[ The evening of the same day Annie had helped him wrest the chemicals from that strange machine, Lucius decides to test them. In another circumstance, in another world, they might go straight into his mouth or his bloodstream to learn of their effects—but, here, he's no longer an Astartes warrior, all but immune to toxin. Here, whatever this drug is, he would have to be a fool to think it has nothing to with the strange, saccharine behavior that has been on such proud display these last few days. And so, here, he needs another man to taste for poison.
Lucius rolls the vial between his hands with a restless energy, and where another person might be afraid of dropping their precious bounty, he tosses it back and forth between his palms with a grace and confidence that suggests he doesn't see any such risk. It does nothing to soften his bearing as a prowling, capricious predator—or, at least, it doesn't to the human woman in front of him, her limbs tense and back held painfully straight as Lucius boxes her in against the door of the diner she had been trying to close up for the night. ]
Now, now, [ he chides, and his voice is a playful purr. If only he were a few feet taller, and in this moment, he would feel perfectly at home. He can see that the images dancing in her head are far worse than anything he intends, and that widens the sharp grin already parting his lips, the half-grown tail behind him swaying in his mirth. ] I already told you. We're just going to have a drink.
[ The idle toss of the vial stops, and with his unburdened hand, he crooks a finger, beckoning for the cup he'd already ordered her to go inside and retrieve. With shaking hands, she does so; he uncaps the vial and pours just enough into the basin of that cup for a good mouthful. ]
Well, drink up! [ He tells her cheerfully, and for a moment, all she does is stare fearfully up at his face. Lucius' smile drops; his eyes roll, and he scoffs. She shrinks back against the door, as if expecting him to be tipped into violence, but he doesn't move.
When he opens his mouth again, his boyish voice rings with unnaturally mellifluous tones. ]
Drink.
[ She begins to lift the cup to her lips, and his long, feline ears twitch as they catch the sound of footsteps. ]
[Later on, he'll think about how he said those two words, the venom caking the syllables. He'll think about how confident he sounded, like a police officer, or perhaps a hero from one of the old stories he'd read to Hazel. (Did he read old stories to Hazel? It feels right, but he's not sure.) He'll reflect on the irony of it all, how he sounded so sure of himself in those moments in spite of his wretched, cowardly nature. In spite of what comes next.]
Leave her alone!
[He spreads his wings to make his wiry frame look larger, drab and brown and pest-like, the wings of insect that spends its entire life in dark, dingy corners.
He has a small knife clutched in his right hand. He doesn't remember taking it out.]
[ Lucius has met uncountable foes across uncountable battlefields, and by now, a single sweep of his eyes across the silhouette before him is all he needs to tell him everything necessary. It's an aggressive posture, if not one that particularly suggests a warrior; that the wings are spread speaks more to a man trying to intimidate than a man confident in his ability to win a brawl. Even so, his eyes catch on that little knife in his hand, and a laugh escapes them at the sight of it. ]
And what is it to you, I wonder? [ In spite of himself, he turns, his lips once again widening in a vicious grin. ] If you're looking for a meal, simply wait your turn. She'll be all yours when I'm done with her.
[His wings tremble for just a moment, tension building like a taut violin string. ]
We owe it to ourselves to find worthy prey.
[He places a special emphasis on those words, worthy prey, like he's describing something so filthy that it doesn't belong in his mouth with all the other words. ]
That poor woman is just trying to get home to her family.
Worthy! [ He echoes the word, and laughter booms from his throat. ] And who among us decides who is worthy and who is not? You?
[ Beside him, Lucius hears the cup that had been held in that woman's hands crash against the ground and shatter. He doesn't even spare a glance in her direction as he orders, ] Don't move.
[ And yet, the man in front of him is quickly becoming the greater source of interest. Perhaps he should just make him his new taster, if he's so intent this interruption. Lucius' tail flicks behind him—not with irritation, but with predatory instinct. ]
[He doesn't like that laugh. Doubt flickers across his face, his lips curving downwards, his eyes growing wide. He considers stepping backwards... and then he does, his body conceding to the fear without a second thought. Once he realizes what he's doing, he plants his feet with renewed vigor.
But it's too late. The fear has started to infect him. When the cup shatters, he gasps audibly, his body flinching against the sound. ]
Please.
[ The anger is still there, but underneath all of his fear, it sounds more like exhaustion. Or hysteria.]
