entangled | minske

[Lexx]

tigris cassander

Third degree burns on my skin; I did it for you, and I'd do it again

He left the mountains behind him, and with them, he left the volatile snowstorms that had trapped him there in the first place—as well as a white wolf, with eyes that had seemed like two different shades of winter in their dark, frozen haven. A white wolf that had trusted him implicitly, even after he’d snarled some empty threat about tearing their flesh upon discovering him in the same cave; a white wolf that had kept him warm and alive in the dead hours of the night. It left a hollow, eating sensation in his gut, and though Tigris was loathe to admit it, he realized now that he felt guilty about how he’d taken off without a word to Minske. Well—without a conscious, truthful word, anyway. He wasn’t headed south, and he wasn’t headed further north. He wasn’t headed anywhere at all, because there was no home for him to return to, and he was too irritable and aggressive to settle with a new pack, for they would certainly treat him with well-deserved caution and dislike. He was a loner; a symbol of low status, a passing insect that skirted pack boundaries and stole prey.

Distracted by his thoughts, he nearly stumbled right over a brown rabbit, all but hiding in plain sight. He killed it with a swift bite, and fell upon its corpse, suddenly reminded that he was famished from his misadventure in the mountains. Half-sated, he turned away from his thoughts, and scented out another rabbit, stock-still with fear behind a tree. He killed that one too, and ate it; and then another, and another, until he was no longer hungry, but killing just because he could. This area was teeming with prey, and he was wasting it all to settle some kind of rage within himself that never quite went away. He left their little, still-warm bodies strewn about in the leaf litter and tree roots, and then made his way through shallow forestland to a large lake within the middle to wash off the blood that matted his black fur. The water was bitterly cold, and he stood in it, motionless, remembering the frostbite that had dragged at his flesh only two nights before…and the warmth of a strange wolf at his side, easing away the pain caused by the cold.

He looked down at his scarred reflection, and thought that perhaps it wouldn’t have been so bad to stay until Minske woke up, after all.

It didn’t matter. If he’d stuck around, Minske would’ve surely learned to hate him.

That knowledge felt the most unbearable of all.

"speaking"

table by lexx

[Kenren]

The sun, when Minske's eyes opened, was sending a weak glow throughout the cave. He sat up slowly, finding his limbs stiff from exertion and protesting even that small bit of effort. His shoulder had a more piercing ache than it had before, but Minske didn't feel the throbbing heat of infection - for now, that was good enough. The most glaring thought in his mind, of course, was that his companion was gone. Silently, like a shade, he had disappeared sometime in the night, as Minske had somewhat expected him to do. He hadn't seemed the sort to stick around for niceties, anyway. It felt like something of a loss, but the whole thing was surreal to begin with. It could almost have been a dream. Almost. Regardless, Minske couldn't stay here either. He'd climbed the mountain with a purpose, one he was no longer able to fulfill - it would be foolish to try and climb the rocky crags to reach the herb he sought with an injury. He needed to get home before the weather decided to turn again. Levering himself up, Minske made his limping way out of the cave and away from the strange encounter he'd had there. It took him far longer to reach Akeli Lake than it had to leave it. He'd stopped at the base of the mountain to wash himself as best he could, but there was still a pinkish tinge to the fur of his left shoulder, where the most blood had dried. That, too, would fade with time. The sun warmed him, though the weather was still cool, as he followed the river's bank to where it emptied into the lake. It took a night, then another. The snow was gone already, spring's grip tightening over the area and bringing forth the green he'd been waiting all winter to see. The lake, when he reached it, was much the same as it had been just a few days past when he'd left it. Open, with the sounds of birds and the occasional splash of a fish on the water's surface. There was one thing amiss, though, and Minske's steps took a much more cautious tread. The scent of blood was strong in the air - not wolf blood, but it still lent a spike of danger. And there, in the water not too far down the shoreline, was a black wolf. There was red in the water around him - this was undoubtedly the one that had done the deed. Wary, and completely aware that he would be heavily disadvantaged in a fight, Minske took a step back to lay low - that is, until the wolf happened to lift his head in Minske's direction. While anything else could be mistaken, the scars on his face could not. Inexplicably, a smile broke of its own accord. He moved forward, along the water's edge, completely forgetting the things that had made him worried to begin with. "Tigris?" he questioned when he got close enough, at the bank adjacent to where the black wolf was in the water. Even though he had no doubt. He seemed bigger, here, than he had in the shadows. Stronger. And yet, despite the blood, Minske was not afraid. If he hadn't hurt Minske when he was injured and weak, he wasn't likely to do so now. It wasn't altogether a surprise that two wolves, traveling from the same point, would reach the same place in this part of Somerset - but to Minske, it seemed like some twist of Fate. speaking

