Rob threw his guitar case down on the bed and flopped onto the tumble of comforters beside it. He missed his digs above the club's floor, and had just returned from a nine month tour with the band. It paid damn well, but God it felt good to be home. Auburn lashes veiled his caramel brown eyes and he just lie there, breathing in the air conditioned atmosphere around him. New Orleans was like heaven to him, the struggles he and Rhia had seen through together there sinking those roots in even deeper. When Byron had asked them if they wanted to leave it all behind and move to the land of shadows with he and Lena, Rob had laughed and said, 'Hell ****in' no. Ahr jhoo crazy man?" Byron, in his own good humor had laughed with him, and remarked that he did not think so, and looking to his daughter, he had seen her unwillingness to part with New Orleans in her own eyes. It was their home, plain and simple. Rob rolled over onto his side and flipped the stereo by his bed-side on. The sounds of God Smack filled his senses and he closed his eyes again. Damn shame no one had sired them as vampires to stay around. What music they had made was their immortality. He loved that band. Inside of twenty minutes he was asleep, perfectly content to be home. Maybe tomarrow, it being Friday night, he and the band would show up unexpectedly on stage and give a performance. For now? He was a fat cat just chillin'.
Home indeed. New Orleans was definately more home to her than even the Shadowlands, though she had spent the majority of her childhood in what she'd always call her 'parent's home.' The woman tacked about the world and beyond so often that it was a wonder that she'd even had the nerve to call one place her actual home. Many homes away from home, but there had to be always that one that made you expell relieving sighs and produce inward smiles. Russia, Canada, Korea, Yoruba, Siam. Those few places were among the many where foot and soul had touched foreign soil. And still, there was something about the southern American city that held it's draw. A central station of sorts. Perhaps part of the reason was chilling upstairs like the proverbial 'fat cat' now. The offer to move back into the shadowy world that defied reality was smiled on, but not preferred. She'd said so to her father who had likely known it the moment he'd asked. She visited on occassion though...and there were times that she made it a vacation of staying with the family and humoring old faces. Other than that--if one caught her, it was a miracle. A velvet string of Russian words dominated the quietly pulsating sound of music that seemed to have lulled the creole to sleep. She'd sensed his presence from the sanctity of her office where she'd kept her own presence cloaked while discussing business matters with Chloe and Jarvis. It was a natural habit these days--even with all of the years that had passed, the mischief was always easy to find as the world and the nature of man remain unchanged. 'Greetings, my willing fly.' She crooned in low, dulcet tones to the sleeping progeny that would soon be awakened by a combination of added weight to the bed, teasing words, and light strokes that massaged the muscled dips and planes of the shoulder and arm that wasn't pressed into the bed. She'd slid comfortably behind him with the relaxed ease of a lupine creature. 'Welcome back. To Anansi's lair.' All spoken in fluid Russian into the shell of his ear, just for the hell of it. Always pleased when paths met inbetween the wandering busyiness of their lives. Curves molded against him with jigsaw quality, she thieving the delight of his male solidity with rougish intent. Somewhere below, the base and flow of activity bustled club life and excitement. The place ever popular. Elysium was a household name these days on every teenage tongue and mid-life crisis psyche. Long advanced from it's hole-in-the-wall heyday.