And where is all that bravado from a moment ago? [ Again, he laughs, wild in his mirth. Now, he spares a glance at the woman beside him. Now, he touches her for the first time since he'd cornered her against the doorway of the diner, his hand whipping out to close itself around her throat. ]
I wonder: what will you do to see me let her go? [ He dangles the vial between his fingers, idly swirling it back and forth as he inclines his head in a posture that would nearly seem playful, is not for the very real threat of those claws around another person's neck. ] Perhaps you'd like to come here and take her place? As I told her, all I wanted was to have a little drink. You'll serve just as well as she could, I'm sure.
[ Attack, surrender, or flee—Lucius' grin is wide on his face as he waits for this man to make his choice. ]
Calling it a "choice" would be generous. When he sees Lucius grip the woman's neck, his nervous system sparks and then catches fire, a brilliant blaze of anger that smothers the meek man underneath.
(His father had grabbed his mother's neck once. He remembers bleeding on the floor, his eyes blind with tears as he struggled to catch his breath. "That's enough!" his mother had said, and then she was wordless, gasping, as his father exerted his control.)
He lunges at Lucius, the knife gripped tightly in his hands. There's no skill, no technique in his attack. It's animalistic rage. A beast exerting control.]
[ As soon as Daniel moves, the hand on that woman's neck is gone. It's a lunge so empty of technique that it doesn't even deserve the honor of his sword—and yet, that is exactly what it receives, this world so devoid of even the pettiest cause to draw his blade that he can't resist the chance now. With the same casual ease with which a man might bat away a child's hand, Lucius draws and strikes in a single fluid movement, the edge of his blade slicing through the night air toward that little knife.
(Lucius, too, recalls a memory from a boyhood countless lifetimes old: some homeless wretch, an insult, his blade drawn, the spatter of blood pouring from a cut throat, simply to see if he could—)
His sword's edge intercepts the clumsy arc of Daniel's knife—and, if Daniel is unlucky, perhaps a few of the fingers clutching it as well. ]
[At first, he doesn't feel pain -- just pressure, just dizziness, as though his body is falling from a great height. When he blinks, he recognises that his blade on the ground along with two, bloody pieces of flesh.
Half of his index finger. Half of his middle finger.
That's when he feels the pain.
He screams wordlessly, clutching his hand against his chest as his wings fold up, his body curling in itself without quite collapsing. ]
Now, now. [ Perhaps his voice penetrates this man's head through the sound of his own screaming, or perhaps not. It doesn't seem to matter much to Lucius either way; he slips his sword back into its scabbard with the same fluid grace with which he had drawn it, as if the act were no more or less taxing than cutting the fingers from Daniel's hand. ] This is a polite conversation, little man — no need for weapons.
[ Not that Lucius is particularly large, anymore. The man in front of him just gives off a particularly wretched air, bony and pathetic in spite of his monstrous features.
But, even so—however weak he appears, whatever moment Lucius takes to deliver that barb, what Lucius doesn't do is give him the time to recover from the sudden loss of the better part of two fingers. He steps forward, and now that his sword hand is free once more, it snaps out to catch at Daniel's jaw, fingers mindful of the way his mouth seems to split wider along one side. ]
It looks like you'll be taking her place, after all. [ There's no cup to be had, anymore. Instead, the rim of that vial itself is shoved against Daniel's teeth, Lucius moving to force his head back. ]
[Little man. He's heard those words before, hasn't he? Through his pain, images from the network shudder across his mind, jittering flashes of courier font curling into cruel, mocking words.
I look forward to the day your spine snaps beneath the weight of that delusion, hungry little man.
His scream twists as the vial meets his lips, as his head is wrenched backwards and the liquid forces itself inside. He gasps. Chokes. Garbles. The whole scenario feels eerily familiar, only he could swear he belongs on the other side of it, with his hands forcing a concoction into someone's mouth. For a moment, he tastes rose, and his legs swoon, his body nearly dropping down to the ground below. ]
Focus, Daniel.
[He doesn't realize he's speaking aloud. His words are drunk with pain, and his eyes are unfocused. ]
Daniel, is it! [ Lucius feels the involuntary swallow beneath his fingers, and as Daniel sways in his hand, the grip of his fingers abruptly falls away from where it has held him fast. Again, he laughs, and in the stillness of the evening, the sound is uproarious. ] You look every bit as wretched as you sound, don't you?