CODING BY TEMPEST. ART BY LEXX.

[Lexx]

tigris cassander

Third degree burns on my skin; I did it for you, and I'd do it again

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been standing there, letting the lake water numb him to the marrow of his bones, face and chest still smeared with an unflattering crust of dried blood. It was nicest in the lake, he thought; the sky was open and blue overhead, while the mountains, picturesque and capped in white, encircled the area. He wouldn’t stay here long—he had no desire to make his home in the woods—but it was pleasant to have a moment of easy breathing, even within the awful chill of a lake nourished by snowmelt. The forest around the area was burgeoning within the season’s change; new buds were forming, and plants had begun to breathe color back into the dead winter-brown all around him. He lifted his head, away from the water, away from his ruined reflection, and cast an unfocused, silvery glance back to shore.

A stark flash of white caught his eyes; he froze, briefly alarmed, and then realized the wolf had a perfectly friendly expression on his face—in fact, he even looked happy to see Tigris, who stood hip-deep in water, matted with rabbit blood. Oh, he realized after a moment, oh, could this be— He breathed in softly, willing away the instinctive snarl that had leapt into his throat, as Minske called out, “Tigris?” It was undeniably him. His voice evoked a dreamlike memory of bitter cold, of whirling snow, of lying so close to another warm body that it felt like they’d shared the same breaths.

He moved slowly through the water, drawing close to the bank Minske stood on. When he was well within the shallows, his dark fur heavy with water, he stopped, and appraised Minske silently. His eyes had seemed blue-gray in the murky light of their cave; one light, one dark. Now Tigris saw that one was steel blue, and the other lilac; like a spring sky, like a spring flower.

“You’re still alive,” he said. He wasn’t glad about it, he told himself firmly; he didn’t care one way or the other. It was also doubly upsetting to peer into Minske’s eyes and find them pretty, and so he jerked his bloodied, scarred head to the side and glared off at some indiscriminate point in the distance. It felt churlish of him to immediately make an excuse and flee the scene, however, so he added, a bit lamely, “I didn’t think I’d see you again so soon.” Or at all.

"speaking"

table by lexx

[Kenren]

minske mavecci

I am an island, you are the ocean, and all of my sadness taken by the sea

It was a slow, creeping thing, the way his muscles gradually tensed. It wasn't a conscious decision, nor did he notice it happening at first, but by the time Tigris had drawn close to him the edge of wariness he'd felt before was back. "You're still alive," came the deadpan tone, low and cold as the silver eyes watching him. Watching only for a moment, before they flicked away. Blood, still fresh but becoming sticky, tacked the fur around his mouth and jaw. Minske's smile flickered. "I didn't think I'd see you again so soon." The words themselves weren't anything awful, but his manner seemed very carefully off-putting. Minske couldn't help but wonder, idly, if the wolf he was seeing now was the true Tigris or if the one in the cave was hidden deep down - the memory of a leg against his back came forth, the warmth, and then it was gone again.