Was it her scent, her voice, or her touch which reached beyond the haze of sleep first? The crusader blood vampire was unsure, the results were the same regardless. She stirred him. His soul, his heart, his senses all bewitched by his Sire's mere presence. His eyes remained closed for some moments as he just basked in her silky voice and her embrace as she slid with ethereal grace behind him, to cradle his crown of auburn hair against her bosom. Lips parted to breathe her in and then speak in dulcet drowsy tones. "Comin' home teh you is always like bein' rebawn ag'in. It aches...but all deh world is pure and avant-gahrde. Sometimes I feel like I am driftin' away from deh world...from myself...But when I come home...and zhou ahr heuh..I am grounded ag'in." Lyons rolled over languidly and coiled his arms around her to nuzzle his cheek deep against her breasts. "The hunger is the worst pawt about tourin'. I get...so...hungry. I weaken deh band feedin' from 'em. Dhey nevuh mind...but I do...and faw awhile I refused teh feed from dhem...and dhat got me inteh some trouble in London. Dhen I realized...dhey were mah life line on deh tours...An' dhat holdin' back only made me frenzy on 'em when I did finally feed on 'em." His fingers met her arm gingerly and brushed softly up and down the length of her limb. Her flesh was like porceline silk. "I used teh think all my taints would just one day...disappear, yeh know?" glancing at her. "But I don' t'ink dhey will." Just like his creole swamp-rat dialect seemed to stick to him like glue. "Between deh headaches, and deh bloodlust...I wonder every day if it is deh last. It does not get easiuh teh control, Red...It gets hahrduh. Deh band have become body gawds as much as music pawtnuhs. When I lay eyes on a vampire dhat pisses me off faw whatevuh reason...dhey have teh hold me back. It's deh ones dhat really flaunt dhemselves, yeh know? Bare dhere fangs and hiss at humans and t'ings like dhat teh frightin' 'em..Deh ones who won' let people forget we exist. I always thought it was bettuh dhat way...and Denoir, and Caine believe it is bettuh dhat way too. If only teh honuh them...I am compeled teh kill those muthuh ****uhs when dhey least expect it, and feed my damned hunger." Rob was unloading on his sire. She was the only one he could confide in like that. He hated adding more pressure to the band, and besides, they saw it all with their own eyes. It was hard for him to even slip away from them when they were touring the venues. They knew how dangerous it was for him out there, and they had promised Rhia a long time ago to protect him, and they stood by that promise devotedly, for her, for themselves, and for Rob.
Perhaps it was a combination of all three and then some that gently invaded the peaceful slumber that he'd only just begun to indulge in. When he awakened she held him close, puzzle-piecing the curves of her nubile frame into the harder, more angular areas of his own body. She cradled her progeny as if he were a precious artifact, his own scent settling with familiar clarity within her. She did not have to breathe in his creole scent. It was already an etched memory more pronounced when he was in close vicinity. As he was now. Agile fingers stroked and threaded with soothing want through his strands of auburn--the pads of her fingers working lightly onto the bed of his pale scalp. His drowsy Cajun tongue licked at her ears--she quietly listening to his reflective words while she held him. A tiny shadow of a distant frown may have tipped at the bow's curve of her lips as he spoke words that drew her concern, though he would not see it, nor feel and sense anything amiss. Her emotions lie open--though they were few---if he did by chance pick up on something at all, it would only be an echo--or a shadow of what might have been. Or used to be. She had done him an injustice when she'd sired him. She hadn't thought so at the time--her impulsiveness and typically rash behavior had dictated her actions as they often had those times. Zealous in her youth, and caught in an act of rare kindness for the young man that had charmed his way into her favor. He had been dying. And she had acted out of naivete. She had not betted on the fact that he may have held a life-threatening illness...nor had she ever dreamed that he'd turn out to be a slayer of her kind. In hindsight, the signs had been there--and maybe a part of her had known and she'd stubbornly ignored them. They had what they had now, and that was that. And he'd been destined to suffer his taints all of these years. Centuries. Doomed to an un-life of perpetual animalistic appetites that screamed its taboo nature even amongst these creatures of the night. He could not feed off of humanly mortal flesh like the typical vampire. His lust for vampiric blood was apparent from day one--his own scent a warning and cause for hostility among many. He was consistently in danger as well 'a' danger. Her doing. But she had rightfully and gracefully accepted responsibility for her actions and his. Did she feel guilt? No. She had long ago shaken it loose along with hindering morals that had partially dictated her actions before. Mortal coils within a soul that had never truly had them to begin with. Tiber had opened her eyes to that. A brutal lich had co-signed the fact--and many, many more enemies and passing acquaintences before, after, and inbetween. What she did feel was regret, especially during times like these--when he held her so desparately and vented his troubles. Unloaded the burdens of his mind. Everything he spoke, she already knew. It was not the first time that he had bared his soul to her like this. Sometimes, she spoke words of sensibility that cleared his head and seemed to make things as right as rain. Other times, she was silent, and just held him---just as she was doing now. The vibrating rumble that he both felt and heard birthed from between the valley of her breasts was a soft growl--created from the fact that she didn't have all of the answers paired with a desire to have them and gift them to him. 