A Visit: Remere & Alexis
The below passage contains light descriptions of blood and sickeningly flirtatious tomfoolery. Do take care.
Remere had spent the better part of a week preparing this ritual. Guests were not something they had frequently, save for The Groundskeeper, so conjuring lodging as they had originally planned was out of the question. It was much easier to attune their newfound guest to their dwelling instead, and allow them to come and go as they pleased. Not only was it more efficient, but it was less draining.
They had opted to meet with Alexis the same place they had run into one another prior, by the ruins that surrounded them when they had a scythe to their neck. Their only demand was that Alexis take their hand.
When they find Alexis again, he is restlessly pacing about the immediate area near the ruins, brows knit in deep contemplation. This time, he does not sport his usual armor and leathers, and instead wears a white shirt and black gilet, rosary framing the sharp planes of his chest. His signature scythe is likewise not present; then again, hunters are known to be able to summon their weapons at will, so perhaps he is not as vulnerable as he appears.
He consents readily to Rem’s offer to take their hand—not without a snide comment of “this relationship is moving rather fast, isn't it?” But then his fingers, skin warm to the touch, interlace with Remere’s. Once they appear near the glowing crystal, Alexis slips his hand free of Rem’s to step forward and casually examine the area.
In a blink of an eye they surfaced beside a towering red crystal, levitating above a golden basin containing a red liquid. The contents were left no mystery—the renowned Witch practiced dark magic, here.
Remere turns to Alexis, gloves having been discarded prior to their trip to reveal vein-like scars upon their person. They extend a clawed hand, the one unoccupied by a rose that was much an accessory as it was a comfort object, and wearily exhale. “Apologies. I was unable to arrange lodging, but this should suffice, instead. Will a pin-prick bother you?”
“Darling, I’ve been attacked by all manners of creatures,” he answers, finally glancing back toward Rem, practiced charm in his smile. “I hardly think such a thing would bother me at all.”
Remere says nothing in response to Alexis’ blatant flirtation. At least, not aloud. There’s something in their expression that shifts, a softness in their eyes and a raising of brows that is swiftly concealed by a clearing of their throat. Their mind ponders the warmth that lingers on their slightly cool skin, waiting for Alexis to orient themselves before they proceed.
“Lovely. You are about to be attacked by another.” They reach clinically for the hand that had just slipped away, pressing a pointed nail into Alexis' index finger to puncture the skin, and hold it above the pool. A drop was all they needed, and it glistened as it landed within.
Remere pauses for a moment, in contemplation.
What was the harm in sampling the goods, as it were?
They brush their hand along the wound, closing it with some manner of sorcery... and allowing the contents to smear upon their own finger, before they bring it to their lips to clean it. A pleased hum, musical and somewhat decadent. Definitely part of the ritual, and nothing more.
“Ground yourself and think of me, and you may come and go as you please. Think of leaving, and you shall return where you last were. Are you ready for the tour? Questions, concerns?”
Rem’s warning lands on ears connected to a skull devoid of rational thought on the best of days. Alexis does not perceive the remark—you are about to be attacked by another—as anything more than some manner of strange humor. There is only wordless obedience as Alexis permits Remere to claim his hand, his own comfortably and willingly relaxed in his companion's grasp.
Such cold hands, he thinks, but gives the observation no more consideration than that.
The sound that escapes him as claw pierces flesh is interesting, to put it simply. It’s something like an inhaled gasp, sharp and shaky, and it exhales into something like a muted whimper. Blue eyes avert from the sight, cheeks flush with color, and Alexis feels his heart thump insistently against his ribs for a moment. He shifts his gaze back just in time to catch his own essence ripple into the pool surrounding the crystal, and finds himself too transfixed by the morbid sight to notice Rem lick their own finger clean.
He feels his heart finally slow back to a languid pulse when Remere speaks. “Concerns? Well, you’ve already taken my blood for ritualistic witchcraft, so I don’t see what worse you could do.” The smirk that punctuates is reassurance that he's merely teasing. “Please, lead the way.”