Minske shifted his stance a little, no longer leaning eagerly forward, head held a bit higher. "Yes, well. I suppose I'm too resilient to die on my own, injury or not." He hadn't meant it the way it immediately sounded even to his ears, but he stubbornly refused to take it back. If Tigris was going to act so aloof, then he probably didn't even care that he'd left. "But anyway, perhaps it's not so strange. I live here." Was he staking a claim, a right to be having this conversation in the first place? He didn't think so - he wasn't sure, since he wasn't a territorial sort. But he felt a bit off-balanced, a bit hurt, because from the time he saw Tigris in the lake he'd thought... well, he'd thought that maybe Tigris had waited for him. That he'd wanted to be friends after all. But his behavior leaned much toward this being the mere coincidence it was, and Minske felt like an idiot for speaking up at all.

"speaking"

table by lexx

[Lexx]

tigris cassander

Third degree burns on my skin; I did it for you, and I'd do it again

In the corner of his eyes, Minske’s expression tensed, and then fell. Tigris tried not to pay attention to the way it made his heart clench. He kept his eyes carefully pointed away, because he thought he might do something awful if he caught Minske’s disappointment full on—like apologize. “Yes, well,” Minske said, and Tigris dragged his eyes slowly back to the white wolf, steeling himself. Minske’s posture had changed; he seemed less friendly now, more reserved. “I suppose I’m too resilient to die on my own, injury or not.” That seemed unfair; Tigris’s tongue burned to tell him that he’d waited, that he hadn’t actually left Minske to die in the mountains, but he forced himself to swallow the words. They went down like hot coals, smoldering in his gut. He met Minske’s eyes, soft blue, pale violet, and ignored the way his insides seemed to twist. “More likely that death didn’t want a weakling like you,” he said instead, a faint, joyless smirk pulling at the corners of his maw. It was easier to be unkind than it was to admit relief that Minske was well.

“But anyway, perhaps it’s not so strange. I live here.” Tigris tilted his head at that, considering the information. He felt doubly guilty for having gone around slaughtering rabbits now. “It’s nice,” he said finally, dropping his gaze back to the lake rippling around his forelegs. He pushed past Minske, water sloughing from his pelt, and then gave himself a vigorous shake, spraying Minske in the process. “If you’re hungry, there should be some rabbits around. Consider them…” He glanced at Minske almost shyly, and then quickly looked away again, refusing to look concerned over the injury he’d sustained from the mountains. “A housewarming gift. Since your shoulder’s hurt and all.” He lifted his foreleg and rubbed roughly at the fur around his muzzle with a paw, trying to wipe at the blood there. In a small voice, muffled by his own administrations, he added, “I got a little carried away.”

"speaking"

table by lexx

[Kenren]

minske mavecci

I am an island, you are the ocean, and all of my sadness taken by the sea

"More likely that death didn't want a weakling like you." The words, though they held cutting force, did surprisingly little damage. It may even have been the smirk, pulled upward at the edges but not reaching his eyes that softened the blow for Minske. Perhaps he wasn't cruel, but simply said cruel things because there was nothing else to say. "It's nice," Tigris continued, and Minske edged to the side, left paw lightly skimming the ground. He flinched at the water sprayed on him, irritation plain on his face when their eyes met sidelong again. This close, Minske realized again how large Tigris seemed. Minske wasn't small himself - maybe it was his dark coloring that gave him such presence.

Like inexplicably volatile weather, Tigris' mood seemed to shift again. "If you're hungry, there should be some rabbits around. Consider them... a housewarming gift. Since you're shoulder's hurt and all." There was something sheepish about the way he said it, unconsciously hiding his face as he rubbed at the blood. Minske got the inexplicable urge to wash it for him, tongue to cheek, and quickly shoved it down. "I got a little carried away." Minske sighed a bit in exasperation, but not in anger. He could hardly even keep up with these mood swings. "One might make the observation that you've got too much anger inside you, you know that? Like the damned rabbits ever did anything to you." The last was half mumbled, almost a bit petulantly, as Minske looked into the trees. If there were a bunch of dead rabbits in there, he'd have to either eat them or bury them. Nothing would scare away prey faster than the scent of blood and rot in the air. It wasn't the largest inconvenience, but it made more sense to be irritated at that than about not understanding a wolf he barely knew anyway.