'Ah, carus.' An easy shift from Russian to the latin endearment. 'Rob, sometimes I wish I could just tell you to feed that damned hunger and make a Chef Boy Ar Dee snack out of whoever the hell you feel like dinin' on. Screw the consequences.' Fingertips left his scalp to drop to the nape of his neck. 'I sometimes wish shxt was just that easy.' Just as quickly falling into the street slang that defied her 'ladyhood' that she so carefully kept when she was conducting business matters. Compliments of her mother who used to remind her often enough of who she was to her irritation. She dropped a loving kiss into his hair. She was very grateful for the band's loyalty. They'd been true to their word all of this time. Even Jarvis and Chloe had offered to tour with them on several occassions so that Rob wouldn't 'exhaust' his typical supply. They loved the man almost as much as they loved Rhia, the two of her Elite devoted to the woman without question. Her requests were executed without the bat of an eye. But the band. They had been more than just his lifeline..his partners. They had kept Rob from digging hellish holes that would have done him some long term and irreversible damage. 'It's not. And that fact remains.' Softly. 'It doesn't get easier, no. But you can keep a fair handle on it. You know this already, baby.' And those hands kept right on soothing and gently molesting. From the nape of his neck to the slim planes of his shoulders and lower. Kneading and hand-loving parts of him until she had reached and breached the edge of his shirt so that fingers could crawl under the material to caress smooth, alabaster skin. Cool hands skimmed and scratched with light intent at the expanse of what she could reach--just quiet touches whispering comfort, love and want. 'You say that I ground you?' She spoke in an acid and silk purr that had the ability to run hairs standing to alert attention on someone's neck. Oil-slick eyes that had lingered at half-mast were suddenly hidden behind the delicate shutters of her lids. 'That you hunger so?' Her murmured repititions so very soft. So then why do you wait to root yourself, lose yourself within me, petite? The last question non-verbal. Nor was it telepathic. But he would feel her inquiry in the gently urgent way that she held him. In the way that those light scratches over his skin increased in insistence. Still gentle. She was offering more than just an ear if he so chose to take it. Of course, if it was just an ear that he needed, then she'd continue to give that with equal willingness. She loved her progeny with a dangerous and a burning love and could never deny him most anything.
Her carresses were like paradise, and her voice like the angels ought to be to him. Everything about her, her scent, her touch, her velvet tones were the air he breathed and the only thing that made life make sense to him. He was not a refined man, but he held his own kind of charm, while she could have been a princess, and in a sense, she was. She was the daughter's of a legendary vampire prince and man, who held the respect and loyalty of many. Muscles relaxed in his upper body, and coiled taut in his lower body as she soothed every trouble he had by simply being there. He loved her. When she was near him, nothing else mattered. Even when the world had gone to hell, even in the long dark winter which even the vampires starved in the face of, even when it seemed there was no hope for the world, nothing mattered, because she was there with him. When she was gone, the music got him through, and when the music took him away from her, every song he poured his heart into was for her...in one way or another. Tiber still to this day tormented him, held the power over him to silence him. He tormented the creole because he envied him, and Tiber's jealousy was a sadistic kind. Lyons confided everything to his beloved and most beautiful of all creatures, his sire. The acts Tiber inflicted on him alone did he withold from her, and only because he could not betray Tiber if he wanted to. He despised him, and he loved him, because he was chained to him so tightly that nothing but Rhia could wedge herself between those wounding links. How he concealed that razor wire he bound Lyons with from his twin sister and mate was a mystery only that devil of a vampire knew the answer to. There was always that black curtain in Rob that veiled a part of him she could never reach...An obscure shadow with no outlines to define. It might have been what he thought about the world, about the little groupies he never asked for, and certainly never obliged. It might have been what he felt when he was lonely and without her...It could have been as simple as him living with his defects from day to day, year in and year out. It might have been anything. It was bleak, and nothing more to the senses, but