On Death Rage
Jan. 2nd, 2011 12:52 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
annwfyn.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
writing_shadowsThe e mail conversation sat unfinished. It sat unfinished because Rio didn't know what to say.
Her lines came first.
Just so you know, Rusty went into 'Rage on me. It wasn't his fault.
She didn't quite know why she'd said that. She didn't know if she meant it. It was hard to think about that afternoon, still. She could remember fragments; the burning sensation in her leg, the way Rusty's mouth had seemed to begin to twist before the rest of him, the smell of the dust on the carpet. She didn't want to remember the rest. Most of all, she didn't want to remember the smell of blood in the kitchen.
That room had smelled of blood on the night her mother had died as well.
But it was her fault. It had to be her fault. She was Rio, sharp as tacs and prone to winding people up whether she meant to or not. She got into scraps and got into arguments and goddamnit, that was something she could cope with.
Isabelle's reply was sharp and to the point.
I'm glad your okay, but you know what? It was totally his fault. We all know about mercy gems. Hell, I asked him over a month ago to get some. I'm pretty sure he can make them. Seriously, what the fuck? Is this going to happen until someone actually gets killed?
Rio hadn't replied yet. She wanted to, because Isabelle was her friend, and god knows she had a bunch of other things she wanted to talk to the other woman about, including the little flat she had her eye on in Hatfield, this strange sensation that she was eighteen again, but this time she was actually leaving home, and whether or not you need to deliberately go on a date with someone in order for it to be a date.
She wanted to reply because she had a sneaking suspicion that Isabelle was right. But she didn't know how to.
And why didn't she knew how to? She was Rio Anderson. She was the woman who kicked arse, who picked fights, who had run a team of paramility werewolf hunters, for chrissakes. And she bloody well knew what the Hellfire Club line on this would be. This was why so many Wolf Blood in the Hellfire Club called the People monsters, and hunted them.
Rio stared at the computer screen.
No. It was her fault. She could see all the ways in which it was. She wasn't an idiot. She'd lived her whole life with werewolves, she knew that Rusty and Raph never carried mercy gems. How was it smart to be the one who sat Rusty down to tell him he had a daughter, to tell him that the woman he had loved was dead? OK, so it had seemed like the right thing to do as his sister, but she sure as hell should have had someone else there. She had been dumb and that was her fault.
And how could she add another pile of blame on Rusty when he was already beating himself up about the girl he'd left, the child he'd never known.
Except...Isabelle was right.
Is this going to happen until someone actually gets killed?
An image floated through Rio's mind. Isabelle, white and broken in the hospital bed. There are other wolf blood, other humans, other werewolves who have lain there as well, with the same wounds. She remembers how her blood had pooled on the floor of Ian's car, and the odd green tinge he had developed, as he watched her drunkenly trying to sew the wounds up. For a werewolf he was surprisingly delicate, it seemed.
She remembered the stains on the kitchen wall 19 years ago, and the terrible silence in the house.
Rio swore and shut her computer down. Maybe Jonah or Kay would response. Maybe they would fill this new terrible silence. Maybe Kay would say...
...actually, she didn't think Kay would going to be the voice of support for Rusty on this one.
Rio swore, quietly, to herself.
Her leg still ached. She'd gone for a run the other day and hadn't been able to walk for an hour afterwards. She knew there would be a scar there, to match the great long scar on her back.
But Rusty was her brother, her family. He had been her rock for her entire life, almost. He loved her. He'd sacrificed almost everything for her, for Raph, for the family. And it wasn't his fault. No wolf could control their Death Rage. And the Roadworthies didn't use mercy gems.
She opened her computer again and looked at the e mail from Isabelle.
There was so much she wanted to say, so much she needed to say. But it was stuck somewhere inside her, like a painful knot in her chest. She was angry at Rusty, and angry at herself, and whenever she thought about it too much she remembered the great smear on the kitchen floor on the night her mother died, and the eerie silence in the morning. And her own words kept echoing around painfully in her brain.
Just so you know, Rusty went into 'Rage on me. It wasn't his fault.
Her lines came first.
Just so you know, Rusty went into 'Rage on me. It wasn't his fault.
