Baba Yaga (mother_of_bones) wrote in forgotten_gods, @ 2009-12-05 13:34:00 |
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Entry tags: | baba yaga |
Who: Baba Yaga & Viktor Zmey
When: Backdated to Wednesday, December 2, at dawn.
What: Following this and this.
Where: New Orleans
Warnings: None.
Into the darkness with a stream of fire following him, Viktor Zmey flew, no longer with the princess who was not afraid, the princess whose doe-eyes betrayed the determination within her to not fear. Hands had touched her skin and the soft, supple way her body curved and moved under his grasp; lips had touched her neck, her own lips, and claws tore gown and skin alike.
As the sky lightened to an otherworldly shade of cerulean blue in the pre-dawn hours, Viktor Zmey's eyes flung open, a ragged, hoarse breath caught in his throat. Pain ricocheted through him, starting somewhere near the base of his neck and his shoulders, the discomfort that came with falling asleep in a car that was too small for him in the first place. Needles tickled his legs and his feet agonizingly, and he groaned softly, glancing across to his feet, which were stretched near across the car to the dashboard of the passenger side, not noticing the shadow of a woman sitting there. A slight grimace, and he looked straight ahead, staring into the twilight beyond the window. Silence blanketed the landscape, eerie and grey.
It registered he was not alone.
He looked slowly back to the passenger seat, and his skin crawled.
"You make such delightful noises in your sleep, Viktor." Her voice slithered from her dry lips, which she licked slightly. Baba Yaga greeted him with a smile that creased her face inexplicably deep, a stream of steam enveloping her features from the cup of tea she clutched in her hands, which themselves were warmed by wool fingerless gloves. She looked haggard, as if placing him into the world of Twila's dreams had exhausted every cell of her being. Within the dim, still sunless moments before light graced the sky, her eyes gleamed a pitless, lamp-oil black.
Silence, then, he managed to find his voice. "Beatrice... how... why are you here? This is so far to come..."
"Oh, don't you worry about that, Zmej." Beneath the bundles of layers claiming her skeletal body, she shrugged sweetly. "Pleasant dreams?" Innocently.
Silence. She watched him curiously, sinking comfortably into her layers, glancing at his big feet which she was surprised were not denting the dashboard. Beatrice continued, fluidly. "It is a wonder, this little girl of yours. She is ever so fascinating, isn't she? How did she feel beneath your claws, Gorynich? Did you taste her, taste her blood?" A thick, gut-wrenching saccharine laugh. "What was it she said? 'Do it right?' Goodness, such bravery for a little thing. Such a little darling!" She could not keep the laughter from coming, and she covered her mouth with the back of her hand, eyes peering over at him like one would stare at a caged, hopeless lion in a zoo. "Oh, Viktor, my dark Viktor, you will never have her, you know this? You would ruin her. She is a princess, the little darling of the New Ones, and, if I am not mistaken..." She paused, looking out the window now, down the road, through the swamp, in the direction of the place where Twila was staying with the Greek. "She is in hands that would like to see to destroy you upon sight, should you show yourself. Are you satisfied?"
Viktor remained silent, hand coming to the steering wheel. He was never one for words, and Baba Yaga, Baba Yaga could speak for hours, tirelessly. He withdrew the keys and turned them, the old vehicle purring to life. When the right words were finally falling into place in his mind as he pulled the car out of the shadows of tree and swamp, he opened his mouth to speak, turned his glance in her direction.
She was gone.