[ There were a lot of things that the Ravagers had taught Peter, after they had stolen him away from home:
Trust your fellow Ravager.
We steal from everyone but each other.
Don't ever. Ever. Ever fuck with magic.
Unfortunately for them, Peter had never been good at following instructions.
They had become something like his family over the past twenty some-odd years, had treated him as one of their own, but that didn't mean he was close to them. Not particularly. Being frequently told, even as he was a child, that they only kept him around as emergency rations would sour any relationship, after all. But he was content to keep his head down among the band of thieves, until he was old enough and trusted enough to be sent on jobs on his own.
It was never a secret that Peter didn't like being a Ravager. It had, in fact, become something of a sticking point in his training and one of the many things they mocked him for. He did the work well enough, though, and his fellows assumed he was putting on airs, deluding himself into thinking he deserved something more. Something better.
The actual secret was that Peter wanted power. He'd spent most of his life feeling like victim that at this point? He was pretty much ready to do anything.
There was a new job being passed around -- but this job was different. The best thieves among them would adamantly refuse to take the assignment, and something about the fear in their eyes made Peter curious. What the hell was wrong with this job that all these men and women, ostensibly at the top of their game, would turn ghostly white and go practically shitless at the mention of it?
Something amazing, probably. Dangerous. So Peter volunteered.
The job was securing an ancient relic, and when Peter held it, he understood what the problem was. It was dripping with magic, soaking with it, enough so that the entire chamber that housed it stank of something uniquely, darkly arcane. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, like in the moments before a thunderstorm, could taste something metallic in his mouth, could feel the power of it pulsing up his arm and course through his body. It was-- it was intoxicating.
He didn't make the rendezvous that night, or the back-up rendezvous the night after that. In fact, he dodged all the Ravagers sent after him in the following days.
The ritual to utilize the relic, as it turns out, was nothing more than channeling a desire in the dead of night -- something Peter finds out purely by accident after setting up camp in the forest. There was a flash of light, he remembers, and the relic had seared the palm of his hand before he was able to drop it with a hissed curse; there's also an excellent chance, he thinks, that he may have blacked out, judging by the fact that he's in a heap on the forest floor, and his head is throbbing in time with the beating of his heart.
It's not until he forces himself up into a sitting position that he sees-- someone. Someone where a "someone" definitely hadn't been before, which is reason enough for Peter to pull out a blade from his boot and scramble into a crouched, defensive position. ]
[ That someone is sitting on a nearby tree stump, one leg crossed over the other, and perched like gravity was more of a suggestion than an actual rule.
She regards him coolly with pale yellow eyes, unfazed by the knife in his hand- and perhaps amused by his reaction, if the slight quirk of her lips is any indication. How cute, she thinks, when he demands to know who she is.
If he knew anything at all about the dark forces in this world, the markings on the left side of her body, visible on her bare arm, and on her leg beneath the tattered remains of her yellow skirt, should identify her right away.
Siren. As powerful as they were rare, it took a great deal of power to summon one, even more to trap one in a relic like she had been. But she had to hand it to the Brothers of the Order of the Impending Storm- they knew their dark rituals. She'd be impressed, if the whole ordeal hadn't cost their leader his life.
Somehow this... this boy had freed her, though he didn't seem to realize it, but she was now beholden to him regardless. She'd felt his hunger, his need for power, when he picked up the relic for the first time. It had intrigued her. ]
Do you not know?
[ a question she already knows the answer to, but she asks it anyway ]
[ He can't make out very much of her features in the firelight (purposefully kept weak to avoid drawing attention from the main road), but the flickering light offers him glimpses of the markings covering her body -- no, he amends, just the one side -- and the strange way she was sitting. It kind of seems like she's--?
No. Don't be stupid, he thinks, and he shakes his head, as much to clear the thought as it is a silly attempt to alleviate the ache in his temples.
He still feels that same static, that strange aura that signaled magic (and a part of him has been trained to fear it), and somehow it feels both muted and magnified at the same time. He can still taste it, still smell it, and it keeps him wary. As it is, the feel of his knife's worn leather hilt is the only reassuring thing anchoring him right now. ]
If I did, would I have asked?
[ He manages to sound angry -- a trick he learned as a kid. Anger is the best way to conceal fear, and it's right about now that Peter is realizing that whatever he's done, whatever he's in for, he's definitely in way over his fucking head. ]
[ Peter, for his part, does not put the knife away. In fact, he grips it all the more tightly. Peter has never been quick to trust, and ladies randomly appearing out of seemingly nowhere are very low on the list of “people to whom you can entrust your neck.”