“Ritualistic witchcraft? You make me sound so... gauche.” A frown, subtle though it may be. They don’t seem to notice any shift in Alexis’ heartbeat or otherwise, mind occupied as it was. “I merely invited you into my home, and gave you access to bypass the enchantments that prevent others from entering. The only blood in this pool is my own, and a drop of yours.”
They start walking out of the overgrown cemetery, slipping between the crystal, Alexis, and any headstones present. As they round a corner a silhouette can be seen maintaining the fuchsia bushes at the base of the house, clad in a hat that obstructed their features. They seemed more focused on making sure what bloomed there overtook the property more than trimming it in any capacity.
“Good day, Groundskeeper. Thank you for helping me with my composition last evening. Please rest soon, yes?” Remere’s words fall upon deaf ears, a disgruntled huff the only response they are granted. A soft laugh follows from the Witch’s lips.
“He came with the home, you see. Maintained it before I came here. Anything you might need, The Groundskeeper can help with.”
Patiently, Alexis waits for Rem to step forward first, and then he maneuvers carefully alongside headstones with many curious, unspoken questions of who slumbers beneath. Those don’t seem like the things one ought to ask about on a second meeting.
As they pass The Groundskeeper, Alexis offers a polite wave, acknowledging the figure with no indication of unease; whatever chill of death hangs around him falls just short of Alexis’ awareness. Perhaps getting subtly aroused by Rem drawing his blood a moment ago has dulled his senses. Besides that, something seems to suddenly draw his gaze as they begin to ascend the steps to Rem’s house.
Alexis pauses finally, squinting through the trees ahead. His head tilts as he closely analyzes the sight, and then he relaxes with a laugh. “Well, isn’t that something? It seems we’ve been neighbors all this time.” He nods toward the trees, lining the perimeters of their properties. “You see, just there ahead, there's a path cutting between the trees? That’s my cottage.”
Remere pauses, taking a moment to peek towards the trees separating his home from the neighboring cottage. Their expression shifts, and the rose they were holding flitters to the ground. They bring their hand to their forehead in exasperation.
“One week... of preparation, and you were my neighbor. I think I might like to die.” Nearby, The Groundskeeper barks a laugh before resuming their examination of the blooms surrounding the home.
There’s a small delay before Alexis follows. He idles with a raised brow and amused smirk at Remere’s theatrics, not to mention the laughter that resounds from The Groundskeeper just nearby. Alexis may not notice that he’s literally dead, but he can detect the subdued mockery toward Rem’s suffering. There’s something almost familial about it. Curious.
He promptly crouches to seize the forgotten rose before half-jogging up the steps behind Remere to enter the house.
Remere sighs, not unlike a tired maiden, before ascending the uneven stone stairs. The welcome mat at the foot of the door was certainly welcoming—‘something rotten lives here’ written in some manner of blackletter—as were the scratches upon the wood of the front door.
Upon entering, it became apparent the taste in attire certainly extended to their decor. To their left was a small ritual station, with candles and cauldron alike, and further within was ample space to lounge. Remere points towards the cabinet in the far left of something that resembles a kitchen table, without a designated area for meal preparation.
“I’ve all volumes of Encyclopedia Necromancia, should you need to access them, from Alchemy to Ancients through Zealotry to Zombies. Black to Blood Magic might be the most helpful for our shared quarry, but if you are seeking anything else... it is likely on my shelves. My study is currently being renovated, but I’ve plenty of resources here for your perusal. I’ve ample seating, a fire... The Groundskeeper sometimes lends his hand to play the harp nearby, if silence bothers you, but I also have a music box for when he is occupied.”
They do not at all mention the skull upon a pile of books behind them.
