La Lionne et the Lamb

[Gildarts]

The reality slowly simmered in her mind.

Of life, death, and Slurt.

She knew it was not so much what things had become, but rather the how keeping her up at night.

Her eyes flickered to the book of shadowed fairytales, tossed haphazardly on a shelf that stored this of her few belongings. The one where her face lay imprinted on some random page. She wanted to tear out the page, burn it in the fire so that Slurt would not see her shame. However, something kept her from it.

It was a truth that needed to be told, she supposed to herself lifelessly, But not today.

Hearing her own breath as she drank in the quiet stillness of the night. Her mind however, remained alive, paced with the metronomic thrum of the hospital monitor’s incessant chirp still kept her up far beyond the point it had been unplugged. Now they'd plugged into a different moment but it was as effective as mashing two realities together.

One could not have one without the other.

As, they were forever free from that previous world and forced to live in a different sort of normal. Though, each would never escape the memories imprisoning them in their minds. Christine couldn't help but hope that Slurt was still just young enough to erase the depth he'd endured. New memories could be powerful enough to overcome the old... With a little magic. The gentle press of a smile curled the side of her lip as another hopeful thought bloomed.

A diminished chord struck her though, scorching the beauty of the thought with a wave of suffocating pain.

They'd escaped, she told herself, the worst of it.

But then why couldn't she keep her eyes closed? Was she afraid of a different breed of dream?

The kind that haunted them with nightmares that were no longer alive and hidden in the bushes of the night. The kind that sounded like Karl Jak’s voice, telling her who died and never saying a good enough reason that they did. The kind of thoughts that told her she had never escaped and never could. The very thing that tore hope's precious presence away. Fear.

The murderer once considered herself more like Karl. Now… She didn’t have a name for herself beyond the name she wanted. Maman. Except this time she’d accept the mantle with all the implications and strings attached. Maybe even more than the usual mother. She did, after all, still have the shadowy tethers to the dark ether of the void.

A breath flowed out of her nose, one that was forced as she closed her eyes and tried to imagine being in a different room. But the imprinted thought of the layout became her inescapable reality, simmering once again.

She felt cold and alone. Solitude meant responsibility. Sleep meant her protection fell one notch less than usual. A risk Karl Jak would announce with the brevity proudly opposite of gravitas the situation would've called for. For a moment, she felt it. The exact weight of her own disembodied head before her consciousness seeped into the beyond...


Now, a reality narrated a changed story. Their hotel room was far from resembling a home, so much so, they shared a bed. In this hollow, stranger’s room, though it was more comfortable that way as they shared the same trauma too.

Holding it in different ways.

Christine’s eyes peered under the covers as she looked down the bridge of her nose. A crumpled green lump being the little spoon of their cozy mound. Huddled beneath the covers for warmth and the security the cocooning weight of a blanket provided.

A consideration for a hunter’s voice charred her mind. A mother, protecting her cub as she slept.

The woman felt the press of her arm tug above him and her eyes would not pull from the infinitely resounding warmth that just gazing at the slumbering child provided. She whispered a silent promise as her lips met the crown of the goblin’s head, “il n'y aura plus de mort mon enfant.” There will be no more death for you, my child. “I command it.”

The doubt that creased her heart in the slightest shiver, drew her eyes back to the supernatural folklore tome on the wayward furniture’s shelf. “La douleur est inévitable, mais la souffrance... Je souhaite seulement la tenir à l'écart. Un monstre comme moi devrait être capable de faire quelque chose d'aussi simple que ça.” Pain is inevitable, but suffering... I wish only to keep it away. A monster like me should be able to do something so simple as that.

She tossed her head so she didn’t have to keep staring down a book that continued to gaze back at her and assumed a supine position, gazing upwards at the heavens while keeping the nook beneath her shoulder surrounding Slurt in the concave outline of her flesh.

“I'm far from a heroine in a fairy tale, mon prince.” She breathlessly pronounced, looking up as she considered the army of undead that awaited her on a throne supposedly destined for her. The black halo remained above her head, a crown of death she no longer wished to bear.