But she has a point, he thinks, though there was no way he was saying that aloud. There’s no telling how long she had been there when he had blacked out; judging by the fire he had stoked, which was only slightly less bright (if it had diminished at all), he couldn’t have been out more than a few moments, but that was still time enough to slit his throat, if she had the desire to.
His eyes flick down to the relic when hers do, but only for a moment – his eyes are back on her face (what little he could see of it) the second he determined the relic was, in fact, still there. ]
I-- [ He hesitates and frowns a little; he works to gather his thoughts, and when he speaks next, he seems doubtful of his own words. ] I didn’t free you.
[ She angles her head slightly to inspect him- there's something decidedly inhuman about the way she does it. She moves more like a bird of prey than a person sometimes. ]
How's your hand?
[ The relic didn't leave him unscathed, and he'll find himself the owner of a new tattoo, right on his palm. ]
[ If the manner of her movement unnerves him, he doesn't show it -- but it does, in the same sort of way that one instinctually fears smell of rot and sickness. Unnatural.
The mention of his hand draws his attention to the dull ache there, and he suddenly remembers the relic had burned him before he dropped it. He flexes his left palm experimentally, and there's a slight twinge of pain that is easily ignored, before he glances down to inspect it.
... Shit. ]
What is this? [ Despite himself, he sounds more curious than afraid. ]
A contract. [ is the matter-of-fact reply. She has a book on her belt with the same symbol on the front. A wave of her hand and it floats in front of her, flipping open, pages rustling. If he had any doubts about her humanity, well. That should probably put an end to them. ]
Of course, you've yet to agree to anything, and I am nothing if not fair. Consider this your chance to back out- but I can promise you that, should you agree, the power you desire will be yours.
[ A motion of her hand sends the book floating towards him, open to a simple incantation. A spell of binding. A verbal signature. ]
And to answer your earlier question, my name is Maya, and I am one of the six Sirens.
The word bounces around in his head as he stares at the brand on his palm, then at the incantation floating before him. Siren. Powerful. Beautiful. Lethal. Frequently led men to their doom. Peter had heard stories, of course, nighttime tales meant to frighten and warn away from the dangers of hubris, but he never thought they were real. And if Ravagers weren't meant to mess with magic, the case for Sirens was a completely different level of Never. Fucking. Ever.
His mind is racing with >possibilities. He knows he should refuse. He's in way over his head. Everything about this screamed wrong.
But he's speaking before he realizes it: ] What's the catch? There's always a catch.
It's true, nothing is truly free. But you did free me from that damnable relic, and put an end to twenty-seven long years in imprisonment.
[ She cants her head again, tapping her chin with one finger. ] A little leeway, then. I will be in your service for as long as you like, and the first month of our contract shall be free of cost. For every day, every month, every year after that, I will take an equal measure of your life.
[ He can't help it -- the corner of his mouth twitches upward in the beginnings of a smile. ]
So what you're telling me is that you're giving me a free trial.
[ He weighs the consequences of the deal, but if he's honest with himself? The price he has to pay isn't much. Peter's never expected to live very long, anyway; the life of a Ravager isn't exactly one rife with luxury, after all, and it was often that a Ravager never returned from an assignment. Those that went missing weren't spared more than a second of silence before their belongings were divvied out.
Peter could refuse, though. That was definitely an option. But he's also pretty sure that after this stunt he's pulled with running off with the relic, they would probably make good on their threats of eating him if he returned to the group. But-- "better the devil you know, than the devil you don't" right?
So. Shortened life span and the power he's always wanted? Or go back with a useless, dead relic in hand and an extremely short lifespan?
Decisions, decisions.
His mouth is set in a grim line as he studies the floating book before him. His left hand flexes and clenches into a fist repeatedly as he thinks everything over, then his gaze flicks back up to the Siren. ]
I just read this aloud, and we have a deal? But I can back out whenever I want, right?
He doesn’t know why he’s even thinking about it, really. He knows his decision, has known it since he took this job in the first place. Maybe he just doesn’t want to seem too eager – some silly compulsion to impress the Siren. Stupid. But Peter’s always had a stupid streak in him.
This is a huge fucking mistake to end all mistakes, he thinks.
He nods to himself, conclusion reached, and replaces the knife in its hidden sheath in his boot. Licking his lips, he casts another nervous glance at the Siren before reading the incantation aloud. ]
[ In some ways, Peter's kind of disappointed; he was sort of expecting fire and brimstone, honestly. He doesn't feel any different, certainly, aside from the twinge in his hand that faded as soon as the book is shut.
