Characters: Atreus, Michael Holden [closed] Setting: New Orleans, near the riverfront; Around 2 years ago Content: PG-13 (mentions of violence and blood) Summary: When a Court disagreement spills over into the human world, the Prince finds himself in the rare position of needing help. Progress: In progress.
The Fae had rules. So very many rules. Atreus felt like he had been taught them even before he learned to walk. Control your emotions, never show anger, your word is your honor, handle your disagreements civilly through duels before the Court to name a few.
Well, at least he'd only broken three of those four that night.
It wasn't his fault. He didn't venture into the human world looking -- or expecting -- trouble. There was plenty of trouble that could be found, he knew that, but it hadn't been his intention this trip. All seemed relatively quiet at Court and he wanted to fit a little traveling in before the next feast, which he was duty-bound to attend. Not that he ever didn't want to attend but it seemed like every year he got sucked into pre-planning nonsense the week or two before and thus had no time to be away from Court.
The day passed by smoothly and the night was quiet. Perhaps too quiet. Both he and his guard felt something was off when they left the second club of the night and so they sought the slightly less traveled alleyways to cut down on the presence of others. The Fae did not air dirty laundry in public, for Atreus realized that's what it was when the other fae stepped around a corner some yards ahead of them. Regretfully he knew the fae, another his age that he clashed with occasionally at Court. Their last argument had been decided by a duel to first blood where Atreus had soundly trounced the other. It seemed the fae wanted to settle matters improperly, where there was no Court to stop cheating or things from going too far.
As his temper rose and blood splashed his skin Atreus' mind flashed back on other dark nights where blood filled his sight and there was no escape from pain. The clawing of things he didn't wish to put a name to and the taste of death in the air as foul creatures did what they seemed created to do. Injury broke his glamour, fury brought his power to the surface.
Things happened in a wild blur, leaving the prince blinking rapidly in the suddenly quiet alley when he no longer felt fresh pains and the swirl of otherworldly magic. His left hand was on the other fae's throat, fingers pressing into what moments ago had been firm flesh but was now sickeningly soft, blackened skin extending both above and below the placement of his hand. The fae's pupils were mere pinpricks in its eyes as Atreus' other hand of power had first stolen the fae's sight. It wouldn't have been permanent but now it didn't matter.
Atreus let go of the fae and did his best to ignore his pains as he sought out his guard. He found his guard lying prone only a few feet away, body propped slightly by the handle of the steel blade through his chest. "Fuck." The curse was as much directed at the scene as at the injuries he could feel and he sank to his knees to search in vain for a pulse. Damn it, the guards were supposed to protect him, yes, but they weren't supposed to die. Particularly not in the human world, where a body with literally golden skin and orange-gold hair would be noticed. Glamour only worked if the creature was alive, after all. He needed to... to clean things up.
Returning to the other fae's body, the prince ripped fabric and once more laid a hand on them, seeking to use his power to burn the body. If he was lucky the humans wouldn't think it was anything more than severe fire burns. And if he was really lucky the burns would hurry decay, making there nothing to find. At a time like this Atreus almost wished for a few of the Slaugh; they could make a body disappear like nothing he had ever seen before.
The task depleted virtually all of his magic for the time being, and did him no favors with his wounds. As he dumped the blackened body in a pile of trash nearby Atreus could feel his shirt sticking to his back under his jacket, blood dripping off his fingers as it ran down his arm. Old wounds had been magically reopened, starting with the scar across his shoulders.
When he once more dropped to his knees next to his guard the motion was more jarring than graceful, Atreus wincing as he moved. Someone or something was bound to smell the blood, if not feel the lingering traces of magic in the area. He knew that, and he knew he needed to get himself somewhere he could rest at least until he stopped bleeding, but he couldn't just leave his guard out in the open. The distinct feeling of not being alone made Atreus look up and down the alley, his tri-color silver and blue eyes glittering in the dark being as his glamour was long gone. If it was another enemy he was going to have his work cut out for him.