bloodandflowers | (no subject)

Kell sags against the thick stone wall of the Basin. Overhead, the ruby waters of the Isle slip endlessly by, and around him, the unnatural dark Kell had summoned begins to shiver.

"As Anasae," Kell says into the darkness. Dispel. The smoke twists into nothing as if it was never there, and Kell draws a deep breath.

"Did you kill them all?" Rhy would ask if he were here, and Kell would nod and step back to reveal the ruined remains of his training dummies. But Rhy has yet to find him today, and Kell takes another breath, closing his eyes for a moment to listen for his brother's heartbeat. Beneath the brand on his chest, the magic that binds them rises and flares, and beneath Kell's heartbeat he feels another, its thump steady and even. It means Rhy is calm, at least for now. He would feel excitement in his breast if Rhy were coming to drag him off again, back into the bowels of Red London to chase another adventure.

Kell grimaces. As if provoking Red London's criminal element could be called adventure. His ribs still ache with the hits Rhy had taken only the day before, his head foggy with Rhy's hangover. Where Kell would fight the memories that haunt them both with magic and blood, Rhy would do it with his princely fists and copious wine, and the bond that binds their lives together means that Rhy's pain is Kell's. Reaching up, Kell tugs on his own hair hard enough to sting, smirking faintly when he feels Rhy's heart skip in response.

"Sorry," he whispers into the dark, even if he isn't, and begins to clean his hands of blood. He's used a lot of magic today, and Kell's head swims as he tucks his silver blade back against his wrist. He needs food. He needs...

Kell closes his eyes.

Something more than this palace that feels so much like a prison.

You could still run. The thought echoes between his ears with a voice that sounds like Lila's, and Kell shakes his head to dispel it. Lila escaped, and Kell stayed. For Rhy, he'll stay forever.

Mostly clean now, save for the sheen of sweat on his skin, Kell raises his right hand, the cut across his palm still wet from training, and presses it to an X drawn in blood on the wall. "As tascen," he says, transfer, but when the door opens up and Kell steps through it to the other side, it's not the lavish chambers of the prince he walks into.

It's onto the wooden gangway of a port, and before him looms a gray and wintry sea. Kell turns a circle, but the palace has disappeared, without blood or command to see it gone. Kell’s heart stutters and begins to pound.

This is no London, Red, Grey or White.

This is a different world entirely.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Pride is not the first word Sirius would consider if he's honest. There is some part of him, of course, that is proud, but it's eclipsed almost entirely by a feeling much more difficult to stomach. If only he'd had more faith in his brother, if only he'd stayed at Grimmauld instead of stomping out in a huff, if only he'd have tried harder, paid a bit more attention, been more like Remus in attempting to understand Regulus instead of assuming he'd been brainwashed by their family. He might have gotten through to him before it was too late.

Then again, given the means of Regulus's death and what Harry has explained about Horcruxes, perhaps the sacrifice Regulus made was destined from the start.

He offers no response to Kell, however, uncertain how to put words to his thoughts and distracted besides by the mention of Harry. Sirius takes another sip of his drink, licks his lips thoughtfully after he swallows and tries desperately to ignore the ache in his belly as it swells.

"Yes," he finally manages. "He was only about a year and half when I was taken," he further explains. "Apparently, he's seventeen now. "Seventeen and so much like James as to make Sirius's heart burn. "He's defeated the very wizard I spent years of my life fighting against. Now that, I must admit, gives me pride."

Kell waits undemanding through the silence that descends. He knows very well what it is to war with oneself. At times, a refusal to interfere is the best offer of support, and he takes a drink of his own ale, listening when Sirius finally speaks again.

"I'm glad," he says, pleased that at least one of Sirius' demons has been put to rest, albeit via a rather confusing timeline. "How could he have aged so much?"

"By means of separate realities, apparently," Sirius says, his smile rather feeble as he's found the concept difficult to wrap his mind around. "Or alternate dimensions, which may or may not be the same thing, I'm really not certain."

He shrugs then, fingers still playing along the glass the of his drink. "The me he remembers is sixteen years older. I fear the day I arrived gave him a bit of a shock. To say nothing of my own reaction. I can accurately say I've had much better days in my time, which is to say, I don't blame you in the slightest for slicing open your own arm in an effort to return home."