nice knowing you [minske]

[Lexx]

It had been nearly two and a half weeks since Chaos had cursed him. It had been nearly two and a half weeks since Tigris had begun to die. Tigris supposed that he could make the argument that everyone was dying, merely at different rates—but this rate was too fast, too ferocious. He was burning up from the inside, and the fire within him was running out of fuel faster than his exhausted body could produce it. He could feel its heat against his lungs, his stomach, his heart. He expelled sparks and ash with each breath, and the black fur around his lips felt permanently crusted with his own blood; for that matter, he tasted blood with each swallow, as it oozed from his seared gums, his burned tongue. He looked horrific, like death warmed over, and he spat and snarled at Minske in vain attempts to make his friend leave him, and yet the white wolf stubbornly remained by his side. You’re wrong. Nobody deserves this. At first, the words had felt like being saved. Now they scalded Tigris. Minske didn’t deserve to die over this. Tigris didn’t deserve Minske. Last night, after they’d hunted, before they’d drifted off to sleep, Minske had placed his paw over Tigris’s—the pads were burned just from repeatedly touching Tigris in order to heal him, Tigris knew, and guilt ached in him, far sharper than the pain of the curse he bore. Magic eased its way into his battered body, pushing back the damage of the fire, knitting his blackening flesh back together. Minske was keeping him alive, but for how much longer? It was clear Minske was weakening. Tigris was weakening, as well. But he had no desire to crawl back to Chaos on his belly, begging her for forgiveness; he had told her he’d rather die, and he still fully intended to keep his promise. It was just...Minske didn’t seem to want to let him go. Not yet, anyway. Tigris still had some vague hope that Minske would eventually give up. Minske’s eyes had been closed in concentration. Tigris had leaned forward, not thinking at all. Perhaps it had been his hot breath against Minske’s muzzle, or the overwhelming stench of burnt flesh that Tigris carried around with him. Minske’s mismatched eyes blinked open. Tigris froze. And yet they had been still, less than an inch of air between their noses. Heat had coursed through Tigris, entirely unrelated to the fire gnawing at his body. “You should rest,” he ground out, his voice hoarse from smoke. And they had parted, and Tigris was careful not to curl up too close to Minske for fear of burning him, and he did not sleep, even after Minske’s breathing had softened and evened out, even after the moon rose and set overhead. He was thrumming with restless energy. He wanted to hold Minske down and snarl into his face until the white wolf agreed to leave him to die. He wanted to hold him down—he wanted… There was a sharp, splintering crack, as loud as a gunshot in the quiet, and Tigris was on his feet in a heartbeat, snarling viciously. His silver eyes fixed on a massive, dark shape in the gloom, and what he found put his heart into his throat. It was a bear, with a cub at her side, and Tigris felt dizzy and sick, and he was burning, he was burning. The bear was just passing through. It wouldn’t bother them; if they backed away, if they were slow and careful, they would be fine, but the pine needles and leaf litter at his feet were smoking from his touch, and he could scent the mother bear’s alarm. She snarled at him, shuffling forward. “Minske,” he choked out around the nausea that had swamped him; he could hardly breathe from the agony inside of him. There was a terrible, earth-shattering roar. table & art by lexx

@kenren as usual you can do WHATEVER U WANT TO TIGGY he's all yours!!

[Kenren]

minske mavecci

Love, lay me down, slay me with whispers

There was a constant aching in his bones, a horrible weariness that he couldn't shake, making him feel like a worn-down elder struggling against the infirmities of age. He knew it was only a cosmetic problem, or at least he hoped - when all of this was over, he would sleep. He would heal, and Tigris would heal, and they would be fine. It kept him going. It kept him awake.

But he knew they were losing the battle. He could feel it, every time he healed Tigris. Every day, every hour, his body demanded more of Minske, drew more power from him, desperately trying to heal the internal injuries that should have killed him days ago. He couldn't do everything, and he was always forced to draw back when Tigris' energy still called out to his. Like a starving man asking for one more bite, one more moment of bliss. Willing to do anything to get it. But that wasn't his friend's wishes, and every step of the way Tigris had fought him. Fought him, fought the goddess. And it was going to kill him.

