song_tra_bong | (no subject)

She appears on the balcony, perched on the railing, her old Celtic attire fluttering in the sea-sweet breeze. Normally, she wore more stylish, modern clothing, but whenever she visited this world, she found herself donning what she was wearing during the happiest moments of her life.

And the most sorrowful ones.

Coira's eyes are bright blue. Inhumanly so. Her hair full of waves, golden like wheat in the sun, and skin pale and creamy. She bears a resemblance to Mary Anne, but at the same time, she is a very different individual.

"So," she says, her voice thick with the same Scottish brogue Ruin possessed. "You did it, hmm?"

She's not family, but she's here and her voice--

She wishes she didn't know who this woman is.

"Coira. Pleasant surprise."

She doesn't move.

Not immediate family, no.

But extended.

The Numbers rarely spoke with the Cards.

"Is it? It seems neither pleasant or a surprise from where I'm sitting."

"Appearances are decieving," she says.

"To what do I owe this visit?"

Coira smiles.

"Can't I simply desire to drop by and wish you well, Mary Anne?"

She smiles in return.

"Of course you can. You just surprised me a little, though I suppose I should get used to people appearing out of thin air."

"You can do it now as well."

Coira shoves her hair back from her face and looks out over the ocean.

"This was supposed to be my home," she says quietly, an edge of bitterness to her tone.

"Why isn't it?" she asks.

"You should know," she says with a soft sneer, her eyes focusing on Mary Anne. "We don't get to choose what we are. When he brought me here, I thought it was to become like him. Instead, I was something similar, but not quite exact. There was a new wall between us." Coira's jaw clenched. "And I hated him."

"We don't get to choose what we are," she echoes,

"but we choose to change. He didn't make you."

"He brought me here. You tell me, when your husband is clinging to your hand, tears on his face, your blood on his hands because you can't stop bleeding... when the pain is there, the coldness creeping throughout your body and you know Death is coming..." Her eyes never blink, but her fingers grip the banister with a strangle-hold. "When you are dying and he is there begging... is it really a choice?"

She's met Death--not a bad girl. Before She ever had a face, there were days that Mary Anne wanted Her; times she was close. And now she's given that up. She's not sure how she feels about that just yet.

"Yes."

"You will never know for certain. Your choice was made under vastly different circumstances."

Coira sighs, looking up at the dual moons.

"Still. It was his fault. He shouldn't have brought me here. He shouldn't have presented me with any choice."

"He loved you."

It's not an excuse, but it is a reason.

And she doesn't think about the fact that it hurts a little to say.

Coira actually stops breathing for a short while.

"Yes. He did."

She turns to look at her, closely.

"And from the looks of things at present, he still does."

Mary Anne goes absolutely still.

She cannot kill this woman.

But she would like to.

"If he did, would I be here?"

And even as the words leave her mouth, she knows they are not a safe thing to say. There is no safe thing to say. She's trapped.

"Yes, you would be," she says slowly, her eyes almost glowing. "He can't have me. Not anymore. Not after all he has done, will do. Come now, Mary Anne. Haven't you wondered about it? About who he thinks of when you give him your body?" Coira smiles faintly. "I was the only woman he ever married. Swore forever to."

The bitterness and jealousy was there because Mary Anne was free to love and have Ciaran, while she had been forced by Knowledge and hatred to turn from him. Bound from him, though her heart still ached to have him back.

"It's not like that."

("Don't flatter yourself. One in millions, that's what you are.")

The argument sounds weak even to her, but she can't focus enough to form a better one.

("I've compared, yes. I can't help it.")

"I'm not a replacement for you."

("I loved--love Coira. Despite how much I wish I didn't, I do.")

and how do you know? because he said so and he's so honest about her isn't he told you he loves her after all

"I'm not."

"You're certain of that?" she asks in a quiet, conspiratorial tone. "You trust Ruin, a personification of absolute bottom, to tell you all his heart holds?"

She won't say no.

She can't say no.

She bites her tongue instead, until she can taste blood.

A slow smile.

"Didn't think so." She leans back a little, feeling slight vertigo at the height. "Did you know about our son? It's something he's hidden from me. Whatever happened to the baby I gave my life, love, and humanity for. You'd think he'd have some mercy..."

"I don't know."

Her mouth is dry and she has to pause a moment before continuing.

"I don't know what happened to him."

"Secrets. I would have thought someone in this family, or my own, could have told me, but Ciaran--" she looks pointedly at Mary Anne, as if proving something by knowing his name, "--has shielded his fate from everyone. I wonder why that was."

Her eyes flicker to Mary Anne's left hand, and there seems to be a spark of relief in them as they shift away.