She didn't quite know why she'd said that. She didn't know if she meant it. It was hard to think about that afternoon, still. She could remember fragments; the burning sensation in her leg, the way Rusty's mouth had seemed to begin to twist before the rest of him, the smell of the dust on the carpet. She didn't want to remember the rest. Most of all, she didn't want to remember the smell of blood in the kitchen.
That room had smelled of blood on the night her mother had died as well.
But it was her fault. It had to be her fault. She was Rio, sharp as tacs and prone to winding people up whether she meant to or not. She got into scraps and got into arguments and goddamnit, that was something she could cope with.
Isabelle's reply was sharp and to the point.
I'm glad your okay, but you know what? It was totally his fault. We all know about mercy gems. Hell, I asked him over a month ago to get some. I'm pretty sure he can make them. Seriously, what the fuck? Is this going to happen until someone actually gets killed?
Rio hadn't replied yet. She wanted to, because Isabelle was her friend, and god knows she had a bunch of other things she wanted to talk to the other woman about, including the little flat she had her eye on in Hatfield, this strange sensation that she was eighteen again, but this time she was actually leaving home, and whether or not you need to deliberately go on a date with someone in order for it to be a date.
She wanted to reply because she had a sneaking suspicion that Isabelle was right. But she didn't know how to.
And why didn't she knew how to? She was Rio Anderson. She was the woman who kicked arse, who picked fights, who had run a team of paramility werewolf hunters, for chrissakes. And she bloody well knew what the Hellfire Club line on this would be. This was why so many Wolf Blood in the Hellfire Club called the People monsters, and hunted them.
Rio stared at the computer screen.
No. It was her fault. She could see all the ways in which it was. She wasn't an idiot. She'd lived her whole life with werewolves, she knew that Rusty and Raph never carried mercy gems. How was it smart to be the one who sat Rusty down to tell him he had a daughter, to tell him that the woman he had loved was dead? OK, so it had seemed like the right thing to do as his sister, but she sure as hell should have had someone else there. She had been dumb and that was her fault.
And how could she add another pile of blame on Rusty when he was already beating himself up about the girl he'd left, the child he'd never known.
Except...Isabelle was right.
Is this going to happen until someone actually gets killed?
An image floated through Rio's mind. Isabelle, white and broken in the hospital bed. There are other wolf blood, other humans, other werewolves who have lain there as well, with the same wounds. She remembers how her blood had pooled on the floor of Ian's car, and the odd green tinge he had developed, as he watched her drunkenly trying to sew the wounds up. For a werewolf he was surprisingly delicate, it seemed.
She remembered the stains on the kitchen wall 19 years ago, and the terrible silence in the house.
Rio swore and shut her computer down. Maybe Jonah or Kay would response. Maybe they would fill this new terrible silence. Maybe Kay would say...
...actually, she didn't think Kay would going to be the voice of support for Rusty on this one.
Rio swore, quietly, to herself.
Her leg still ached. She'd gone for a run the other day and hadn't been able to walk for an hour afterwards. She knew there would be a scar there, to match the great long scar on her back.
But Rusty was her brother, her family. He had been her rock for her entire life, almost. He loved her. He'd sacrificed almost everything for her, for Raph, for the family. And it wasn't his fault. No wolf could control their Death Rage. And the Roadworthies didn't use mercy gems.
She opened her computer again and looked at the e mail from Isabelle.
There was so much she wanted to say, so much she needed to say. But it was stuck somewhere inside her, like a painful knot in her chest. She was angry at Rusty, and angry at herself, and whenever she thought about it too much she remembered the great smear on the kitchen floor on the night her mother died, and the eerie silence in the morning. And her own words kept echoing around painfully in her brain.
Just so you know, Rusty went into 'Rage on me. It wasn't his fault.
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no subject
Date: 2011-01-02 12:55 pm (UTC)It makes no coherent sense.
no subject
Date: 2011-01-02 12:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-02 12:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-02 02:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-03 02:14 am (UTC)That the presence of Wolfblooded lets this get explored with PCs is something I find interesting.
no subject
Date: 2011-01-03 11:25 am (UTC)