deep inside that curtain, was agony, and brutal pleasures laced with horror. But that did not matter now either...She was there...holding him, kindling his desires, soothing him. His breaths hung on each carress, and muscles jumped or melted beneath her fingers. For a long time it was Lyons who did not speak. He just listened, and relished the feel of her. Sometimes his breath trembled and he felt like weeping just because she spilled him over that violently. He wanted to make love to her more than he wanted to sing again. Yet...something held him back...something he could not quite remember, but which scared him just the same. But when she invited him to taste her...he shivered and his body quickened. He had just recently been reunited with her, only six months ago. She came to see him when they played in Amsterdam. Seeing her had floored him and they had canceled a show, because Rob insisted, and reschedualed it for the night after. A lot of strings had been pulled for that, and a lot of people had been real unhappy. He had loved her from within an hour after she arrived, until half an hour before he did the show the next night, and she was there, in the audience, front row, center. For eight years she had been gone, with Tiber, after Memnoch was born, and he had never suffered like that before. Sure, Tiber sometimes took her away from him for six months, once for two years...But eight years was like living death to him. He had gotten in a lot of trouble too, that the band had bailed him out of. What made it even worse...were the visits from Tiber. How he kept her locked away from him like that, and managed to swoop down on him to torture him like he did, was beyond anything Rob wanted to try to understand. That invite to feed, chilled him with need, and rolling over to face her, his body pressed down on her's and he slid upward against her, dominating her, to seal her lips with pure fire. He claimed her tongue with sensual lusts, his deep suckling pulls and strokes of her tender muscle urgent with desire. Fangs peirced her palet, and for awhile he drank from her with their lips joined in a massage that was warm, hot, and then feverish. She could feel the excitement building in his body like a violin string about to snap, as every muscle ignited with her, conformed to her. Soon he was pawing at her clothing like some sex-starved school boy. He always hungered for her...for her blood and for her body to cover him over with her raptures. He hiked her skirt up, stripped her of panties, uncovered her sex, exposing her to himself, and as he extracted himself from leather and buckles, which he tugged and writhed out of until they were gathered around his thighs, hands flattened against her body beneath her blouse, and slid over her skin until her breasts were covered. Barbell piercings were twisted and tugged on with such ginger skill that he sent electric fingers of pleasure sizzling through her body to spark in her navel. What happened between then and his lips blazing a seering trail to her throat, was like a bomb-blast out of tropical blue skies. The heavy hard muscles which slid inside of her to bury within for three strokes of pure raw passion, suddenly wasn't stretching her to fit him with that aching tightness, and filling her until up to throb and press against her diaphram anymore. All the feeling went out of him, and for another minute he tried...But he couldn't feel the woman he loved, the woman he craved, was hard and aching just thinking about at any given moment. He was soft and limp inside of her virgin tight, slippery walls. Somewhere inside he knew why, but his mind would just not bring it to the surface. His voice cracked against the sexy arch of that lovely throat he had punctured, tugged on to elongate the wounds, and fed from for less than three minutes, and he tore away from her and out of the bed. He tripped over the pants he was pulling up as he stormed to the bathroom, which joined his own small room to Rhia's very spacious quarters, then vanished within those confines and slammed the door so hard the echo rang. He had NEVER not been able to perform with her, NEVER. He felt humiliated, enraged, but had no one, or thing to focus that anger on. Hands slapped against the sink and fingers curled under its edge to grip it until his knuckles turned white. His head began to pound and soon to stab at his temples as everything he held inside of him triggered an attack. When Rhia's voice sang out to him from the other side of the door, his eyes lifted to burn on himself in the mirror. He was so pissed off, in so much pain, he couldn't even see himself, or the murderous burn in his eyes. He truly looked like someone about to snap and kill someone, anyone. Anyone but her. "I need a minute," his voice a stiff flatline. Facing her after that was like knowing you were about to have every fingernail drawn by plyers from your fingers and toes. Yeah, Tiber knew how to make his life miserable, but nothing was going to break him of loving Rhiannon. The really odd thing was, that Tiber did not want him to stop loving her, to take him from her. He just wanted him to suffer for loving her, and for being loved by her. Tiber tended to get his way.
-- Edited by Robert Lyons at 05:04, 2006-03-13
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"Life is for livin', and I live every moment like it's deh last. Undead? Ain' no such thing. If you c'n feel passion and pain, dhen yawr alive."