[ Whether Daniel manages to remain upright, or whether his legs give out beneath him and he sinks to the sidewalk, it doesn't matter. No matter which, Lucius leans in close, cruel eyes and cruel smile widening with excitement as they loom inches from Daniel's face. ]
[The readiness with which the words leave his mouth surprise him, as though they've been torn from his throat. He staggers backwards with wide eyes, his injured hand clutched tightly to his chest. ]
I've done this before. I remember. I held a man's head and-- and I forced him to drink something! It tasted like a rose, the drink you gave me, but only in my mind. Was that what I gave the man? Did it taste like roses?
[He gulps down a breath, his eyes darting from left to right before settling on Lucius in a panic. ]
I wonder. [ The sneering, wild humor in his voice is gone, but he sounds no less cruel for the sudden contemplation in his tone. He holds the vial up to his own eye level, swishing it between his fingers, watching as the remaining liquid within swirls within—and then he caps it, shoulders rolling in a shrug as if the answer to Daniel's question is of no real concern to him.
By the time he lifts his eyes from the mysterious chemical back to Daniel, the broad, toothy grin is already back, and he asks, ] Not so innocent after all, are you?
[ It's rarely a good sign when a man of justice and virtue finds his actions echoed in those of an amoral monster. Lucius would know; he has stood on both sides of that gulf. ]
[He hates that he can't control himself, that the words are flowing unabated from his mind to his mouth. It's terrifying in the way a seizure is terrifying. The panic reflects in his eyes, in the way his uninjured hand tenses and relaxes. His mind is not his own.
And this man is to blame.]
What did you do to me?!
[It's the same question as before, only louder now, furious in its fear and anguish. There's no doubt he's outmatched, but for a moment, it looks like he's considering tearing into Lucius with his bare hands. Or his teeth. ]
[ So he tries to wash away his guilt with the blood of other men. The thought comes to Lucius, and it makes him laugh again. There are things he might say to that, but before the humor of it all can abate enough for him to speak again, Daniel is yelling at him, and the threat of those words only serves to make him laugh anew.
This time, the sound is harsh and brief. ]
Then come and kill me, if you think you can! [ Mania floods his face with the words, and he throws his arms wide as if to beckon Daniel into an embrace. ] Maybe this time, I'll take your whole hand!
[He hisses the words as fear overcomes him once again, his eyes darting strangely as he wrestles with his tongue. ]
He'd take off your hand. Or worse. He's a madman.
[He sways as he speaks, clutching his injured hand tightly against his chest. It's still bleeding, and the blood trickles between his fingers and stains his clothes. ]
You're too weak to kill him right now. You need to wait.
[ He agrees, and his voice drops again into a low purr—except there's still a manic sort of hunger in his eyes, and his tongue runs across his gums like a starving beast of prey as he watches that slow drip of blood between Daniel's fingers. ]
Perhaps you'd like to be divested of your tongue instead? It seems to be the source of a great many problems for you! [ Another laugh cuts through the evening air, but the threat seems to be just that: a threat. Lucius takes no forward step. ] Now or later, little man — it's up to you.
[It's not a question he intends to answer, but Luicius is right -- he's lost control of his tongue. He shrinks backwards, and from the way he fidgets, it's obvious that he's considering running.]
I can't control the things-- the things that I'm saying! [He isn't crying, but his voice carries a weeping quality to it, almost like he's choking on it.] Is this your fault? Are you the one who's doing this to everyone?
Me? Please! [ This time, there is no laughter, as if the incredulous tone in which he speaks says all that needs to be said of that accusation's absurdity. ] If I were the man behind this, do you really think the result would be this?
[ After all, in Daniel's own words: he is a madman. There are things to be done with a serum of this effect, and none of them are of interest to Lucius the Eternal. ]
No, I simply followed my nose. [ Lucius lifts a finger and taps the tip of his nose with its claw. ] The scent of it has been lingering about the air for days.
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action → set about midway through the event?
Lucius rolls the vial between his hands with a restless energy, and where another person might be afraid of dropping their precious bounty, he tosses it back and forth between his palms with a grace and confidence that suggests he doesn't see any such risk. It does nothing to soften his bearing as a prowling, capricious predator—or, at least, it doesn't to the human woman in front of him, her limbs tense and back held painfully straight as Lucius boxes her in against the door of the diner she had been trying to close up for the night. ]
Now, now, [ he chides, and his voice is a playful purr. If only he were a few feet taller, and in this moment, he would feel perfectly at home. He can see that the images dancing in her head are far worse than anything he intends, and that widens the sharp grin already parting his lips, the half-grown tail behind him swaying in his mirth. ] I already told you. We're just going to have a drink.