"speaking"

table by lexx

[Lexx]

tigris cassander

Third degree burns on my skin; I did it for you, and I'd do it again

Minske, now considerably wetter, scowled at him. He sighed, a short, harsh sound, and snapped, “One might make the observation that you’ve got too much anger inside you, you know that?” Tigris stilled, his paw sliding quietly off his muzzle. “Like the damned rabbits ever did anything to you.” The last bit wasn’t really directed at him at all—Minske was looking off into the trees—but that didn’t quell the piercing, aching burst of anger that roared to life inside of him. He felt stung—he was almost reeling from how sharply and accurately Minske had cut to the quick of him. He was silent. Silent as the night in winter, silent as death, silent as the forest as he’d awoken in with his parents’ bodies strewn about around him, limp and dark and dead. His silence was not unusual; he always went quiet when he wasn’t sure what to say, after all. But this time, it wasn’t that he didn’t have words. It was that he knew they would hurt if he said them out loud, and they would cut Minske deep, and then he’d be alone again, and somehow, inexplicably, he didn’t want that. He breathed in softly, shakily, and then out, and looked away from Minske altogether, not wanting to meet his pretty eyes.

“You don’t know anything about me,” he said, softly, wrestling with the hurt and anger welling in his chest like fire. “Not a damn thing.” He paced away, and then stopped, looking back over his shoulder almost hesitantly—as if he expected Minske to snarl at him, or chase him away. All he could think was that he didn’t want to fight, for what was perhaps the first time in his life, and it was a shocking revelation. “Sorry about the rabbits,” he added. He bit off every single word, spitting them out at Minske like brittle shards of bone. “Sorry that I—”

Sorry for what? That he’d killed so many of them? That he’d left them to rot? That he was disrespectful, and cold, and deeply unlikeable? He was doing Minske a favor. If Minske asked him to stay this time, Tigris thought he might’ve actually done it, and that would have ruined Minske in the end, because Tigris destroyed everything he touched. He wasn’t the sort of wolf that deserved friendship. “Sorry,” was all he said in the end, and turned to go.

"speaking"

table by lexx

[Kenren]

minske mavecci

I am an island, you are the ocean, and all of my sadness taken by the sea

Minske realized, almost immediately, that he'd made a mistake. The stillness that settled over his companion was carefully controlled... anger? Likely. The white wolf's lips pressed together uncertainly, his muscles stiffening in response to that of the other. Just in case he-

But no, Tigris turned his gaze away, unwilling to show Minske the emotions they might betray. There was no violence in his movement. "You don't know anything about me," Tigris said, moving away. Minske took a step toward him, though his normally-eloquent tongue felt thick and uncooperative. His mind raced, but he couldn't find the words. "Not a damn thing."

I don't, you're right, came the willful thoughts that refused to be voiced.

Tigris paused, looking back over his shoulder, and the finality Minske saw in that haunting silver gaze made his chest ache with guilt at breaking their fragile peace. "Sorry about the rabbits. Sorry that I-"

It doesn't matter, I don't care

"Sorry." And then Tigris turned away, began to walk, to leave.

Stop, I didn't mean to upset you, please, please- "Wait, please!" His voice, rough, finally unlocked. He trotted the distance between them, unwilling and uncaring now of any potential danger in the face of the pain that was unwillingly exposed in Tigris' voice and words and movement. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. You're right, I don't know anything. I'm going about this all wrong, I just..." Just what? He hardly knew this wolf, but he felt an inexplicable panic at the thought of them parting this way. He was not normally cruel, and he hated that he'd let his emotions get the better of him to the point he'd obviously caused great insult, even if he hadn't meant it. He stopped alongside Tigris, hesitating to touch because he felt it would be unwanted now.