'No,' his mind rebelled, 'I won't let it happen.' As if he himself was a god. As if he had any say. As if he didn't feel life slipping away under his paws, smell the stench of death even then. His paws were in nearly unbearable pain, but it was nothing. Nothing at all in comparison, so therefore it had to be bearable. He knew he was the only thing keeping Tigris alive, and he found no pleasure in that. He didn't want to be a hero. He just wanted...

Eyes closed in concentration, he felt Tigris shift, felt the heat close on his face. His eyes had opened, locked on silver, so close. He was so close. Even when the black male was a charred shadow of his handsome self, Minske still felt his heart rate rise. Heat flashed at the back of his neck. He wasn't quite as confused as he should have been, but was lost in thought when he acquiesced to Tigris' plea for rest. Minske was weak. And he was weak to agree, when his friend needed him so badly, but sleep engulfed him nonetheless.

"Minske."

The word, alone, caused Minske to stir from his bone-weary sleep. "Does it hurt?" he mumbled groggily, lifting his head. It wouldn't have been the first time Tigris grudgingly woken him when the pain had grown too much. He hardly had time to register that Tigris was standing before the roar sent him, trembling, to his feet. He misjudged, stumbling into Tigris, and winced at the smoldering heat that rippled across his side. But he didn't move away, eyes locked on the massive mother bear in fear that was hard to quantify. Memories shook through him, the paralyzing fear gripped him, and it was only the biting pain in his side that brought his mind back to the present.

"Go..." he said shakily. Tigris was weak, way too weak to be here right now. If they both ran, she might chase them. He just needed to distract her long enough for the injured wolf to get away. "Tigris, move!" he barked, and leaped toward the bear with a snarl. He wasn't a self-sacrificing sort, at least not by nature. He believed he could get them out of this. That he could protect Tigris a little longer, keep him alive a little longer, not ready to let this end so prematurely.

He faced off before the bear, ears pinned, growling as loud as he was able. To scare her. To intimidate her. But in reality, Minske was a young wolf and the bear was an apex predator of incredible size, and she need not be intimidated. Minske didn't even see the paw swing in time in the dark, and probably couldn't have dodged if he had. An incredible pain bloomed in his head, he felt himself lifted into the air, and then it all went black.



"speaking"

table by lexx

Lexx

[Lexx]

