hell_in_highheels: (golden eyes)
After the most exciting full moon in her memory, they'd taken their breakfast from the bar in white to-go bags, eaten it standing around the counter in the kitchen, laughing as they speculated where the massive boar head was going to end up mounted.  There'd been some affectionate nuzzling in the shower, and he'd had less than honourable intentions when he carried her to the bed, but fatigue had taken its toll on both of them.  They'd barely touched cheek to pillow when they were both out like a light.  Even Dam curled up on the foot of the bed and dozed off.

When she woke, the late afternoon sun slanted through the windows.  She reached a hand up to caress his cheek.

"Oh mighty hunter," she whispers.  "Wakey wakey."
hell_in_highheels: (Default)
River pushes the door shut behind Ace and turns back to face her mate, a sudden wave of tiredness coming over her.

The stress of the evening's events is clearly written in her features.

Again, love, I'm sorry, I didn't know where else to bring her.

hell_in_highheels: (wolf nuzzle)
Over The Rhine

I was born to laugh
I learned to laugh through my tears
I was born to love
I'm gonna learn to love without fear

Pour me a glass of wine
Talk deep into the night
Who knows what we'll find

Intuition, deja vu
The Holy Ghost haunting you
Whatever you got
I don't mind

Put your elbows on the table
I'll listen long as I am able
There's nowhere I'd rather be

Secret fears, the supernatural
Thank God for this new laughter
Thank God the joke's on me

We've seen the landfill rainbow
We've seen the junkyard of love
Baby it's no place for you and me

I was born to laugh
I learned to laugh through my tears
I was born to love
I'm gonna learn to love without fear
hell_in_highheels: (Default)
I, with a deeper instinct, choose a man who compels my strength, who makes enormous demands on me, who does not doubt my courage or my toughness, who does not believe me naive or innocent, who has the courage to treat me like a woman.  ~Anais Nin

Each friend represents a world in us, a world not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.
  ~Anais Nin

Six Months

Aug. 8th, 2009 08:34 pm
hell_in_highheels: (working)
She's eyeing the calender on her desk and the date.  Six months ago, she invited him to dinner.  Six months ago he said yes.  Six months ago, she was still human.  Six months ago and a day ago, she considered herself a ghost -- not among the living.  A memory of a life, perhaps, but not an actual life.

Six months ago, he reminded her that she was very much alive and he's spent every day since proving to her that life is very much worth living.

So she's sitting at her desk, trying to jot down something simple in a note to tell him how glad she is that she met him, how much she loves him, how much he's become a vital part of her existence.  She never thought it could be this good.  And it's all because of him.  But she doesn't think he'd appreciate pages and pages of her pouring her heart out.   She just wants to make him smile, and mark the day.  So she's trying for something quick and to the point.

All that's come out is a silly little ditty, and she's almost embarrassed by how naff it is, but it's quick and to the point.

I can't believe you shredded my knickers,
I can't believe you bit my nose,
I can't believe how much I love you,
Everyday it grows and grows.

Happy first six months,

Completely naff.  So she adds a couple of hearts with an arrow through it, grinning as she tries to picture his expression upon reading it.

Maybe she'll stuff it in his holster or something.

"Oh I know..."


She tucks the note in his collar, and pets his face while she asks him to take the note to its intended recipient. It means she won't see his reaction when he reads it, but she wagers it'll be worth it.
hell_in_highheels: (full moon)
She stayed up too late, staring at the autopsy photos, trying to correlate the forensics with the reports that kept trickling in. She's trying to imagine just what purpose someone had for treating the corpse with such careless disregard.

What did it taste like, I wonder? What did it smell like, the broken bones seeping their marrow on the carpet of leaves, the trickles of blood mixing with the dark loam of the forest floor.  Heart and lungs, liver and kidneys. What would it feel like to tear  flesh from such a small body?

She shakes her head, trying to clear the morbid thought from her mind.  It's nonsense.  It's rubbish, is what it is.  She can't think rationally when she gets this way.  This is what she  gets for going to bed hungry, she thinks.  Ryan has already gone to bed, and doesn't even awake when she joins him, simply slips an arm around her and pulls her close. 


The scene before her eyes is black and white.  Even with her enhanced night vision, the old growth forest is darkest here.  It's beautiful and serene, and she can smell the blood on the wind.  Something is wounded, something is running from her, and she's chasing it, chasing the intense wash of fear and pain. 

Run, little one.  Run and let me hear the pounding of your heart.  Let me feel the heat of your exertion.  I'm coming for you and there's nothing you can do to stop me.  Run.  Run like the devil is on your heels, because I am.  I'm coming for you.

The figure of a man hurls himself through the undergrowth, and she bats at him with one clawed hand, revelling in the sound that's torn from his throat.  Bone crunches beneath her hand and she's crashing into the back of him, her muzzle clamping down and giving one good hard shake to snap the neck.  Blood washes her mouth and she knows the taste.  She knows what horrific thing she has done before she even rolls the body over to look down into his face.