He stands slowly and does his best to look Maya in the eye. ]
Now? Well, now I think it would be prudent to have a conversation with the gentleman hiding in the bushes.
[ He's uh. He's been there a while. And now that Maya has outed him, he tries to make a break for it, but she waves her arm, tattoos glowing bright. Their eavesdropping friend rises out of his hiding place, trapped in an orb of purple light. ]
[ Fuck. Fuck, how did he not notice? Peter spins around just as the guy is forced up into the air, trapped in-- whatever the hell that thing Maya just conjured was.
Peter and the man (whimpering, now) stare at each other -- the man with wide, terrified eyes, and Peter with a growing sense of dread. He knows him, he realizes. Another Ravager, but not a friend or even an acquaintance -- someone on the team, at the very least, and he recognizes the face.
He doesn't turn to look at her, but he addresses Maya-- ]
What did you do to him? [ Still curious, rather than frightened or panicked -- and even Peter thinks that's odd, that he's not particularly afraid. ]
[ That's all she says before the man bursts into flame, unable to move and stuck silently screaming in her trap. It's a painful death to be sure, but a quick one. She lets him drop, broken and charred, to the ground. ]
[ And Peter resolutely does not look -- in fact, he shuts his eyes and keeps his back to the man, though the burst of heat and the sudden back draft and the smell (oh god, the smell) definitely clue him in on what's currently happening to him.
He feels guilty for not feeling guilty, but he's never had any love for the Ravagers. Not a one.
It's only when he hears the sound of the body hitting the ground that he moves. He picks up his satchel -- and as an afterthought, the dead relic -- and kicks dirt over the fire. ]
Ravagers send scouts in twos. We should leave before the other comes looking.
[ But even as she says it, she hops down from her perch, landing soundlessly on the grass. If he wants to go, she'll go. Though something does occur to her. ]
I know you don't. [ You. Not I. They're her powers, after all. He's only directing them, like an archer nocking an arrow. ] I just-- [ "don't want to hurt anyone," is on the tip of his tongue, but that's wrong. He wants to destroy the Ravagers, honestly. Wipe them out for stealing him away from his home. But not-- he doesn't think he has the stomach for it like this. Not one at a time. Better to feel guilt-but-not-guilt all at once, he thinks.
And he thinks his mother would be disappointed with the way he's turned out now, hungry for revenge and power, only he doesn't really remember what she sounds like anymore. Maybe if he did, he'd have her voice in his head urging him to take a different path.
He doesn't realize he's stilled, lost in his thoughts, until she speaks -- and he doesn't quite start at the sound of her voice, but he does look up at her sharply. ]
[ He shoulders his bag and looks to be at a loss at her question -- honestly, he didn't think he would get this far before the Ravagers caught up to him. ]
... I don't know. [ Away? ] I think the next town is at least a day's journey from here.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
AU magic/demon time muhfuggassssss
Unfortunately for them, Peter had never been good at following instructions.
They had become something like his family over the past twenty some-odd years, had treated him as one of their own, but that didn't mean he was close to them. Not particularly. Being frequently told, even as he was a child, that they only kept him around as emergency rations would sour any relationship, after all. But he was content to keep his head down among the band of thieves, until he was old enough and trusted enough to be sent on jobs on his own.
It was never a secret that Peter didn't like being a Ravager. It had, in fact, become something of a sticking point in his training and one of the many things they mocked him for. He did the work well enough, though, and his fellows assumed he was putting on airs, deluding himself into thinking he deserved something more. Something better.
The actual secret was that Peter wanted power. He'd spent most of his life feeling like victim that at this point? He was pretty much ready to do anything.
There was a new job being passed around -- but this job was different. The best thieves among them would adamantly refuse to take the assignment, and something about the fear in their eyes made Peter curious. What the hell was wrong with this job that all these men and women, ostensibly at the top of their game, would turn ghostly white and go practically shitless at the mention of it?
Something amazing, probably. Dangerous. So Peter volunteered.
The job was securing an ancient relic, and when Peter held it, he understood what the problem was. It was dripping with magic, soaking with it, enough so that the entire chamber that housed it stank of something uniquely, darkly arcane. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, like in the moments before a thunderstorm, could taste something metallic in his mouth, could feel the power of it pulsing up his arm and course through his body. It was-- it was intoxicating.
He didn't make the rendezvous that night, or the back-up rendezvous the night after that. In fact, he dodged all the Ravagers sent after him in the following days.