Minske shook awake instantly at Tigris’s voice, and his sleek, white head lifted. “Does it hurt?” he asked in a voice still slurred from sleep. Tigris’s heartbeat was slamming through him in waves, down to his very toes, and his legs felt weak from its frantic rhythm. He opened his mouth to answer, and the mother bear roared. Minske shot bolt upright. Beside Tigris, he seemed to glow faintly in the gloom, like a bit of captured moonlight—and yet, unlike moonlight, he was solid and alive, and he stumbled directly into Tigris’s burning side. Tigris flinched back, but it was too late. The scent of singed fur joined the general smell that drifted around Tigris like death; the smell of smoke, of charring flesh, of blood. Minske stayed close to him, despite how he had been burned, and his mismatched eyes were locked upon the bear. “Go,” he said, his voice shaking slightly. His tone was soft, but decisive. Tigris, who had spent all his young life obeying an alpha, immediately took a step back, and then wanted to claw his own muzzle off. The mother bear’s muzzle swung slightly, as she followed Tigris’s movements. Her attention fixed upon Minske once more when Tigris remained still. He watched Minske in disbelief, as his white fur hackled impressively along his shoulders and back. His white tail swung stiffly upward in a show of dominance. It was like a pebble telling a mountain, I am bigger and stronger than you. “Tigris, move!” he snapped, and then launched himself toward the bear. Tigris froze in place. He was suddenly younger, and smaller, and the forest was full of dark, slinking, snarling monsters, and his father and mother were roaring and screaming and dying. In his stricken mind, Minske’s pale shape blurred into that of his brother, Sargon, who was Tigris’s size, and whose fur was darkly silver rather than white. Minske’s growls turned into Sargon’s formidable rumble. Fight, Tigris, damn you! he heard his brother scream at him. His voice was strange, echoing, warped by time and all the ways Tigris had fought to forget this, the worst night of his life. They’re dying, can’t you hear them dying? But before a massive, red-eyed wolf could surge up out of the darkness and grasp Tigris’s face in his jaws, badly scarring him and leaving him inches from death, the memory snapped sharply apart, and the bear’s massive forepaw swung down, down, down. He watched Minske go flying. Time seemed to slow, and then Minske slammed roughly into a nearby tree trunk and slumped to the earth. Then time stopped altogether. Something very cold came over Tigris all at once. He heard, again, a distant voice from his memories: this one was benevolent, and slightly creaky with age, telling him kindly as he burned, “You will have the wrath you desire.” He threw himself at the bear. She rose up to slam him back into the earth, to break him as she had Minske, but he was fire. He was not something she could hold. His teeth sank into her massive forepaw, and she screamed her pain to the starry sky overhead. The fire that had slowly been killing him surged out of him, and he let it go. What a relief it was to not hold it inside, for fear of it escaping and hurting those around him! What a rush of power it was to burn, to grasp the things that terrified him tightly within his jaws and to bring them, howling, to the brink of death! And why should he stop there? he wondered distantly, as the bear went on in her high, keening death throes. Why not let his fire consume everything it touched? He let Chaos’s flames sate themselves on the bear; everywhere he touched her, she burned, until she crumbled apart into a charred, bloody mess, a smoldering smear upon the earth. Breathing heavily, dribbling blood that smoked and sizzled from his jaws, he turned upon her young cub. No. Dragging himself back into his own mind was the most excruciating thing he’d ever done. The fire inside of him had started to consume his own thoughts, as well; he’d almost let Chaos take complete control of him, as if he was some tool to do her bidding and then die from her curse. Snarling, panting, bleeding, he pieced himself slowly back together. When he looked up again, the cub was gone, and Minske was still collapsed, unconscious. Panic set in, fiercer than his shame over what he had done to the bear. “Chaos,” he snarled, in a voice that hardly seemed like his own; it was roughened from fire and strangely faint. “Chaos!” The night was still. There was no answer. Minske did not move from where he lay, and Tigris dared not go to him, because he was too hot; black smoke was rolling from his neck and shoulders in thick columns. He looked around desperately, and then screamed again, “Come out, you old bitch! You fucking hag! We need you!” And still she did not answer, and still Minske lay unresponsive, and Tigris finally burned off the last of his pride and whispered, “Please. Please. I need your power. I need to make this right. Please.” "speaking" codes & art by lexx

[Kenren]

C H A O S She'd be lying if she said she hadn't been watching events unfold, watching the suffering of the mortal that had so enjoyed an insult. Well, it seemed hers had a bit more weight, didn't it? She chuckled to herself every time she looked in on them. She owed this little rat nothing, after making her wait for weeks. She wanted to see him burn. Let him be a lesson. But he'd called her, so she at least had to look in. It was an interesting development, at least. Her consciousness arrived in time to see the bear smoldering still, charred into a painful death. Well, something had gotten the boy worked up, hadn't it? It didn't take long for her to see the likely source. The other boy was there, broken against a tree. She sensed a brief flicker of life from him, but only that. It seemed the bear had cracked his skull, broken some ribs. One of those ribs had punctured something important. She never really took the time to understand mortal anatomy. This boy, unlike the other, was devout. He'd prayed to her, every night since she'd descended, without fail. Begging for more time, for her to keep the mortal Tigris alive longer. She hadn't done anything of the sort, but she would occasionally grant the white one a bit more energy if he seemed particularly weak. She knew it was counter-productive to her goals, but she was weak to a follower. And he did owe her a boon, after all. Couldn't collect if he was dead. And he was dying now. Her sigh rang out across the clearing where they stood, butted up against the rocky shoreline of the lake. "You've done this, do you understand? This was you." She did like to see him beg. She liked to see him hurt. She wanted to draw this out, but the life was dwindling, and it was much more difficult to raise the dead than restore the living. She reached out her power to him, just the smallest tendril, just the lightest touch. It was hard knowing how much to give without burning him out. It only took a brush of her core to restore him. When she pulled away, she was pleased. He would live. She continued to watch the other. He had suffered greatly, that was obvious. She was inclined to leave him that way until he died, but she knew she would likely lose what was probably her most devoted worshipper in the process. She might be powerful, but she was also vain. "You're a horrible bug, Tigris Cassander, and I would rather see you dead. But you do have merit - that was lovely work with the bear. Control your power, and come see me when you desire more." The last words held a hint of taunt, and then she was gone. Tigris will now feel like any other with the power of fire. It will no longer rage inside him, eating him to nothing. He won't be quite as strong - he won't be killing another bear anytime soon - but it's back down to a level his body will be able to happily adjust to.

