozy lawyer lady whose name she still doesn't know had spoken with enough vitriol that she wouldn't put it past her to seek revenge in some manner.

how strange,
to dream of you

even when
i am wide awake

code // art

fangs out in the moonlight

Unequivocally. Odysseus doesn’t bother to hide his smile from her this time. Dark lips stretch into a smile that is unapologetically satisfied. A better man might have mourned for her, apologized for the mess he played a role in causing. But Odysseus wasn’t a better man. What started as a simple conquest has blossomed into something much deeper, much stronger and he regretted none of it. There wasn’t a drop of remorse in his amethyst eyes, she was his now, no matter how he let her run free. “Good.” The man of many secrets would not keep this one from her, he’d happily slip her wedding ring from her finger and let it clatter on the floor without a second thought.

Her reaction to his question sets off the alarm bells in his head. His brain ran through different scenarios, all the possible ways Augustine found out. First, she avoids his stare, closing her eyes as if she might not answer him at all. His eyes narrow slightly, briefly. Then the silence, it stretches on so long that he considers asking her again. But she releases a slow breath and begins her tale. Of all the ways for Augustine to learn the truth, Odysseus would have put this one at the bottom of the list.

It’s funny, the way time slows when less than pleasant news is delivered, the way the rest of the world seems to fade away continuing on while he is stuck in this moment. His heart beat steadily in his chest, his breathing even as she spoke of the lagoon, of Isolde. He didn’t react, not initially, not until she explained what Isolde had to do with this, with them. In his mind, she didn’t know the Scowcroft family well enough to connect all the dots of their affair. But evidently the universe wanted to see him punished for his sins. Muscles stiffened, his reaction much less noticeable than the white hot anger he’d felt at the lagoon. He listened closely, attentive to every word she spoke. It shouldn’t have been so surprising, not after he’d gotten a glimpse of the little lawyers temper, but here she was, flashing her vindictive side just as brazenly as he bedded Senka in front of her. Dark jaws clenched, wondering if maybe Mutt had been right all along.

Should I be worried about her? The wariness in her green eyes was faint, not quite willing to surface but still unable to resist. “Her name is Isolde.” He said after blowing out a breath. “She’s in the past.” The only thing that remained between him and his first love was bitter resentment. In that manner of speaking, Senka had nothing to worry about. She wouldn’t find him tangled in Isolde’s sheets if that’s what she was asking. “And that’s where she’ll stay.” He would seal his promise with a featherlight kiss on her forehead. Now he would invade her space, settling in beside her. “As for worry about any trouble she causes, I’m not entirely sure what she’s capable of.” It was a position he didn’t like to be in, for it meant he would have to strike first and land a heavy blow to ensure she fully understood her new place in his life. He never saw the true scope of her rage so he could only guess its bounds. But he wouldn’t be entirely surprised if she rained down hell upon him.

"speech"

code // art

His smile does something to her—not only the male satisfaction in it, but the possession written all over his face, embedding its claws in her skin. Augustine never fought for her, even when faced with her intention to leave; he had been complacent in a way that still stokes her fury, but she knows without question that Odysseus would never let her slip through his fingers. Augustine had fought for his country, but never for her. She will exist as a footnote in her own life no longer.

Senka watches the subtleties of Odysseus's features attentively as he takes in the information she shares, attuned to the way his muscles tense, his jaw tics. It is not nearly so aggressive a response as the last time, but he cannot entirely hide that it affects him all the same, proven by the low breath that huffs out of him. Finally, she is given a name to the face: Isolde. She thinks she preferred the boozy lawyer lady moniker. "She's in the past," he assures her, "and that's where she'll stay." A faint smile curls across the tired lines of her face with his promise and the press of his lips against her fevered brow.

When Odysseus climbs into the bed beside her, it takes no time at all for her to respond, nestling into his side and burrowing her face against his neck with a contented sigh. She trusts him enough not to question him or push the matter further, although the idea of Isolde being an uncertain variable makes her uneasy, as she's certain it does him. If his jilted lover makes waves, though, she doesn't know what Senka is capable of either; a bit vindictively, she thinks she'd like to see the bitch try.

As for Odysseus's fidelity to her, she has no worry, even without his promise. He's looked at her like a man possessed too many times, demanded everything she has to give, shared his most closely-guarded secrets with her—these are not the actions of a man whose attention is split between lovers, nor of one who would risk Senka snapping the connection between them if she became aware of deceit. It's ironic, she thinks, that this man should be more trustworthy to her than the one she'd been married to for years, the upstanding citizen. Beloved by his townsfolk, who remain oblivious to his true nature. Odysseus, at least, has never pretended to be anything other than what he is.

"I want you to know something," she murmurs against his skin, leaving the topic of Isolde in the past, where she belongs. "When you said you wouldn't share me forever...you weren't. Not then—or ever. Not really." The night he'd caught her outside the Drunken Seagull, she'd been bluffing—and angry enough to goad a rise out of him. But even before that, from the very first night he'd turned up at the house and challenged the reality Senka had been refusing to acknowledge, her relationship with Augustine had already been splintered. He'd fractured it beyond repair the very day he'd chosen Rionnach over her. She will be second to nothing. "There was never any overlap between you and him," she murmurs, pulling her head back just far enough to find his gaze. "I chose you a long time ago, Odysseus Barin," Senka whispers earnestly, fervently, saying his name with the reverence of a prayer and the certainty of a confession.

It was always him, long before she was ready to admit it—especially to herself.

how strange,
to dream of you

even when
i am wide awake

code // art

fangs out in the moonlight

The trust that she places in him is something he greedily takes. It’s a high unlike any other. To have someone’s trust is to hold immense power, to know that someone is willing to hold the bad and still see good, to look at it and past it, well, there is nothing else like it. She accepts with his words with a small smile and nothing else. There’s no drilling him for answers, no look of uncertainty. Just her unwavering faith. And it’s only solidified further when she tucks herself in his side, making herself comfortable in his embrace before she settles down. He can feel her sigh more than he can hear it with her face buried in his neck - her breath warm against his skin. That’s how they stay, content in the quiet, listening to only the sounds of each other breathing. Until she breaks it.

An ear twitches while he remains silence, waiting for her to continue. His body would shift slightly, attentive the more she spoke. …You weren’t… A softer smile lifts one corner of his mouth, just barely so. Odysseus remains quiet though if lifted her head to look at him, he wouldn’t hide the small smile that toyed with his lips. I chose you a long time ago, Odysseus Barin. Her voice is both soft and fervent. If she lifted her head to look at him, she’d find soul soothing contentment etched into the hard lines of his face. That same contentment would have him sinking further into the mattress.

Amidst all the talk of Augustine, she hasn’t told him when she’s been so sick. “Why have you been holed up in here?” He finally asked, the low timber of his voice filling the small room. Unfortunately for her, he’d keep her awake until he had everything he wanted from her. So he waited for her to explain her drinking, the drowning of her sorrows one night and the subsequent misery that claimed her body. “A night of drinking made you this sick?” Skepticism laced around his words. “Are you sure it’s not something else?” Amethyst eyes flicked to the abandon meal that had been sitting entirely to long, the cups that lay still sticky with booze. Surely she could handle her alcohol better than this.

"speech"

code // art