Free of a curse that should’ve ended in a different sort of death. Her own. She would never be free of the thought that lingered just above the veil of her mind.

It was unfortunate. She had been unable to save her prince.

But, there was one good thing that came of it, he’d made her believe in redemption again.

 

[Toga Voorhees]

In the darkness of sleep, Slurt dreamed. The memories of his recent adventure played out in his mind’s eye; a panorama of scenes, both pleasant and horrifying. Some came as they were in life, while others were twisted to form alternate realities. The boy re-lived his meeting with Christine, and in one iteration, she had slain him as readily as she had the man before. The poisonous Caustic was there again, but this time Slurt’s struggle had won the day, a well-placed thrust of the spork laying the man low and sending the goopy Lilith running for the hills.

But, the vision that came most frequently was the one which had marked Slurt’s final moments on that island of death. He hadn’t known what it was, not really. Some man, or maybe a woman, coated in slick, black slime. The pain was what he remembered most, his small body having been run to near death already. But, within his breast, a hardness had grown, and he had stared down that monster as though it had been a dog trying to wrest away his only meal of the day. What happened after his reckless charge, he only learned later.

The television had been on in his room, the program replaying the ‘highlights’ of the event. That’s where he saw it. The way he had died. It was almost funny how easy it had been for the monster. Like a child pulling the legs from a spider, the Malefactor had deftly leapt over the boy and bitten off his head. Slurt had previously only known that he HAD died, but not how. And now, before Christine could have realized what was happening and shut off the television, he had seen his own end.

Wrapped in her comforting arms, a soft hand stroking his nearly hairless scalp, and with soothing words spoken into his twitching ear, Slurt sat there in silence, stunned by what he had seen. It wasn’t the vulgarity of the death which haunted him, but rather the ease by which it had happened. He was weak. Pathetic. Christine. Riddick. Jester. They had all fought to keep him alive. They had shown their mettle and resolve while all he had done was drag them down. Maybe Christine would have lived, if he hadn’t been there. Maybe Riddick would have won, if he hadn’t spent everything he had just to keep Slurt alive. His tiny arms reached around, taking hold of Christine and, in his dream at least, he told her that he would become stronger. That she would never need to worry about him again. That, next time, he would protect her instead.

But, of course, it was a dream. In his true life, he had done nothing more but sob into her warm breast. And, why not? He was a child; small and insignificant. What could he do to change things? The Malefactor had shown him clearly that no matter how much he wanted it, and no matter how hard he tried, he would never be strong enough. He’d never be brave enough, either. In the end, he would always be a small child trying to survive in a world that didn’t even know he existed.

The dream ended, as all dreams do, as a soft light washed over his eyelids. It was dawn and the first rays of the sun were piercing the slats of the window-blinds, casting bright spots upon the comforter draped over him. Slurt was long-accustomed to these early-morning rises, so it didn’t take much for him to be pulled from slumber, even at his most exhausted. And, well, he was certainly not exhausted now. The bed, small as it was, had been the softest thing he had ever lain upon. The warmth that radiated from Christine had relaxed his tense muscles. His eyes fluttered open in wakefulness and he looked up to see that his protector was also awake, looking down at him with a matronly smile.

“Did you sleep well, mon petite prince?” she asked in her strange, yet soothing, accent and, with memory and dream still dancing within his skull, Slurt nodded emphatically, baring his teeth in an eager smile. His life had been just one hardship after another, whether on that island or before, but now? Now it was perfect and he felt the first inklings of the hope that it would never, ever change.

 

[Gildarts]

Spoiler

Distorted reality. Obscure. Distinctly non-reality, she corrected herself as the painting in her mind began to shift.

It was the throne room again. One grand empty room. A carpet lined her way to the top. She eyed the heaps of flesh that she’d stepped upon like stairs the first two times to get there as she began her ascension.

Instead, a swirl of terror transpired as the corpses breathed new life, this time against her. Body parts began to consume every surface of her skin, clawing hands wrapped against her, smothering her and anchoring her down as the flooding weight of the bodies encompassed her. She became one of the many that had fallen in her path. Just another tiny grain of sand to make up the dune of her evils.