CODING BY TEMPEST.

[Kenren]

minske mavecci

Love, lay me down, slay me with whispers

He hurt. Everything hurt. His head hurt the most, on the inside, a pounding as he rose out of the dark oblivion. He groaned, stunned still, and it took him a few moments before his senses caught up with him. Then he gagged. He could smell charred flesh and hair, the burning hot scent flooding his nose, and he coughed in panic. "Tigris?" he gasped, fear winding into his voice. Not because he still couldn't see, but because to him, that smell was too like what he'd been smelling the past few weeks, but stronger. What had happened? Was Tigris... had he...? No, that couldn't be right, it couldn't be...

He struggled, trying to right himself, but the swimming in his head told him that was a really bad idea. "Tigris?" he whispered around the nausea, feeling honestly a little lost. He didn't know it, but Chaos had healed most of his ills, but he still had a pretty bad concussion. He didn't even know she'd been there, to be honest. He couldn't know his sight was likely to return soon, but all he was panicking about was the fact that there had been a bear, and he didn't know what had happened to his friend. He'd never felt more helpless in his life.

-------------------

THIS ONE'S SHORT, MY APOLOGIES

table by lexx

Lexx

[Lexx]

Something in the air shivered and twisted, like a string suddenly pulling taught. Tigris looked around wildly. He couldn’t see Chaos, but he felt her, in every rustling leaf, in every eyelike knot that stared out at him from the trunks of the trees. He felt her ancient gaze upon him. It dragged searingly over his ruined, smoking coat, and rested tauntingly on his scarred face. It took him in, the entirety of him, inside and out, and found him wanting. And then suddenly her malevolent eyes released him, and he gasped hungrily for air as she appraised Minske, still and cold and moon-white beneath a tree. She sighed, and it was a terrible thing, bending the boughs of the trees and rustling the leaf-litter up into the air. It was terrible, Tigris realized, because it sounded for all the world like a parent disappointed in her children. Hot shame clawed its way along his smoldering nape. Her eyes pinned him again, and he froze beneath the weight of her stare, trembling. “You’ve done this, do you understand?” her voice asked him, echoing through the clearing. He did not need to see her to know that her expression was one of great disdain. “This was you.” And it was, Tigris knew. He had been the one to call Chaos’s wrath. He had been the one to force Minske’s paw, for Minske had asked the goddess for a boon to save him, and had begun to slowly weaken alongside Tigris as Tigris had rushed toward death. And Minske had stood up to a bear in order to try and protect him, when he had been just as weak as Tigris, and now Minske was—he was— The thought was unbearable. He could hardly breathe. For the first time, it did not occur to him that this was not his fault, but Chaos’s; her punishment had been very thorough, after all, and he had long ago stopped questioning the gods. He looked to Minske again, his heart aching fiercely within him. He let himself think fleetingly that they should never have been drawn together like this, in such a terrible, violent way. In every world, in every timeline, had they only ever been destined to meet in blood? And in every world, in every timeline, was the blame Tigris’s? Minske had only ever been selfless and brave and gentle with him, and Tigris was an uncontained fire that consumed the good parts of Minske until he was lifeless. Minske drew a long, shuddering breath, and then another, and another. His pelt twitched, and then his ears. He was restored, Tigris thought, shivering from blind relief. Chaos had saved him, after all. He was even inclined to thank her, but he kept his jaws firmly shut, because he dreaded having her attention back upon him, if even for an instant. Instead, he let himself think about how Minske would live, and recover, and be healthy again. Perhaps he would join a new pack and find new friends and a wife and live happily ever after, although something about that image of Minske stabbed Tigris. At least, he thought, I’ll be dead soon, and then realized that the horrible gnawing, burning ache inside of him was lessening. Chaos was drawing away the beastly fire of her curse from his body. He was shaking harder than ever, for he realized, in a treasonous part of his mind, that he did not want the fire to go. The thought made him sick with self hatred. Have I not burned others enough? he wondered, disgusted and ashamed. As though Chaos could hear the thread of his thoughts—and she likely could, he reminded himself—she whispered to him, “You’re a horrible bug, Tigris Cassander, and I would rather see you dead, but you do have merit—that was lovely work with the bear.” Her words made him feel sick, sick, sick. He shuddered away from the praising caress in her voice. “Control your power, and come see me when you desire more.” No, he wanted to tell her, but his traitorous mind whispered yes, because he could remember how it felt to breathe out fire at will, and how the bear had crumbled apart under his magic. He had been untouchable. If he had possessed fire when his family had been attacked, then they would still be alive today, and Minske would never have met him. Their lives would have both been happier. He felt the warm, comfortable glow of coals within his belly, and was ashamed at how relieved he was to know he still had the kernels of his former power. This, at least, meant he could protect Minske now. Even if they had been bound together by a cruel turn of fate—even if Tigris had caused this, even if Tigris had cursed Minske—he could at least keep Minske from further harm. “Tigris,” Minske said weakly, stirring by the tree, and Tigris stumbled over to him. He went to brush his paw against Minske’s head, and then stopped himself before he could. What if Chaos had tricked him? What if his touch could still burn? Minske looked sick and crumpled and lost, but he was breathing, and he was alive. Tigris felt as though he could cry from relief. Seeing him so hurt, and knowing he could not heal Minske the way Minske could for him, was agonizing. He vowed himself that, from this day forward, and for all the days they had left together, he would never again be the one to cause Minske pain. “Minske,” he whispered back, still hoarse and sore. “I’m right here. The bear is gone. Are you okay? How badly are you hurt?” "speaking" codes & art by lexx