A heart-rending human scream, rage and sorrow and grief, boils up from within her.  His eyes look up at her from her fresh killed prey.  Richard's green eyes, now gone glassy and cold, stare up at her from his lifeless face. 

She screams again. 

And again. 

And again.
hell_in_highheels: (golden eyes)
"Love is that condition in which the happiness of another person is essential to your own." ~Robert Heinlein

"I love you, not only for what you are, But for what I am when I am with you." ~Roy Croft

"Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage."
~Lao Tzu

hell_in_highheels: (oh you)
[cont'd from here]

He runs through his mental check-list one more time while wondering if he's missed something or if he could add something else. Fireplace. He turns the flames on, setting them to low and casting faint shadows across the furniture.

Perfect. He heads for the door and puts one hand on the knob before he smirks and leans against the wall instead.

"Who is it?"

She remembers the first time she stood here, her heart in her throat, wondering just what it was she was going to say to convince him to let her stay.  A smile spreads across her face.  She lays one hand flat on the door, and rests her forehead against the frame*. 

"Three guesses, first two don't count."

*The other hand has been claimed by a certain obstinate doberman.   His dog, indeed.

hell_in_highheels: (looking down)
She doesn't need to turn the lights on to move about the flat in the dark now.  The starlight through the windows is plenty of light, though everything is tinted a shade that is somewhere between gold and green.  She can't quite tell which.

For some reason, she feels the need to check the front door, the kitchen, the office, the long line of windows in the living room, the bathroom, the front door again.  Scenting the air for any disturbances.  No, everything smells right.  Damocles is asleep on his rug, Richard is snoring softly in the other room.  He heard her awaken and mumbled something in canine about letting her patrol.

Is that what she's doing?  Patrolling?

She tried to sit at her desk and write for a bit, but the urge to move overwhelmed this late night ritual.  She thinks she should go and check the bar as well, the hall and the stairs, the Library. 

The realisation dawns slowly. It's her territory.  She's patrolling her territory.

She stands in the door between the living room and the bedroom, and watches him sleep.  He's dreaming again, restless, hunted.  She goes and sits on the bed next to him, resting her hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort him some how.  But the dreams don't give up their hold easily.  She hopes the comfort of her scent can penetrate the fog of the nightmare.  Some nights it works.  Some nights he is the one that ends up pacing the floor in front of the windows.

If it goes on much longer,  she might wake him and suggest a midnight run.   A run sounds good right now.  Something to get the energy of the waning moon out of her blood. 

Damocles joins her eventually, inquiring as to why she's awake.  She doesn't have a good answer for him, so she pets his face and tells him it'll be all right.  He's more comfort than he knows, she thinks.  Always so happy to see her.  And now, chattering away at her all the time, now that she can understand him.  Damocles bumps her and tells her to go back to sleep, that he's here and if those demon rabbits come back, he'll run them off.  And then he promptly falls back asleep at the foot of the bed, sprawling across the warm spot she left behind.

She stands and watches them sleeping.  She loves them both so much it scares her sometimes. 

So she stands watch over them, drawing their scent into her with a deep breath and letting it out again in a low sigh.

And she paces the floor, eyes on the bank of windows and the dark Scottish landscape beyond.
hell_in_highheels: (Default)
There is a note folded into quarters and tucked beside his terminal  She probably left it there before she went to bed last night.  Usually, she leaves him research notes, bits of technical information about the neural recorder, or interesting tidbits completely unrelated to anything; just something that she thought he might enjoy or that she found curious.  But those are typically on clean white note paper, and usually are only fragments or snippets.

This is an old scrap of paper, brown with age, crumbling at the edge.  Unfolded, he can see it is a full page of text in her own hand, but clearly copied from another source.
hell_in_highheels: (Default)
For once, River is actually awake before Richard.  Her whole body is flush with excitement.  Today she takes the final step.  Today, they will visit the Library and find a book with a full moon and prey, and she will hunt beside him for the first time.

She watches him as he sleeps.  Watches the way his chest rises and falls.  Watches the dreams flicker across his face.  She knows about the nightmares, knows there are times when he relives that night over and over again.  But tonight she thinks she succeeded in wearing him out, as he is sleeping as soundly as she's ever seen him sleep.

She casts an eye at the clock.  It's a quarter of five.  She can wait forty five minutes, she thinks. 

And so she waits. 

And watches.
hell_in_highheels: (Default)
"Whatever the outcome may be, the important thing is to step forward on the path that you believe is right." ~Daiasku Ikeda
hell_in_highheels: (working)
[ after this ]

There's a fumbling at the door and no small amount of cursing in some ancient tongue.  The key jangles in the lock and River opens the door, closing it behind her with her hip.

She's cradling one hand against her chest and she looks like she's been crying.