A pan of the view sprawled and brought distance from the wiggling blackened fingertips, to the dislodged limbs and appendages beyond. Zooming afar into a birds’ eye view of the mountain surrounding the momentous below.

At the top of her decapitated dead army, lay the chair. Sitting with one leg over the other, were her own long legs adorned in a royal, silken black fabric. Above her shoulders, her head was missing. Sliced off by the last murderous guy with a collection much like her own.

Above it, resting dormantly where her head should’ve been lay the halo of death as her crown. The headless woman appeared to be on a throne, but it was a prison. Cursed to live with her guilt forever as her sins had forged her into this very moment…

Unless she found a way to undo their deaths, in the same way she had her own.

The faded giggle of blue laughter brought her back to the light.

It was just a bad dream. Clouds of the night parted as she saw the optimistic opportunity of the day come in with the sun.

Morning’s bright light, meanwhile, glared at her from the sliver of window between the curtain and the wall. It sliced right over her eye, right through its lid. The dull burn became annoying enough to twist herself over. The blob of Slurt’s warmth radiated from the sheets.

A morning anew. It felt fresh, had no particular smell, except for that of life of course. Her new eyes fell on the slumbering ball of childhood youth, all but lacking the same naivety.

Her eyes peered over to the blade that had been tilted to lean against the side of the furniture and at the ready next to the head of the bed. Her metaphorical tooth, ready to be wielded at any moment. Protection against that which was precious to her.

She felt the subtle throb of truth come over her. Like a pressure of gravity underneath the sheet. This time, they had taken a piece of him.

Just as once, she had a piece of her taken.

She whispered in his restful ear soundlessly, “I still believe in you, little one, as you have done the same for me. I never thought my lifetime would become…” Her lips wiggled with… hesitancy, “Filled with days that weren’t purposed for darkness. Per’aps, I can bring joy to you like ze sun. Perhaps we can be one another’s.”

I just have to bring you back to realize this.

Her form lifted to the side of the bed. Immediately she saw vanity.

In the reflection of the dresser’s vanity was herself.

Christine.

Eyes and hair, less blackened than before but still tarnished by death. Though a mother, though changed, the look in her eyes was still a murderer’s. Cold. Ruthless. Agonized yet fearless. Yes, she recognized herself in the mirror. With this acknowledgement, she knew without words that her struggle would remain. One day, she hoped she would not be able to. As many times in the past, she had wished on young Camille. It was a picture of her past.

The present was a living picture, a window into her life that she was forced to see through.

Had she been so bold to assume she could become an angel overnight? She donned a thin black halo that was a crown of death, not life. No matter how much she attempted to tether it away, it became but a persistent wisp of holographic smoke at her fingertips.

She chewed at her lip for just a moment before her eyes flittered down to Slurt through the mirror’s angle. His eyes were open, he had been awake and she did not know for how long.

A limp glaze lay over his eyes as he saw what was happening around him but was unable to process it. Trauma took on many faces.

Christine felt a chill of recognition. A once murderer, now a necromancer. Tasked with bringing back the dead. A task with no words. For there was no greater tragedy than the quest to bring back a child’s spirit. She took a blink to drink in the pain and then to kick it back, who better than she? What better punishment for killing a thousand men in cold blood, than to have to see a child suffer every day with painful memories that had forged him, forever imprinted so he could not possibly forget?

Whoever decided these things, whatever gods of destiny bound her in this life and tethered her to her fate must’ve known this was its own kind of Hell. To see a child suffer, her child, suffer every day.

She would be careful, not to believe the game of make believe she would play for both of them. She was not his salvation-yet. But he was and would always be hers.

Sure right now he was ever so slightly despondent, it had only been one night. He was still healing. Nightmares may have kept him awake, while conversely they had kept her from a restful sleep. Hopefully she could at least alleviate the suffering temporarily. Make life good again despite the pain. It would be whole once it scarred over. His wounds… Still tender, she supposed, she would treat him with the utmost care from head to toe.

Her eyes opened between her blink and it was as though Christine was cast in a supporting role on a sitcom. A broad smile leapt from her lips as her body danced to the curtain, arms trailing it to guide light into the room through the blinds.