She doesn't flinch at the name. Plenty of time for her to learn it.

Her left hand curls unconciously into a fist.

"Everyone has their secrets."

"They do."

Her eyes flash.

"He was my son. And Ciaran is still my husband."

Coira surprises even herself with that second statement.

She pales sharply.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He had sensed Mary Anne's tension.

Now he stands in the shadows, listening to these women.

One who holds his heart.

One who held his heart.

He hasn't seen Coira since that damned night, and now... with her sitting so near his present lover--

"It means nothing," he says finally, stepping forward. "A promise long broken."

"'Ye are Blood of my Blood, and Bone of my Bone. I give ye my Body, that we Two might be One. I give ye my Spirit, 'til our Life shall be Done,'" Coira quotes, her eyes on Ruin. "Our lives are immortal, Ciaran."

Ruin takes Mary Anne's hand and pulls her closer to him. "You left, Coira. Your choice."

She stumbles nearer to him, still watching Coira.

blood of my bone of my heart oh my heart

Her fingers twine with his, grip tightening until her knuckles are white. She stays silent, watching.

"Time means very little for us. You've dallied about for centuries."

Coira hops down from the railing, coming closer to the couple.

"What happened to our son?"

Ruin's body stiffens. "I don't know. I don't much care, either."

Slowly, cruelly, she smiles. "You are a terrible liar. You always have been." Coira leans up and presses a lingering kiss to Ruin's lips, then steps back, smirking at Mary Anne. "It's been a pleasure to meet you, and perhaps we can... chat again sometime."

Coira walks from the balcony, disappearing into the castle, her footsteps vanishing after only half a dozen. Only when the sound of the ocean rushes into his ears does Ruin exhale a ragged breath.

Her hand hurts from holding on so tightly to his. She doesn't let go.

She wants to carve that smirk off of Coira's face.

She wants to scream at him, at the sky, at Fate itself until her lungs are empty.

She wants to ask him if he still loves her. Coira. Either of them.

She does none of these things, instead just leaning against him and resting her head on his shoulder.

He releases her hand and wraps his arms around her, kissing the crown of her head.

"My Queen," he breathes into the silken locks, closing his eyes.

(love her, Legs... love her love you but it's you my choice is you)

She sighs, low and rough. One hand curls lightly in the fabric of his shirt (an anchor).

"Hi, lover," she whispers.

He looks out over the sea, craddling her to his chest.

"An eventful day?" he asks with a wry chuckle.

"Something like that."

No laughter in her tone just yet.

"You have good timing."

She doesn't ask how long he was standing there.

He nuzzles her ear.

"Yep. Always come when the worst is about to happen." His grip tightens. "I love ya, Legs. Don't worry too much about Coira."

He didn't say not to worry at all... just... not worry too much.

She smiles faintly. "Love you, too."

Beat.

"And I won't."

Not too much, just enough.

"Come to bed," he whispers, smiling against her cheek now. "It's late."

("Haven't you wondered about it? About who he thinks of when you give him your body?")

"Of course."

She turns her head to kiss him lightly, repeating against his mouth, "Of course."

He pulls her toward her room, kissing her gently.

It was so strange, being gentle, not wanting to hurt.

(this is wrong you always want to hurt need to hurt must hurt pain and pleasure sex and blood and lust and need and)

"Bedtime for the Queen and her humble servant," he teases as he begins to strip her.

"Servant, maybe. Humble--"

She tugs his shirt over his head.

"Hardly."

He laughs, shaking his head.

"You saying I'm full of myself, Legs?" He tugs her to the bed, pressing close.

"You? Perish the thought."

She pulls away, falling back onto the bed.

"Just saying maybe...humility isn't your strongsuit."

"Not in the slightest."

He lays beside her, eyes on her face.

"You okay, Legs?" he asks quietly, seriously.

"I don't know."

She runs a hand through his hair.

"But I think I will be."

He smiles before kissing her again. Ruin pulls Mary Anne into the curve of his body, holding onto her tightly.

"If the ancient Celts had had divorce papers... I would have filed them long ago," he murmurs.

"I know you would have, lover. I know."

She presses a kiss to the hollow of his throat.

"Can we...not talk about her any more right now?" she (whispers pleads prays) asks.

He nods.

Instead, he moves to kiss her neck, shoulders, chest.

Caresses, touches, claims and learns.

A reassurance to her.

A reassurance to himself.

Kisses and touches are returned.

(haven't you wondered)

Tracing and memorizing, as if she should forget.

(haven't you wondered)

Or lose.

(haven't you wondered)

She has wondered, but not tonight. The morning, perhaps, but not tonight.

(terrible liar)

Not tonight.