NinosdeDomingo: Rhiannon 'Sometimes, my dear sweet manipulator of a brother, I dislike you immensely.' The words were wrapped in a vortex of honey and acid-rich tones that were as crystal clear within the confines of her twin's mind just as if she were standing next to him. 'Come to me.' She commanded with natural authority as if she presumed a right to it over him. It was the second time that she had summoned him since her departure from Elysium. How she loved her brother, but her anger and frustration needed an outlet, and this night, if he heard her...he would be tagged IT. She, unlike so many that knew her brother, understood that more often than not, there was no reasoning with him when he determined in his warped mind to carry out ambitions for either the pleasure or the want of it. Chastising him like some spoiled child did no good, and begging either irritated the heck out of him or opened more doors to his benefit and to the 'victims' sorrow. Cunning in her own way, but not always exacting, Rhia knew full well what went on with him most of the time, unless he intentionally blocked her out and even then, he had to be sure that she was truly eclipsed out. For the woman usually made it her business to be 'in the know' with everything that had to do with her. Everything included everyone. Whether her presence was near or not. And those methods that she selected to keep her current with Today's news were not always..in compliance, shall we say. She was, after all, Nosferatu--those of whom where the most skilled 'spies' of any clan. Her advantage even over that fact was being a true born of the stock of Diablos. But With Rob, he had hidden from her for years those torments her brother had lavishly rendered upon him out of mere jealousy. And Rob's pride had prevented him from revealing this 'secret' to her all this time. She'd been livid with the actual discovery of her brother's treachery. But the knowledge had not surprised her. Sometimes the actual telling of events inspired emotional action of sorts even if certain things were suspect. And of course she'd known in a way. Suspected was probably a better word, as there had been no solid proof of Tiber's crimes against her progeny. But she knew her brother and some of his more poignant idiosyncrasies, particularly on matters that tickled his fancy, his ire...hell, his absolutely anything of the moment. Unstable, intelligent, predictable and unpredictable, warm and cold-rich and bland, all was her brother and then not. With her, he was devilishly bad--to her liking, but temperate. Without her, he was simply wicked and those who unwittingly gained his attention with unnecessary ignorance---or stupidity rather, had better watch out. Together they were a bizarre sort of Yin and Yang--a unified balance to one another. There was so much to her dangerously complex sibling, the phrase 'assume nothing', was exacting in comparison to him.
Rhia still seethed with the knowledge of what he'd done all of this time, and her ire was not easily abated once stirred. The question of how he had hidden this for so long kept re-surfacing. There was a bond between they that had something to do with their couplet birthing, and later incestuous coupling that had burned a cemented mark of its own. A mark that had not only held prophetic insinuations, but had been passed on to the child conceived by them, as well as inspired discovery and then...use. Like Tiber, Rhia carried a signature mark that only would be recognized by him and perhaps her parents, but with difficulty with its subtleties. Even more so especially if he was the recipient of certain magicks weaves. In this instance, it was cunning and angry determination that had finally shred the power that her twin had for years held over her progeny. It had taken time and had proven to be extremely difficult, but like her brother, she proved relentless when her mind was stoically set on a particular task. Her only flaw--she was not quite as patient.
She'd popped up out of the blue with the intent to surprise her Lion with spontaneous pleasure. The stretch of absences between they had grown long..and longer still with not only an impossibly demanding schedule, but with the initially tedious responsibilities of playing both parent and shepherd to her young offspring. Rhia had never held a maternal bone in her body, and in the beginning it showed. Wroth upon the discovery of her prenatal state, it was fortunate that it was impossible for her to carry what was considered full term for mortals. She later insured that there would be no further chance pregnancies again--whether it be by curse or spell or blessing. The woman did hold a powerful sense of duty that was more than apparent when rearing her son Memnoch. Tiber was as much a part of raising the lad as she--and she had never shied away from the assistance that her mother and father both so willingly provided. He'd spent a considerable amount of time at the chateau with her younger brother Shaithis and with Byron--becoming a learned young man confident in his many of his abilities. She did not like being away from Rob for extended periods of time, though often she was. Her reasons extended far beyond the simple desire to just be within close vicinity of him. But there was always something---some reason or another that kept her away. Tiber had often succeeded in convincing her that Lyons was fine and that his space was important. He did not need Rhia hovering over him like some tired old mother hen and besides there was the child or this or that. There were a few times that she adamantly shunned her responsibilities to pop in on Rob when he was touring..or doing a show. Other 'chance' meetings had occurred in between business and demand. She loved her progeny. With more than just the love of a sire to a childer. And she knew that the bond of his own love for her was so strong and powerful that the force of it would be difficult for a simple mortal to bear.