"I was happy to see you. Please don't leave." There, he'd said it. It felt like the whining of a child, and inwardly he winced, but he'd rather have the embarrassment of speaking frankly than the guilt he'd just experienced from being defensive and trite. It wasn't him, but there was an irresistible current that crashed into Minske in Tigris' presence - an influence that brought out a part of him he had never known, nor ever needed to control. So if he had to sound like he was begging, then so be it.

His pride was not so great a thing to sacrifice.

"speaking"

table by lexx

[Lexx]

tigris cassander

Third degree burns on my skin; I did it for you, and I'd do it again

Minske stepped forward, and Tigris pinned him with his silver eyes, his pupils small and sharp—nearly snakelike. It was a warning, wordless and curt, for Minske to keep his distance. Everything about Minske looked tentative, almost discomfited, as if he couldn’t read Tigris the way he’d expected to, and it had left him shaken. Tigris smiled at him, and the expression was feral and cold. You don’t know me, he thought, a bit viciously, and you don’t want to. You never, never want to. He turned, and for a single moment, the air stretched itself taut in the space between them, and Tigris was suddenly filled with an uneasy sensation, like this was all wrong, like he shouldn’t leave, like they weren’t meant to break apart like this. He shoved the feeling away.

Perhaps Minske had felt it too, for he heard footsteps scattering apart the leaf-litter behind him, and the world around him no longer felt stretched tight. “Wait, please!” Minske called out, and Tigris tried desperately to ignore him, but his words sounded so sincere. They echoed in a small, dark, locked-away place inside of his chest, and his footsteps slowed. He didn’t have the heart to turn his back on Minske, he realized with a jolt. He couldn’t do it. This realization was deeply alarming; he felt something akin to anxiety, or perhaps fear, as he slowly turned to meet Minske’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” he told Tigris, catching up to the larger male’s side. “I didn’t mean that. You’re right. I don’t know anything. I’m going about this all wrong, I just…” His eyes were wide and bright and earnest, and Tigris was sinking, he was—

He was moving forward. Without conscious thought, he had closed the distance between them, until he was fully facing Minske, until they were standing nearly chest-to-chest. This close, he could feel Minske’s warm breath against his pelt; this close, he imagined he could see the flutter of Minske’s pulse beneath his white fur along his temples, stuttering rabbit-fast. He wasn’t sure why he’d come so close, if he had no intention of hurting Minske, or even touching him at all—but there was a familiar scent was all around Tigris, in the foliage and water and earth of Akeli Lake, buried deep in Minske’s pale fur, and it was sweeter than anything he could remember smelling. For a single second, he felt polarized, like there was a Tigris from before, grounded beside a warm body and trapped in a snowstorm, miles away from the cruelty that had shaped him, and the Tigris he had become after, who had been lost and angry and afraid, but who had somehow abruptly become whole.

“I was happy to see you,” Minske was saying, “please don’t leave.”

Tigris’s expression did not shift in the slightest. It was dark and unreadable as he gazed down at Minske, his silver-lamp eyes glowing softly from within a once-handsome face—his father’s face, before his father had been killed, before he had been raked by another wolf’s teeth and then left to die.

“Okay,” he said quietly. With Minske’s chin tipped up toward Tigris’s face like this, with his eyes earnest and trusting and as vivid as springtime petals, Tigris felt as though he would gladly promise him anything, because there was something about being beside Minske that felt inherently right. His own voice sounded muffled, like he had spoken to Minske from far away, rather than from his own body. “I’ll stay.” A small bead of water, left over from Tigris’s earlier actions, trailed slowly down the edge of Minske’s ear. He watched it, wondering why breathing suddenly felt so difficult.

And then the spell broke, and he realized how very close he was standing to Minske. He staggered back half a step, and then another, frantically turning his cheek on Minske so that he couldn’t see the shock and embarrassment that had surely flared in Tigris’s eyes. “If that’s really what you want,” he mumbled, like an afterthought. “I mean…I don’t…have anywhere better to be.”

"speaking"

table by lexx