Being angry is easier than acknowledging the ache in her chest, so she's going to go with angry.  For just a little bit longer.
hell_in_highheels: (Default)
She's standing at the window, looking out over the Scottish landscape, watching the night sky.   The moon is new, and without the competing light, the stars are spectacular.  River kneels up on the window seat and touches the controls that bring the opacity down to zero.  Starlight isn't as bright as moonlight, but it's still enough that she can make out the horizon.  The landscape is stunning.

She settles back, sitting on her heels, arms crossed over her chest, hands rubbing her upper arms, smiling up at the night sky.

He said yes.

He said yes.

She can't help but wonder...  What comes next?

hell_in_highheels: (blue)
It had sounded perfect, she thought.  Perfect.

Small.  Light.  Fits on an armband.  Activated with a single touch, keyed to the wearer's DNA. It supposedly lasts for three hours continuous use without needing a recharge.  Sure, Bar had mentioned there might be some harmless side effects.

Initially, she'd been rather enamoured of the way it looked. Like she was wearing a thin skin of oil over her entire body, only in the most beautiful shade of cobalt blue.  And standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom, she could see no reflection whatsoever.  She did a little twirl, and noted her vision wasn't effected at all.  (Moving with the privacy screen always gave her a bit of a headache.) 

And then she shut it off.   She pressed the button and shut it off.   Off. Off. Off.

She thought it wasn't shutting off because she could still see the blue tint of the field covering her body.  And then she looked up into the mirror. 

Oh no.

She scrubbed her hands under the water.  Nothing.  She fished her sonic screwdriver out of her pocket and fiddled with the settings.  She aimed it at the back of her hand and cringed as she pressed the button.  A high pitched whirr filled the small room and she felt the energy field writhing over her skin.  After a long moment, she looked down at her hand.

hell_in_highheels: (working)
Research notes 2009-0406 23:17:21
Waxing Moon, Three days until Full Moon
Terran Lycanthropy, Species 1010
One life form with two cyclically alternating physical forms:
Humanoid & Bipedal human-wolf hybrid
Subjects refer to themselves as 'infected', though in talking to Dr. Wesker and Sgt. Wells, I know no evidence of infection has ever been successfully documented.
If you're reading this, I have a favour to ask.
Primary transition upon 'infection' is nominal, indeed, imperceptible to the untrained eye.  Rapid healing, to the point that twentieth century projectile weapons do not present a significant threat.
If I ask you to do this, I need you to not question me.
Human senses are augmented into the range of canine abilities.  Scent becomes a significant method of interaction.  Humans communicate emotions through scent, and the 'infected' subject Richard easily picks up on a vast array of information.  I marvel at his ability to process both streams of information, verbal and olfactory, at the same time.
I need you to understand that I've done the research.  I've given it a significant amount of thought..
He picks up on contradictions between spoken words and scent, and can easily sense the veracity of a statement.  He can determine a person's intent, often I think before they even know it themselves. 
When I ask you, I need you to breathe in my scent, so that you know.  I love you, more than mere words can express, and I need you to trust me in this.
He has enhanced physical strength and reflexes.  Unsure to as to when these qualities initially manifested, but I suspect from the moment of complete transference.  I suspect that in a sufficiently advanced laboratory, we could confirm the existence nanogenes, though Wells hinted at magic.  I dispute this diagnosis, but his experience is far greater than mine.
When the day comes that I come to you and I ask you to do this, I need you to set aside your own fears for me and trust that I understand exactly what it is I am asking of you.
I suspect nanogenes due to the rapid increase in mass during the transition to the wolf form, which Richard says lasts less than a minute.  And which he informs me is incredibly painful.  I can only imagine what it is like to experience one's internal structures rearranging themselves violently.  (Note to inquire of CAL whether this can be accomplished in simulation.)
If you're still reading this, I know you are flush with indignation, your instinct to protect me assaulting your rationality. I understand that, believe me I do.  And if you find you can't, please tell me now, that I may spare us both the humiliation of me asking and you having to refuse.

If you feel that you can do this for me, then there is no need to say anything.  When the time comes, all I ask is that you do this for me, without questioning. And I promise you, I will not ask this of you unless I am sure that it is what I want.  With all my heart and mind.

Know that you're in my heart and in my thoughts, always.  I love you, Richard.  I have no idea how or why it happened so swiftly and so completely, I only know that it has.  And I'm not inclined to question it.  It would feel like questioning the inevitability of daybreak. It just is.  And I'm am more than content to let it be. 


hell_in_highheels: (Default)
"Never apologize for showing feeling. 
When you do so, you apologize for the truth."
~Benjamin Disraeli
"Love is trembling happiness."
                 ~Kahlil Gibran

hell_in_highheels: (Default)
"He who is in love is wise and is becoming wiser, sees newly every time he looks at the object beloved, drawing from it with his eyes and his mind those virtues which it possesses."
~ Ralph Waldo Emerson
"Our doubts are traitors,
And make us lose the good we oft might win
By fearing to attempt."
~ Wm. Shakespeare

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