The last time they had met, in Elysium, she had surprised him as aforementioned. The meeting had been pleasant and passionate--filled with the smoldering burn of desire and need and raw lust. She'd felt his overwhelming need as if it were a tangible thing--her own need just as heightened, but held in check. She would give herself to him this night, she'd concluded within herself. She would rein in that natural instinct to dominate and control and allow him to plunder freely and feast from her---nourish himself with the potent nectar that was her blood. More than just drink of her but mesh with her. He needed more than just a listening ear and few words of comfort--he'd needed the physically healing power of touch and contact. An unspoken sort of reassurance that she was not just an oasis mirage. Reassurance that she still loved him the same if not even more with the passing of centuries and atmosphere. Relinquishing complete control to him was as good as telling him..'See? I trust you. And I love you. My sacrifice is dedication and proof of my eternal love for you.' Her love was a powerful thing...and only reserved for the two men that she loved with an equal clarity. She balanced it well.
And so this went on between they--and he did dominate. She arched and moaned in sheer pleasure with his mixture of dominating and trembling caresses, her responses a fiery match--howbeit checked. Her clothing had been all but ripped away---removed very quickly, and very soon he was filling her---pumping his urgently rigid member into her sex with her half mewling--half-growling her anticipating welcome. Then he'd gone soft.
All of that powerful need suddenly vanishing as quickly as it had come. It had caught her off guard, she had so been caught up in passion's moment--the feel of those sharp incisors against her throat as he'd begun to feed--the feel of his hardness against and within her softness. For what seemed a split nanosecond their gazes had met just before he tore away with a tortured look climbing over his pale features. 'Rob....' Her voice quavering uncertainty at both the pain she'd seen in his gaze and his swift departure from her room to his. 'Rob, hold on..' The last word becoming lost as it drowned under the telltale echo of the slamming door. 'What the hell..?' She muttered as she sat up from the bed, not bothering to reach for the clothing that had been discarded earlier. Concern and temporary confusion replaced the earlier haze of desire, his answer as flat as northern planes and this time she got to her feet. Tattooed shoulders squared and she quickly covered the distance from her bed to the door that separated the rooms. 'Rob, baby, please. It's alright. Don't shut me out.' The palm of a hand now resting lightly just above the knob. What was going on? In all the times that they'd come together, he had never had a problem keeping it up. His sexual drive was more than just adequate---hell, it was quite the pleasantly voracious one as a matter of fact. But this...this was new. The second time she called out to him, he didn't answer--the resulting frown wiping out the obviously confused look she'd carried on her features at first. That he couldn't perform didn't bother her. It was the why that was getting to her because it was unknown. That...and the things that she had been feeling from him in recent months were setting her on edge. He was hiding something. Or was not telling her something...or some things. She didn't like it. Had never liked it. The fact that he automatically threw up a mental defense whether he knew it or not with certain things concerning him. Though her bond was very strong over him as it would be and she could easily make him bend to her will, she did not like to. She preferred his free will and his trust in her. After all this time, she thought she'd earned his trust. But there had been a few times she'd had no choice but to assert her will over him--if for his benefit as she perceived. In fact she had had to. That very night.
With shoulders squared and jaw set, she allowed him his dignity by knocking raptly on the door again, though her words were gentle. She pleaded once more for him to talk to her and again he'd refused with no answer. Using the mental path of communication, she split a breach into his psyche only to be met with a blockade and the unforgiving pressure that usually signaled the beginnings of his cursed migraines. 'Shxt.' She muttered out loud before moving away in feline-equivalent strides from the door and toward the adjoining chair that matched the vanity-- the opposite right of the door---far end of the room. Still bold and unashamed in her nakedness, she lowered into the chair crossing one limber leg over another and waited. She'd felt his rage and upset and distress even with his efforts to get himself under control. The force of it had set her jaw--that familiar tick in the left cheek jumping mildly. She'd reached for the phone setting atop the smooth wood of the drawer and dialed. 'Josef. Cancel my meeting tomorrow. Send my most sincerest apologies. Wi, petite. I know. But it is necessary. Merci.' Rob had needed a minute. Probably several. She allowed him much longer--providing him with a bottle of painkillers that materialized atop the sink's toothbrush holder. The one he'd been leaning against. The most powerfully effective form of codeine to assuage his pain. His indication that she knew of his impending attack. She'd been patient, bided her time until he felt ready to face her and had even been sparing with her quiet inquiries. But when the chat between them had proved to be a tedious dance that was going no where, she became irritated. There was something in the way he hesitated when she'd asked him with unwitting jest if whether she should summon her brother so that they could both double team him and drag whatever ailed him out. The flash of anger in his eyes was unmistakable and there was something else unfathomable. Intent on getting answers that night, she'd gotten more than she'd bargained for.