He gently pushes the door shut behind him as he steps forward and examines its casual extravagance; the eccentric ones dabbling in taboo magics always seem to secure the most lavish adornments, he notes with a touch of private bitterness.
Interesting how being tasked with slaying literal monsters leaves one moonlighting as a bard to get by.
For now, he shoves his idle jealousy aside and turns toward Rem, stepping a touch closer. His free hand seeks one of Rem’s to gently lift, and the rose is returned to its grasp. Alexis’ hands cup lightly around Rem’s for a brief moment before he moves to examine the books nearby. “You’re rather accommodating,” he comments, dragging a finger along the spine of one of the books. He glances back to Rem. “I have to wonder, Witch, what led you to such peculiar areas of study?”
Remere stills as the rose is returned to them, the warmth of Alexis’ hands upon their own. Their mind is frazzled once more by the contact, and they still in a manner not unlike that of a frightened deer.
They can’t help but smile as Alexis releases their hand, gazing upon the rose and fiddling with the petals momentarily. After a moment they move to place the rose on the nearby table, and then return to Alexis’ side. “I don't often have guests, but I am glad to be accommodating.”
The question is met with a moment of silence. “I... do not recall.” They answer, honestly for the first time. “Last I remember I was at a memorial, the next I was here. I imagine a ritual must have gone awry. The furniture seemed lived in, and it was all placed as I myself would have placed it, so I imagine I lived here prior. The Groundskeeper was more than willing to answer all my questions. He might be able to answer yours better than I.”
Remere does not delve further on the topic. “Do you need anything to drink while you browse? I’ve a well nearby. The water is clean and comes from a fresh source, I am told. Should it not be, I can purify it for you.”
“I see,” Alexis says simply in response to Rem’s lack of cohesive memory; it’s the first remark stated without any dryness to it. The understanding is genuine. No snide comment follows as he turns to face Remere, seemingly finished with his inspection of the books in their collection.
“Must be very delicate magic you work with, that you’d forget so much. Must leave you wondering to what end you were taking such a great risk?” Alexis is unsure if his own question is rhetorical; there’s curiosity, but he knows Rem likely has no answer to provide. “If The Groundskeeper has already answered all of your questions, then how might he tell me anything you have not already explained?”
The question of water is met with a small, dismissive wave, and blue eyes remain fixed on Remere. Clearly, Alexis is more interested in the topic at hand than any of his human needs.
The shrug that Remere offers in response is uncomfortable in its resignation.
“Perhaps, but I have learned to take precautions in the years that followed. I would not have become... famed, as you so aptly put it, if I did not learn from my mistakes.”
They move to seat themselves on the chair nearby, and blue phantom butterflies take the veil away and drape it over the couch nearby as if beckoned by an unseen command. “There are certain things he withholds, as per my instructions. I am sure he would be more than willing to accommodate a guest. I am not one to question my own judgement, even if I do not remember.”
Their hand drifts restlessly past the golden candelabra towards a half-finished composition. “Oh, I had almost forgotten. There is a volume on undead, as well as a separate volume containing information on the unholy. Should you abide by faith of any kind…” They drift off, not willing to comment again on how the rosary upon Alexis’ person proved to be decorative at best.
“It might be useful to you.”
There’s something almost naturally magnetic in the way Alexis casually turns to follow just behind Remere's steps. With a few short steps, he leans himself against the same chair, half seating himself against the back of it.
That look of deep thought settles into his features again, drawing an intensity to them that seems out of place given his sarcastic, almost indifferent demeanor. It seems, briefly, as though he might press Rem with more questions, but he finally shifts his attention at the mention of books of undead, and holy things, and whatever else they had said—oh, yes, another passive comment on his superficial expression of faith.
“I don't believe in anything,” he says very plainly, not apparently offended, but the flatness of the statement suggests there is nothing to elaborate, or perhaps he does not wish to be questioned further. There’s something about the topic that’s obviously sour to Alexis. A small smile follows, and his voice softens. “But it's beneficial to me that my colleagues think I do—and the things I’m meant to kill, besides.”
