In Lieu of Formalities

"If you're quite done, you can leave." A low, menacing laugh parted her lips, a wicked smirk curving them. Subtlety was not was the Archmage was known for, nor was she called the Merciless without cause. "I can leave? You give me permission from your seat on the floor? How very manly." she said with a laugh. Men were such fools, thinking they could maintain a semblance power in the face of a woman who could grind their bones to dust with a harsh look. Such fragile creatures really, men. Zariah leaned forward, catching up his chin again, this time with a single finger, her nail caught under the tip of his chin and pressing painfully up. "You see, Neron, I'm not through, and I shan't be through untill you remember to whom your loyalty is owed." The way he froze when she grabbed him, still and submissive as she raged, gave her all she needed to know to pull him back in line. Once a Launceleyn, always a Launceleyn - magical manipulation wasn't necessary when the seeds of lifelong conditioning were so firmly rooted in the psyche. That same smirk still tugged her lips as she held his icy gaze, so close their noses nearly touched."Your icy demeanor might fool some but I know better. You are the same man you always were, striving for excellence, pretending detachment, yearning to feel something. The Eirachi cannot give you that, for you are merely her pawn. She is a goddess. The gods detest all that you are. But to me?" Without warning her face tilted forward, a soft, gentle kiss placed upon his lips...until her teeth teasingly tugged against his lower lip as she withdrew. "You are one I hold most dear." She paused, letting that sink in if only for a moment. Let him suffer in his anger and lust. "To the face of Halo, you are the Warden, and I your devoted Archmage. It is your plaything to do with as you wish, and I shall always support you, for your success is the success of the family." she cooed, the look in her eyes darkening ever so slightly. "But here, behind closed doors, I am the Family Head, and you will obey. Do not mistake my love and patience with you for weakness again, Neron. It is a priviledge you have earned, but you can lose it just as quickly. Have I made myself perfectly clear?" she said, voice but a sultry whisper. zariah If it is danger you seek, come on over. I covet tranquility but beget the tempest storm.

the hailstorm

Really, Neron ought to have known that whatever he said would not have gone down well, though his eyes did narrow a bit at her notions of manliness and the clear disdain that went along with it. Jaw tightening as her nails forced his chin upwards to hold her gaze, the Warden watched and listened with a storm brewing behind his eyes. Such a fool was he to invite Zariah, cold and shivering into the Citadel. Such a fool to raise her to his level, to give her even the whisper of an opportunity; he had all but set this up, he realised, and it would be his undoing.

Her lips pressed to his and she would find them freezing cold, and he was as responsive as the ice that frosted across the city walls. "I understand," he said curtly, and whilst his cheeks were still flushed and his pulse still quick, for all her love and patience (and ego and bite and swagger), there was only one thing truly clear in his expression.

Disgust.

"I understand." Words spoken on impulse, a reaction to preserve what little one had in the face of a force far greater than one could imagine. No one survived the Launceleyn family's methods with their mind as intact as Neron's was without learning when to push and pull and turn belly up. That he had even pushed her buttons as much as he had was likely purposeful, to some extent, and that her reaction (which should have also been foreseeable) elicited such a look of disgust on his face was...intriguing. What had he imagined would happen? He knew this game, and yet here he was so disgusted with the outcome, as if something more pleasant might have come from it. Pleasure always followed pain. It was the Launceleyn way. And with his submission, he had earned that much. The nail holding his chin in place lightened its hold, gliding gently across the skin of his jaw, leaving a trail to his head by which her hand followed. Softly her fingers combed through his hair, setting back in it's perfectly tousled state, nails gently scraping against his scalp. "Quite a look for one who had so mastered our ways. You know why I am this way, you know it pains me to hurt those most dear to me, you know exactly how to elicit the reactions you'd like to see - so why do you tempt that which displeases you, Neron?" she asked, voice but a whisper, her gaze softening ever so slightly. zariah If it is danger you seek, come on over. I covet tranquility but beget the tempest storm.

the hailstorm

The softness after the bite of pain was something so disgustingly like going home that Neron found himself simultaneously trying to melt into it and recoil from it. In the end the former won out, as it always always did, the Hailstorm's eyes pressing shut as if in shame that he got to enjoy the comfort after the punishment. "Because I am weak," he said softly, quietly, truthfully. "Because try as I might to escape this family's ways, try as I might to leave it behind, it follows me always. And I cannot get away."

His tone echoed with finality, with gloom, with acceptance. Eyes fluttering open, he blinked up at Zariah and nodded to her. "Thank you for helping me to understand," he muttered.

Her fingers caressed his head, thumbs pressing gentle circles on his temples. Slowing her minstrations worked around the back of his ears to the hinge of his jaw, coaxing the muscles to relax. "You cannot run away from that which you are. It will only lead to madness and ruin." she said softly, a comforting coo. He had only to look to his own brother to see that this was true. "Do not forget who you are. You are Neron Launceleyn, second son of Cyton and Morgana, nephew of Colbrande, a direct descendant of Artorius and his first wife - the most regal of our family lines." she said in dulcet tones, smiling at him lovingly. Between his title of Warden, his name of Hailstorm, Launceleyn had been buried. She nodded to his thanks and stood, holding her hands out to him. "Come, now and rest." she said. If he took her hands she would begin to lead him back towards his bed. zariah If it is danger you seek, come on over. I covet tranquility but beget the tempest storm.

the hailstorm

He had to swallow down bile at her confirmation of the way things were, at her quoting his lineage, even as his skin prickled pleasantly from the softness of her touch. Opening his eyes in time to see her holding a hand out for him, Neron accepted it because he had absolutely nothing else he could do, drawing himself to his feet.

"Rest does sound like a fine idea," he muttered, following her to the bed and slipping off his shoes that he might climb in, fully clothed. Unusual for Neron, but he was feeling phenomenally out of sorts. "Goodnight, Zariah," he said, drawing the blankets over himself and turning away, intent on staring at one of the walls before sleep claimed him. It wouldn't take long.

~FIN