andor's misc writings

[andor]

cisum | (non-canon) fahrin & crow's first meeting

despite the fearsome reputation that precedes the darkness clan, fahrin has always known that they are some of the worst gossips around; few secrets are safe within these cavernous depths.

it’s no wonder, then, that fahrin quickly learns about the arena’s newcomer.

the locals have begun to call her the crow; apparently, they see her as little more than an omen of death, in no small part because of how the poor fools who face her lose not only their matches, but nearly their lives. fahrin has yet to determine by what means the demon chooses her matches. not for any lack of effort, mind you – there’s simply no rhyme or reason.

at least, there’s no reason that is discernible to fahrin, at any rate.

...perhaps that is why she finds herself perching upon one of the larger bones that stretches above the arena, away from the prying gaze of her people. fahrin has had more than enough of their conspiratorial whispers; why not see with her own eyes what exactly is so impressive about this crow? it surely must be a fascinating sight, if the way they’re working the darkness clan into such a frenzy is anything to go by. but time trickles by slowly. there are a few, far less-engaging matches that must occur before the crow can enter the field, and they’re awfully disappointing.

fahrin is scrolling idly on her phone when murmurs begin to ripple through the crowds below. she peers over the top of her screen, her eyes narrowing as she watches a lone figure step out onto the floor. at this distance, fahrin can’t quite make out any details, but she looks...well, rather ordinary if fahrin is being honest with herself – it’s the weapon that surprises her.

a scythe sits in one of the demon’s hands; the blade emerges from a bone-white skull, which itself has several black feathers hewn into the skeletal material. she swings it around easily, transferring it from one hand to the other as she spins it around her body, before she jabs forward, pointing its blade at her opponent. that unfortunate soul responds by removing something from their waist - a small flail, or something similar, fahrin isn’t really sure.

the stage has been set; the crow flies at her opponent.

fahrin hates to admit it, but after watching the demon fight for only a few heartbeats, she understands why they have risen to such infamy within the darkness clan so quickly.

the crow fights as if she’s dancing, of all things; each step is purposeful, surprisingly graceful even as they are stepping backwards to avoid the outward swing of their opponent’s flail.

then she is moving forward again, quickly slashing with her scythe in a semi-circle. fahrin can tell that she is exaggerating the strike; if she can hold onto the weapon with just one hand, there’s no reason for the crow to put so much force into this one blow. but as the scythe carves into their opponent’s flesh, cheers loudly echo out, the spectators expressing their glee.

ahh, fahrin realizes, she’s putting on a show for the audience.

and despite it all - despite knowing that this is only a farce, that the crow is purposefully playing on her clan’s inclination towards gore - fahrin finds her own attention intently drawn towards the fight, too. there’s something far more captivating to the crow’s movements than there is to most of the dance sequences that fahrin has seen in her movies, but she doesn’t know what.

though it hadn’t been a part of her plan to watch the fight to its completion, something invisible compels fahrin to see it through. by the time the match draws to its close, the crow’s opponent lies on the floor, blood seeping from their wounds and into the dirt. if someone has enough of a stake in that fighter’s future, they might go to their side; help them up, get whatever medical attention they can scrounge up in this place, but if not, well...good riddance to the weak.

without the crow’s presence, there’s nothing left for fahrin here. she stands up, vaguely dusting off her pants as she goes, before taking a few steps backwards. on one of the steps, her feet hit air instead of bone; fahrin tumbles from her perch, falling through the air. she allows herself a moment to relish the way the wind sharply whistles in her ears before she shifts her coat to wings, her fingers to talons, her hair to a mane. a single flap of her wings, and fahrin is propelling herself forward, flying in the vague direction of where the crow had gone.

this is fahrin’s home, after all; no one, no demon nor spirit, could hide from the reaper.

it doesn’t take very long for her to catch sight of the crow, but this time, she is not alone. a small cat wanders alongside the demon, his own wings flapping irritably, as if he is chiding the crow for something. it’s a strange sight, but even stranger is the way that the cat suddenly freezes.

had he heard her approach? now that wouldn’t do. fahrin was hoping to catch the crow unaware. she couldn’t chance the cat warning his companion about her arrival; tucking her wings close to her chest, fahrin allows herself to plummet towards the ground. before she can crash into the rocks, she spreads her wings again, catching herself as they transform back into her coat.

but already, there’s a bone-white scythe at fahrin’s throat.

although the metal glints dangerously in the low light of the darkness clan, fahrin knows – and is sure that the crow knows, too – that such an attack never had a chance of slicing against fahrin’s skin proper. it’s only meant to be a warning, she realizes, not a genuine attack.

still, fahrin chuckles softly. “really? and here i was, ready to offer you a compliment or two.”