The ritual to utilize the relic, as it turns out, was nothing more than channeling a desire in the dead of night -- something Peter finds out purely by accident after setting up camp in the forest. There was a flash of light, he remembers, and the relic had seared the palm of his hand before he was able to drop it with a hissed curse; there's also an excellent chance, he thinks, that he may have blacked out, judging by the fact that he's in a heap on the forest floor, and his head is throbbing in time with the beating of his heart.
It's not until he forces himself up into a sitting position that he sees-- someone. Someone where a "someone" definitely hadn't been before, which is reason enough for Peter to pull out a blade from his boot and scramble into a crouched, defensive position. ]
Who the hell are you?
no subject
She regards him coolly with pale yellow eyes, unfazed by the knife in his hand- and perhaps amused by his reaction, if the slight quirk of her lips is any indication. How cute, she thinks, when he demands to know who she is.
If he knew anything at all about the dark forces in this world, the markings on the left side of her body, visible on her bare arm, and on her leg beneath the tattered remains of her yellow skirt, should identify her right away.
Siren. As powerful as they were rare, it took a great deal of power to summon one, even more to trap one in a relic like she had been. But she had to hand it to the Brothers of the Order of the Impending Storm- they knew their dark rituals. She'd be impressed, if the whole ordeal hadn't cost their leader his life.
Somehow this... this boy had freed her, though he didn't seem to realize it, but she was now beholden to him regardless. She'd felt his hunger, his need for power, when he picked up the relic for the first time. It had intrigued her. ]
Do you not know?
[ a question she already knows the answer to, but she asks it anyway ]
no subject
No. Don't be stupid, he thinks, and he shakes his head, as much to clear the thought as it is a silly attempt to alleviate the ache in his temples.
He still feels that same static, that strange aura that signaled magic (and a part of him has been trained to fear it), and somehow it feels both muted and magnified at the same time. He can still taste it, still smell it, and it keeps him wary. As it is, the feel of his knife's worn leather hilt is the only reassuring thing anchoring him right now. ]
If I did, would I have asked?
[ He manages to sound angry -- a trick he learned as a kid. Anger is the best way to conceal fear, and it's right about now that Peter is realizing that whatever he's done, whatever he's in for, he's definitely in way over his fucking head. ]
no subject
Peace. If I meant to hurt you, I would have already. Put the knife away.
[ a beat, and her gaze falls to where he dropped the relic, now cold and dead and devoid of all power ]
I should thank you, for freeing me from that wretched thing.
no subject
But she has a point, he thinks, though there was no way he was saying that aloud. There’s no telling how long she had been there when he had blacked out; judging by the fire he had stoked, which was only slightly less bright (if it had diminished at all), he couldn’t have been out more than a few moments, but that was still time enough to slit his throat, if she had the desire to.
His eyes flick down to the relic when hers do, but only for a moment – his eyes are back on her face (what little he could see of it) the second he determined the relic was, in fact, still there. ]
I-- [ He hesitates and frowns a little; he works to gather his thoughts, and when he speaks next, he seems doubtful of his own words. ] I didn’t free you.
no subject
[ She angles her head slightly to inspect him- there's something decidedly inhuman about the way she does it. She moves more like a bird of prey than a person sometimes. ]
How's your hand?
[ The relic didn't leave him unscathed, and he'll find himself the owner of a new tattoo, right on his palm. ]
no subject
The mention of his hand draws his attention to the dull ache there, and he suddenly remembers the relic had burned him before he dropped it. He flexes his left palm experimentally, and there's a slight twinge of pain that is easily ignored, before he glances down to inspect it.
... Shit. ]
What is this? [ Despite himself, he sounds more curious than afraid. ]
no subject
Of course, you've yet to agree to anything, and I am nothing if not fair. Consider this your chance to back out- but I can promise you that, should you agree, the power you desire will be yours.
[ A motion of her hand sends the book floating towards him, open to a simple incantation. A spell of binding. A verbal signature. ]
And to answer your earlier question, my name is Maya, and I am one of the six Sirens.
no subject
The word bounces around in his head as he stares at the brand on his palm, then at the incantation floating before him. Siren. Powerful. Beautiful. Lethal. Frequently led men to their doom. Peter had heard stories, of course, nighttime tales meant to frighten and warn away from the dangers of hubris, but he never thought they were real. And if Ravagers weren't meant to mess with magic, the case for Sirens was a completely different level of Never. Fucking. Ever.
His mind is racing with >possibilities. He knows he should refuse. He's in way over his head. Everything about this screamed wrong.