The cascade of light bounced around the silhouette of her black attire, as though she were the only shadow in the room. Next, she gently guided the sheet from over Slurt’s shoulder, urging the young goblin to shed the dreary skin of the sedentary night.

“Did you sleep well, mon petit prince?” She’d asked. Then kicked herself. Stupid question. She’d even slept horribly.

Though to her relief, Slurt offered a gentle nod and smile. As though urging her valiant efforts forward.

“You know, mon prince, what the best thing in the world is?” Christine prompted.

Slurt however, had not moved.

Christine wondered what her spirit would’ve looked like, Per’aps this? if the revenant had not taken a vengeful form in the place of giving death rather than taking it away. The depression was laden between his eyes, still, the child felt the breath of life rise and fall beneath his chest. Still, he was brave enough to wear a teeny smile.

His eyes had moved to her, not his head though. There was care in her smile as her gaze and as though all the light in the room were pointed at him. The flood of warmth stirred something within him. It was too deep and muffled to feel its rattle at the surface.

It appeared Slurt didn’t want to budge or get up in the slightest. Christine however, wasn’t the type to take no for an answer when she wanted something.

“I’d tell you, but I’d rather show you. You know what I think? I think that a prince’s feet shouldn’t have to touch the ground. I also think…” She considered as a fateful glimmer crossed her face, “That today will be a day of surprises. For both of us, perhaps. Good surprises only. Does that sound okay, mon prince?”

Slurt blinked as within an instant Christine’s lithe body had crossed the room and picked him up. Her forearm became the seat of his throne as she cradled his back against her torso. Rather than look at the world swirl around the soaring goblin child, he looked up at Christine. Carrying him, a notion of unyielding love. There was purpose in her face, a smile remained, determination glittered in her eye. Below all those things though, lay a scar just below her chin that at this angle he happened to get a perfect view of.

The excitement that had been hesitating on his face submerged deeper as he was reminded. Glass formed over his eyes once again as his body was carried away by a tall amazon woman on a mission with all the care for him in the world. But his mind lay many miles elsewhere in the dark trenches of humanity’s capability for evil.

…

Like most travelers without a kitchen, a hotel breakfast was in order.

She’d set him up with a window seat so they could both look outside at the passers by. To be reminded that life went on, that things were and could be normal. This was his home city, was it not? Far from Versailles though, she blinked as the architecture of every building was less than ideal. It lacked design and vision but alas, not everywhere could be home. This was his home. Surely a good place to start for the odd pair?

The points of his ears poked out over the large paper menu in his hands.

The veil between them. Behind it, Slurt's eyes wandered down the the gleam of the silver utensils waiting for him. He stared for a moment too long before his eyes pulled back up the text on the menu that he couldn't read.

“Order anything you like,” She said graciously albeit reminiscent. Karl had set them up for a good life, Slurt’s money would go straight into a savings account or investments for his future.

Still, this restaurant… A table. The chairs on either side of them were empty. This moment felt familiar, as though the start of something new. Just as they had started their mission of terror in the past. Perhaps… That was a bad thing?

Should not a curious blue woman appear around the corner, munching on doughnuts? There to deliver smiles and laughter… She’d been there all along for Slurt.

“Does… Anything catch your eye?” Christine prompted after the tide of her mind had taken her away and surely too much time had passed.

“Um… Miss Chwistine… I have to use the bathroom.” Slurt asked as though it were a question.

“O-oh…” Christine… Was rather inexperienced at the notion of that. Her lips flexed with curiosity, “Should I come with you?”

“N-no…” Slurt answered.

Christine’s eyes hung on the table for a second, almost like she’d disappointed the both of them. “I do not mind?” She said again, looking up and he’d already gone.

She exhaled and placed both of her hands on her temples, her elbows crunched against the table's glossy surface. This time it was Slurt running off to face his demons. Perhaps the youth was not even hungry? Pain cut deep, she knew that. In her previous ways… She’d always been hungry. Now… There was only one thing she wanted and all else fell away.

She would give her own to save Slurt but that was not how these things worked. There would be sacrifices she had never been asked to make.