[ The idle toss of the vial stops, and with his unburdened hand, he crooks a finger, beckoning for the cup he'd already ordered her to go inside and retrieve. With shaking hands, she does so; he uncaps the vial and pours just enough into the basin of that cup for a good mouthful. ]
Well, drink up! [ He tells her cheerfully, and for a moment, all she does is stare fearfully up at his face. Lucius' smile drops; his eyes roll, and he scoffs. She shrinks back against the door, as if expecting him to be tipped into violence, but he doesn't move.
When he opens his mouth again, his boyish voice rings with unnaturally mellifluous tones. ]
Drink.
[ She begins to lift the cup to her lips, and his long, feline ears twitch as they catch the sound of footsteps. ]
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[Later on, he'll think about how he said those two words, the venom caking the syllables. He'll think about how confident he sounded, like a police officer, or perhaps a hero from one of the old stories he'd read to Hazel. (Did he read old stories to Hazel? It feels right, but he's not sure.) He'll reflect on the irony of it all, how he sounded so sure of himself in those moments in spite of his wretched, cowardly nature. In spite of what comes next.]
Leave her alone!
[He spreads his wings to make his wiry frame look larger, drab and brown and pest-like, the wings of insect that spends its entire life in dark, dingy corners.
He has a small knife clutched in his right hand. He doesn't remember taking it out.]
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And what is it to you, I wonder? [ In spite of himself, he turns, his lips once again widening in a vicious grin. ] If you're looking for a meal, simply wait your turn. She'll be all yours when I'm done with her.
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We owe it to ourselves to find worthy prey.
[He places a special emphasis on those words, worthy prey, like he's describing something so filthy that it doesn't belong in his mouth with all the other words. ]
That poor woman is just trying to get home to her family.
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[ Beside him, Lucius hears the cup that had been held in that woman's hands crash against the ground and shatter. He doesn't even spare a glance in her direction as he orders, ] Don't move.
[ And yet, the man in front of him is quickly becoming the greater source of interest. Perhaps he should just make him his new taster, if he's so intent this interruption. Lucius' tail flicks behind him—not with irritation, but with predatory instinct. ]
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But it's too late. The fear has started to infect him. When the cup shatters, he gasps audibly, his body flinching against the sound. ]
Please.
[ The anger is still there, but underneath all of his fear, it sounds more like exhaustion. Or hysteria.]
Let her go.
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I wonder: what will you do to see me let her go? [ He dangles the vial between his fingers, idly swirling it back and forth as he inclines his head in a posture that would nearly seem playful, is not for the very real threat of those claws around another person's neck. ] Perhaps you'd like to come here and take her place? As I told her, all I wanted was to have a little drink. You'll serve just as well as she could, I'm sure.
[ Attack, surrender, or flee—Lucius' grin is wide on his face as he waits for this man to make his choice. ]
cw: abuse
Calling it a "choice" would be generous. When he sees Lucius grip the woman's neck, his nervous system sparks and then catches fire, a brilliant blaze of anger that smothers the meek man underneath.
(His father had grabbed his mother's neck once. He remembers bleeding on the floor, his eyes blind with tears as he struggled to catch his breath. "That's enough!" his mother had said, and then she was wordless, gasping, as his father exerted his control.)
He lunges at Lucius, the knife gripped tightly in his hands. There's no skill, no technique in his attack. It's animalistic rage. A beast exerting control.]
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(Lucius, too, recalls a memory from a boyhood countless lifetimes old: some homeless wretch, an insult, his blade drawn, the spatter of blood pouring from a cut throat, simply to see if he could—)
His sword's edge intercepts the clumsy arc of Daniel's knife—and, if Daniel is unlucky, perhaps a few of the fingers clutching it as well. ]
cw: gore
Half of his index finger. Half of his middle finger.
That's when he feels the pain.
He screams wordlessly, clutching his hand against his chest as his wings fold up, his body curling in itself without quite collapsing. ]
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[ Not that Lucius is particularly large, anymore. The man in front of him just gives off a particularly wretched air, bony and pathetic in spite of his monstrous features.