Who knew that she'd discover that her dear brother had sunk his claws so far in her progeny that she had to practically perform neurosurgery to get them out. Of course she didnt' find this out right away. She'd weaved a subtle spell that had more or less 'scanned' him to see if perhaps he'd been plagued by some naughty parasite--translation: Check to see if someone's been man-handling her goods without her permission. Nearly as equally cunning as her twin, she had a way of moving around in both 'physical' and temporal places without being detected. Taken aback by the knowledge that it was indeed 'a' signature embedded within Rob, investigation had ensued upon the discovery that it was Tiber's mark. Getting Rob to talk to her was like trying to squeeze water out of a rock. It wasn't happening. And so she'd done what she had to do.
There was more than just pride [though there was some] that was keeping him silent. He couldn't say even if he had truly wanted to. 'TIBER!' Her call to him was as resounding as the crash of a waterfall even through the threads of mental insinuation. It was silent, but filled with a rage that was hard for her to contain. How dare he enslave--place his mark upon her lover and progeny? It was demeaning to her power as not only his sire, but as one whom he'd bonded in love with. It was a grave insult--a blatant disrespect, and she would not stand for it. 'TIBERIUS CORCA DECASEY, FIRST SON OF OUR FATHER AND LORD BYRON DECASEY, PRIOR LION OF AN ANCIENT LAND, AND REVERED AMBASSADOR OF THE DIABLOS CLAN!' Say that three times fast. Rhiannon managed all of this with mental fluidity. The use of extended and unnecessary titling might amuse or annoy him. Whatever the case, she hurled her demand for his presence again into the void of those mental paths that could link the two together. She received no answer. Eyes as black as the scorch of burned coal flashed with a dark and dangerous passion, but she kept herself in check. On the outside, her composure was as smooth as virgin silk, and she'd created a wall from within her own mind to keep her raw emotions concealed from her progeny. Oh, he'd already know that she was unhappy. But she'd spared him the brunt of it--as well kept her thoughts on the matter of Tiber private this time. 'Rob, darlin', this will likely piss you off, but it must be done.' And she commenced to revealing to him what she suspected and what she intended to do to confirm her suspicions. His eyes flashed in immediate protest, but before the lips could, she cast the ease of deep sleep spell upon him--the spell sending him into a gentle and dreamless slumber. Created so that the suddenness of the spell would prevent any form of shock or unexpected triggers with the volatile nature of his attacks. The potency of the drugs he'd taken was also slightly enhanced at a gradual pace so that the headaches would be dulled and/or held at bay. Her focus fully reclaimed upon him, the deep state of slumber for all intents and purposes kept a small side of him 'aware'. Aware--not in the sense where he knew what was going on, but in the sense where he'd be able to answer any questions that she'd ask. Similar to hypnotism. Or an advanced version of a truth spell cast. Safeguarding herself from any possible backlash with her attempts, on Rob's part and her own, she took every precaution to ensure that he wouldn't suffer a violent attack under her 'ministrations. There were other protocol spells that protected before she commenced to busting up Tiber's mark over him. Nature of the spell-- if applicable, potential layers, the consequences of removal, possible backlashes and/or side effects, she was extremely careful. The hardest part had passed, the identifying. The rest was a matter of calling upon the strength of her own bond over Lyons and using it to dissipate the bonds that her brother had created within him. It took her a very long time to de-Tiber Rob much to her aggravation, and even when she'd wedged her will over that razor-wire hold that her brother had held over the Creole, there was a part of her that knew that sudden freedom would not necessarily bode well--especially with the probable longevity of those that Tiber had held over him. Rhia would now have to 'substitute' or simulate a space filled in the newly vacant void that would likely fill her progeny with the removal of Tiber's underhanded will. Thorough, like her father, quietly clever like her mother, and driven like the Morning Star, she took precaution after precaution, dissatisfied to stop until she was sure that the task undertaken was a thorough one. Later, she had had to deal with the brunt force of Rob's emotions. They both had discussed things, she answering his questions with as much honesty as he'd allowed. The following days she spent nearly all of her time with him before she departed with a promise to return to him in a few days. It was to a private compound--one of several belonging to her[though not directly connected]---that she'd gated herself to. And it was there that she'd made another attempt to contact her brother......so that she could be so very divinely blessed with his presence.