[Kenren]

minske mavecci

Love, lay me down, slay me with whispers

The sound of movement made Minske tense, sore muscles protesting. "Minske," came the hoarse voice, and the pale wolf immediately relaxed bonelessly over the roots. His breath hitched once, twice, in a breathless, relieved sob. He'd been so sure, even if it was only for moments, that the world had completely turned on its head, but it hadn't. Not yet, not quite yet. "I'm right here. The bear is gone. Are you okay? How badly are you hurt?" To be honest, Minske only half-caught the words. But just hearing them soothed him, and they cut through the painful haze in his mind. He realized, sluggishly, that he should answer. Focusing was taking a lot of effort. He blinked his eyes, trying to clear them, and swallowed when his world remained black.

"It just, um... it hurts, but I think I'm okay," he responded, and pushed against the ground with his paws, using the tree to get sternal as proof. His head hung a little, and he breathed in short gasps through clenched teeth as he fought to control the swimming feeling. It made it worse, probably, that he couldn't see - there was nothing he could focus on to try and control it. Perhaps irrationally, he didn't want to tell Tigris about his eyes. He'd notice, obviously, but he just... he knew his friend would blame himself. He might push him away even harder than he already did. He desperately wanted to just will his eyes to work, but he knew it didn't work that way. They might get better on their own, he knew they might, it was just... just so frustrating.

Gods, he hated bears.

He did notice something very important, though, and perhaps it was because his other senses were in overdrive. Tigris was standing right next to him, he could feel his presence, but it wasn't hot like it had been before. It didn't make him sweat just from being near. He frowned, and, trying to shift as little as possible, he reached out a paw. Missed. Slid it sideways, and finally came to rest on what he knew was a angrily scabbed black paw. He nearly sobbed again, but this time from exhausted relief. It didn't burn him. Chaos had finally, finally forgiven him. He didn't know the details, but he wouldn't question it. He sent another heartfelt, silent thanks to the goddess. Tigris would call him all kinds of stupid if he knew how he prayed to her, but that wouldn't change his mind. They may not like her presence, but she was a very real entity that was here to toy with their lives. There was a new status quo now, but she wasn't simply a malevolent presence. She had given him the ability to heal, to keep his friend alive, and he was truly grateful for it.

"You must have said something right, for once," he teased lightly, tucking his paw back against his own leg. He closed his eyes - he'd put them in Tigris' direction once he realized his position, but there was really no point in staring out at nothing. It was dark, so Tigris may not have noticed, and he truly wished that was the case. If he could just sleep until morning, perhaps it would be fine when he woke. He really hated the idea of sleeping at their current location, though... not with the smell of charred flesh all around. He knew he'd have to get up at some point, but for now that was a bit too much effort to even think about.

table by lexx

Lexx