But, even so—however weak he appears, whatever moment Lucius takes to deliver that barb, what Lucius doesn't do is give him the time to recover from the sudden loss of the better part of two fingers. He steps forward, and now that his sword hand is free once more, it snaps out to catch at Daniel's jaw, fingers mindful of the way his mouth seems to split wider along one side. ]
It looks like you'll be taking her place, after all. [ There's no cup to be had, anymore. Instead, the rim of that vial itself is shoved against Daniel's teeth, Lucius moving to force his head back. ]
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I look forward to the day your spine snaps beneath the weight of that delusion, hungry little man.
His scream twists as the vial meets his lips, as his head is wrenched backwards and the liquid forces itself inside. He gasps. Chokes. Garbles. The whole scenario feels eerily familiar, only he could swear he belongs on the other side of it, with his hands forcing a concoction into someone's mouth. For a moment, he tastes rose, and his legs swoon, his body nearly dropping down to the ground below. ]
Focus, Daniel.
[He doesn't realize he's speaking aloud. His words are drunk with pain, and his eyes are unfocused. ]
Focus on the present.
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[ Whether Daniel manages to remain upright, or whether his legs give out beneath him and he sinks to the sidewalk, it doesn't matter. No matter which, Lucius leans in close, cruel eyes and cruel smile widening with excitement as they loom inches from Daniel's face. ]
How does it taste? How does it feel?
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[The readiness with which the words leave his mouth surprise him, as though they've been torn from his throat. He staggers backwards with wide eyes, his injured hand clutched tightly to his chest. ]
I've done this before. I remember. I held a man's head and-- and I forced him to drink something! It tasted like a rose, the drink you gave me, but only in my mind. Was that what I gave the man? Did it taste like roses?
[He gulps down a breath, his eyes darting from left to right before settling on Lucius in a panic. ]
What did you do to me?!
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By the time he lifts his eyes from the mysterious chemical back to Daniel, the broad, toothy grin is already back, and he asks, ] Not so innocent after all, are you?
[ It's rarely a good sign when a man of justice and virtue finds his actions echoed in those of an amoral monster. Lucius would know; he has stood on both sides of that gulf. ]
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[He hates that he can't control himself, that the words are flowing unabated from his mind to his mouth. It's terrifying in the way a seizure is terrifying. The panic reflects in his eyes, in the way his uninjured hand tenses and relaxes. His mind is not his own.
And this man is to blame.]
What did you do to me?!
[It's the same question as before, only louder now, furious in its fear and anguish. There's no doubt he's outmatched, but for a moment, it looks like he's considering tearing into Lucius with his bare hands. Or his teeth. ]
I'll kill you for this!
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This time, the sound is harsh and brief. ]
Then come and kill me, if you think you can! [ Mania floods his face with the words, and he throws his arms wide as if to beckon Daniel into an embrace. ] Maybe this time, I'll take your whole hand!
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[He hisses the words as fear overcomes him once again, his eyes darting strangely as he wrestles with his tongue. ]
He'd take off your hand. Or worse. He's a madman.
[He sways as he speaks, clutching his injured hand tightly against his chest. It's still bleeding, and the blood trickles between his fingers and stains his clothes. ]
You're too weak to kill him right now. You need to wait.
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[ He agrees, and his voice drops again into a low purr—except there's still a manic sort of hunger in his eyes, and his tongue runs across his gums like a starving beast of prey as he watches that slow drip of blood between Daniel's fingers. ]
Perhaps you'd like to be divested of your tongue instead? It seems to be the source of a great many problems for you! [ Another laugh cuts through the evening air, but the threat seems to be just that: a threat. Lucius takes no forward step. ] Now or later, little man — it's up to you.
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[It's not a question he intends to answer, but Luicius is right -- he's lost control of his tongue. He shrinks backwards, and from the way he fidgets, it's obvious that he's considering running.]
I can't control the things-- the things that I'm saying! [He isn't crying, but his voice carries a weeping quality to it, almost like he's choking on it.] Is this your fault? Are you the one who's doing this to everyone?
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[ After all, in Daniel's own words: he is a madman. There are things to be done with a serum of this effect, and none of them are of interest to Lucius the Eternal. ]
No, I simply followed my nose. [ Lucius lifts a finger and taps the tip of his nose with its claw. ] The scent of it has been lingering about the air for days.