“begone, reaper. we have no interest in your words.” to fahrin’s surprise, it’s the cat who speaks first, not the crow. he stalks to fahrin’s right; it’s a pitiful excuse at an attempt to surround her.

fahrin lets her gaze drift back to the crow. “i wasn’t speaking to you,” she tells him.

“leave it, yorick.” the crow warns, though she says it casually, benignly; like her companion has brought her a mouse that she doesn’t want, and not like he was trying to talk down the reaper.

the cat – yorick, fahrin supposes – growls softly, but with another click of their tongue, the crow calls him back to their side. he winds his way through their legs, his eye never leaving fahrin.

“eyes on me, lass.” the crow says. she tilts her head at fahrin, her other hand going to lift up the brim of her hat so that she can stare directly at the reaper. fahrin’s two eyes meet the crow’s one; she hadn’t known that they wear an eyepatch. that realization reminds fahrin that actually, she is wholly unfamiliar with the crow’s appearance, so she takes a heartbeat to study the demon.

fahrin’s first thought is that the crow is unfairly handsome; she has sharp features, and a sharper tongue, fahrin is sure, if the quickness with which she speaks is any indication. her eyebrow rises, as if posing a silent question to fahrin, and accompanying that expression is a gleam of purpose in the demon’s deep, brown eye, even despite the heavy eyebags that sit below it.

there’s a cool, metallic sensation against fahrin’s throat. the crow is using her scythe to pick up fahrin’s head by the chin, as if to remind her of the ongoing conversation. “well? out with it, then. whatever might the reaper want with me?” they say, their lips quirking up slightly.

fahrin can’t help the laugh that bubbles out from her throat. “how about a fight, to start?”

the crow blinks at her; it’s likely an expression born of incredulity. “no.”

now it's fahrin's turn to stare dumbly. did the crow actually deny her? fahrin can’t even remember the last time someone told her no. (it was likely prince, that obnoxious squirt).

“no?” fahrin repeats, disbelief lacing her tone. “what, are you afraid? look,” she starts, stepping into the scythe with a grin, “i’ll even let you land the first hit.” it’s hardly a dangerous cut; fahrin knows better than to seriously injure herself in this moment, but she can still smell some blood.

the crow hisses – a noise that fahrin distinctly recognizes to be one of pain – in response as she yanks the scythe back, hesitating before she dismisses it entirely back into her storage dimension. “you absolute fool,” they say, beginning to move as if stretch out their hand, but then it drops back to their side, the crow shaking their head instead. “i said no, reaper.”

“alright, alright.” fahrin throws up her hands, palms facing outward, and quietly hopes that the surrendering motion will placate her – and yorick, whose fur is bristling as he takes a step forward. from their reactions, fahrin can tell that she went a bit too far with the act.

and besides: there’s something about the crow that intrigues fahrin. she’ll get her fight one day; she’s sure of that much, at least, and in the meantime, fahrin can figure out what exactly that something might be. “listen. why don’t we get something to drink? my way of apologizing.”

“you won’t hear anyone say sorry down here, but i can offer you that much.” fahrin finishes.

“moving a wee bit fast there, aren’t you, lass? you don’t even know my name.”

hm. fair enough, fahrin thinks. “well? what is it?”

a sheepish expression crosses over the crow’s face. when she doesn’t immediately answer the question, fahrin runs a hand over her face, trying her best to stifle a laugh. “you don’t have one, do you? i should’ve known. what have you been calling her?” she directs this last question towards yorick, who at least has the decency to look guilty, shrinking in on himself.

“my dear, or some variant thereof. i find it sweet.” the demon cuts back into the conversation before yorick can answer. they crouch down, letting the cat easily climb onto their shoulders.

as he does so, fahrin removes her pipe from somewhere inside her jacket, lighting it before taking a long drag from the bone. she needs to busy herself with something before she accidentally gags at how sickly-endearing this conversation has suddenly become.

“some of my folk have taken to calling you the crow. so...crow. does that work?” she asks.

fahrin’s sight lingers on the demon’s lips as she mouths the word to herself once, then nods, but it seems to be more for her sake than fahrin’s. “that’ll do,” she says. it’s the softest that fahrin has heard her speak in this entire conversation, and there’s something strangely vulnerable about it.

fahrin isn’t sure what to do with that sort of emotion, having not felt it herself in years, so instead, she just tilts her head at them. “about those drinks, crow...” she repeats, all teeth.

crow huffs out, “you’re insatiable, aren’t you,” before chuckling softly. “very well, then.”

[ClefdeSoll]

YES. YESSSS. YESSS.

I love this!! it's so fun to read up on the darkness clan from your writing cause like yay you get it and what i'm doing heheeee.

[andor]

YES. YESSSS. YESSS.

I love this!! it's so fun to read up on the darkness clan from your writing cause like yay you get it and what i'm doing heheeee.

ough i hope i get it :tomosit: means a lot to hear you say that iubrguibtbnaigrng