But he's speaking before he realizes it: ] What's the catch? There's always a catch.
no subject
[ She cants her head again, tapping her chin with one finger. ] A little leeway, then. I will be in your service for as long as you like, and the first month of our contract shall be free of cost. For every day, every month, every year after that, I will take an equal measure of your life.
no subject
So what you're telling me is that you're giving me a free trial.
[ He weighs the consequences of the deal, but if he's honest with himself? The price he has to pay isn't much. Peter's never expected to live very long, anyway; the life of a Ravager isn't exactly one rife with luxury, after all, and it was often that a Ravager never returned from an assignment. Those that went missing weren't spared more than a second of silence before their belongings were divvied out.
Peter could refuse, though. That was definitely an option. But he's also pretty sure that after this stunt he's pulled with running off with the relic, they would probably make good on their threats of eating him if he returned to the group. But-- "better the devil you know, than the devil you don't" right?
So. Shortened life span and the power he's always wanted? Or go back with a useless, dead relic in hand and an extremely short lifespan?
Decisions, decisions.
His mouth is set in a grim line as he studies the floating book before him. His left hand flexes and clenches into a fist repeatedly as he thinks everything over, then his gaze flicks back up to the Siren. ]
I just read this aloud, and we have a deal? But I can back out whenever I want, right?
no subject
[ as for the rest, she nods, confirming his first question ] Those are the terms. Have you made your choice?
no subject
He doesn’t know why he’s even thinking about it, really. He knows his decision, has known it since he took this job in the first place. Maybe he just doesn’t want to seem too eager – some silly compulsion to impress the Siren. Stupid. But Peter’s always had a stupid streak in him.
This is a huge fucking mistake to end all mistakes, he thinks.
He nods to himself, conclusion reached, and replaces the knife in its hidden sheath in his boot. Licking his lips, he casts another nervous glance at the Siren before reading the incantation aloud. ]
no subject
His hand probably tingles, and if he were to look, it would appear that the mark on his palm has begun to bleed.
It's over in a matter of moments, though, and Maya's book snaps shut and flies back into her hand. ]
Then we have an agreement.
no subject
He stands slowly and does his best to look Maya in the eye. ]
What happens now?
no subject
Now? Well, now I think it would be prudent to have a conversation with the gentleman hiding in the bushes.
[ He's uh. He's been there a while. And now that Maya has outed him, he tries to make a break for it, but she waves her arm, tattoos glowing bright. Their eavesdropping friend rises out of his hiding place, trapped in an orb of purple light. ]
no subject
[ Fuck. Fuck, how did he not notice? Peter spins around just as the guy is forced up into the air, trapped in-- whatever the hell that thing Maya just conjured was.
Peter and the man (whimpering, now) stare at each other -- the man with wide, terrified eyes, and Peter with a growing sense of dread. He knows him, he realizes. Another Ravager, but not a friend or even an acquaintance -- someone on the team, at the very least, and he recognizes the face.
He doesn't turn to look at her, but he addresses Maya-- ]
What did you do to him? [ Still curious, rather than frightened or panicked -- and even Peter thinks that's odd, that he's not particularly afraid. ]
no subject
But I could kill him, if you'd like.
no subject
Not for too long, though, as after a second he turns to Maya and nods. ]
Do it. He'll send the others after us if we let him go.
no subject
[ That's all she says before the man bursts into flame, unable to move and stuck silently screaming in her trap. It's a painful death to be sure, but a quick one. She lets him drop, broken and charred, to the ground. ]
no subject
He feels guilty for not feeling guilty, but he's never had any love for the Ravagers. Not a one.
It's only when he hears the sound of the body hitting the ground that he moves. He picks up his satchel -- and as an afterthought, the dead relic -- and kicks dirt over the fire. ]
Ravagers send scouts in twos. We should leave before the other comes looking.
no subject
[ But even as she says it, she hops down from her perch, landing soundlessly on the grass. If he wants to go, she'll go. Though something does occur to her. ]
What's your name?
no subject
And he thinks his mother would be disappointed with the way he's turned out now, hungry for revenge and power, only he doesn't really remember what she sounds like anymore. Maybe if he did, he'd have her voice in his head urging him to take a different path.
He doesn't realize he's stilled, lost in his thoughts, until she speaks -- and he doesn't quite start at the sound of her voice, but he does look up at her sharply. ]
I'm Peter. Peter Quill.
no subject
[ She tries the name out, and, seemingly satisfied with the sound of it, gives a nod. ]
Where to, then?
no subject
... I don't know. [ Away? ] I think the next town is at least a day's journey from here.
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