Christine found that she could not forget what Riddick had said, That ain’t the same Slurt.

Foolish man. It did not matter how changed the goblin had become. To be his guardian, parenthood, was composed of endless forgiveness. I will never give up on ‘im. The French woman growled in her mind bitterly against the thought of the mercenary.

A face plunged into her view, her mind had taken her astray again as she relived shadows of the past. “Hey, Murderqueen. I like what you’ve done with your hair.”

A low voice wrestled the air, Christine’s brows hunched in anger before her eyes rested on a face that was… Far from who she expected. Above her wasn’t a bald guy with goggles but some scrawny looking teen with an unexpectedly low voice.

Slurt could come back at any second. She had to be on her best behavior. The temptation of her temper was… Indeed alluring.

To press this kid against the nearest wall, tumble tables and topple glasses as they’d shatter dramatically, glimmering prisms of light to dance along the pale wall. Maybe some of those broken pieces would slice them for effect. Blood would stain the palm of her hand as it met with this kid’s neck.

She’d stare him down with eyes of hellfire. Anger everywhere in her being to prove she was unafraid to be consumed by wrath for she’d allowed herself to become it. She’d threaten to eat his soul if he’d say that again. She felt it bubbling in her. The consideration. That maybe she would even do it anyway. Just to spite him. To prove her point. Power. She was in control. Murder was vile, but it was also everything. She’d convey that too to the teen, her consideration and-

“Hey, Murderqueen, didn't you hear me? I’m a fan. Can I get a picture?” The teen’s low rambling tone asked again, impatiently as though she had squandered his time.

Before Christine could even answer this test of character, the teen grasped at the collar of his t-shirt and pulled it back to reveal the skin between his neck and shoulder. Right on his peck rested a portrait of Christine's face. Different from the same reflection of herself from the mirror earlier. A new reflection of fate’s sick twist as it painted herself on skin.

The black ink etched into his skin was truly a great piece. Artistry carried from the anger in her eyes of a single moment she recalled far too vividly, to the quotes in French above and below the portrait. Ones that the slice in the middle of her neck dripped into, landing to fill the text of the words. Her blood was her ink. It was quite apt. The ends of her black hair twisted into a great frame around her disembodied head. The black ink with shading was a good choice, if it had not been so personal and a real moment that she’d lived through.

Karl’s twisted reality tv show was now forever on this young teen’s peck? Why had this teen chosen this moment of her life to relive on his skin? Could he not see that she was doing better?

Christine couldn’t fathom the depravity of mankind, the anger she’d once felt just turned into aghast shock. The steam had left her in an astounding emptiness.

"See," the teen's eyes were round and wide with star-stricken curiosity. "You inspire me Christine. I want to be like you-"

“Excuse me sir, there are children here.”

“Oh right, where is that green little dude?” The bro nodded playfully initially and was met with a back-slap of words from the waitress.

“Put your shirt back on. This restaurant is for customers only. If you’re not gonna buy anything, I suggest you leave.” The waitress shot the teen a look. The teen wrestled with the authority and then shrugged and left without another look. Christine looked up at her salvation with awe for her bravery and knowing just the right thing to say to get the kid to simmer down and do as he was told.

“Merci…” Christine said in a voice still awe-struck. This woman had told the kid to do something and he had done it. Respect and admiration for her brimmed. “'ow did you…?”

“I’ve got two kids of my own. I’d hate it if they were celebrities, especially ones that have already faced enough tragedy. With some people, they really don’t know what it’s like. Best to just tell them off and be done with it. He probably saw you from outside the window, do you want to move tables?” The waitress asked, with a name tag that read: Kristy. Kindness radiated from Kristy's warm brown eyes.

“Oh uh, per’aps we just pull ze shade?” Christine did not want to let on to Slurt when he returned what had occurred.

“That sounds like a great idea. Listen, I’m not gonna pretend I didn’t recognize you too, you’re both quite a distinguished pair but at least know there’s some decency out there…” The waitress paused, looking in the direction of the bathroom and then leaning into Christine’s ear. “I think I have an idea that you’ll like. Might help avoid stuff like that for the future, if you know what I mean...”