Remere does not shift as Alexis settles in closer to lean against their chair. There is a certain comfort in the proximity of another person, one that the Witch is not willing to take the time to analyze. The one thing they elect to is the steady beating of Alexis' heart, content and gentle in the way that it thrummed in his ears.
There is no judgment in the words that follow. It has no place to.
“We are of similar mind, then. As far as belief, or the lack thereof. I draw power from within. From my heart. Sometimes I take from others, but only as is necessary. Consent and autonomy are very important when it comes to practices like these.”
Their expressions shifts, brows furrowing in something akin to sadness. “Yes. I had almost forgotten. You folk feel you are ‘meant’ to kill. No matter. I hope what I have to offer here is... useful to you.”
Alexis frowns at Rem’s comment; in fact, he’s certain he actually feels mildly offended—not enough to warrant anger, or bitterness, or a sharp retort. If any feeling echoes in his words, it’s a faint sense of remorse.
“I don’t feel I’m ‘meant’ to kill. I never particularly asked for any of this.” He distracts himself with the rosary hanging from his neck, lifting a hand to restlessly fidget with it. Aside from that small detail, he’s otherwise calm as ever. “Change is... kind of a strange thing. I could just give up what I do entirely, but there’s a whole code to it. I’d be killed for treachery. I can’t do any good if I’m dead.”
There’s a pause as he lifts a finger to punctuate his next words. “But! Sometimes change for the better means willingness to compromise one’s own values here and there. I mean, you can find a fucked-up way to justify it to yourself.” He shrugs a shoulder and glances toward Rem. “If I tell myself I only kill the ‘bad’ monsters, then I can pretend I’m not just a murderer with a fancy title, yeah?”
Remere had anticipated disappointment, only to be meant with a profound sense of self-awareness. There’s a warmth that blossoms in their chest, a tingling in their fingers. They shift in their chair, turning to face Alexis with those doe-like eyes of theirs.
They cannot conceal their smile, enamored as they were by the answer. “How succinctly put. Your flexibility in your craft is admirable. I... regret that I doubted you. Pardon my judgment.” A carefully worded apology—habit given their regular visitation of the realms of the fae-folk.
They clasp their hands in their lap. “I would spare you of my curiosity, but…”
A golden plated fang, or the mimicry of one, bites at their lower lip. Its voice lowers in cadence, just a smidge. It was perhaps the first time Remere had decided to return Alexis’ flirtations since their meeting.
“...What do you consider ‘bad’?” Something glistens in their eyes. Witch, indeed.
Alexis smiles promptly at the question, the expression natural and honest; in fact, it’s evident he’s quite flustered, given the way color blossoms across his face to match him perfectly to Remere’s elegant scarlet decor.
He continues to fidget with his rosary, idly tapping the cross against his bottom lip. His position shifts a bit closer to his companion then, body turning more toward Rem as though that innocent, wide-eyed stare had enchanted him to draw nearer to his inevitable doom. His voice echoes to match the same cadence when he speaks.
“You wanna know the truth?” His next words follow with a purr, no pause left to let Rem answer. “We’re all bad. The problem isn’t being bad, just how many consider themselves above their nature. I, for one, am at peace with what I am.”
Remere looks up wordlessly at Alexis and blinks, equally in infatuation and admiration. They are just about to open their mouth to speak when the bell at the door rings, cutting through whatever words happened to be formulating inside of that pretty head of theirs.
Their crimson gazes fell upon the door, then back upon Alexis. An apologetic smile crosses their features before they speak. “Yes?”
The door opens, and The Groundskeeper invites themselves in with the tip of a hat towards their shared guest. “I believe I should take you up on your offer to rest. I do not see a crisis befalling the fuchsia for the foreseeable future.”
A pause, and then the tall figure’s lips curl upward into something of a lopsided smile. “That is, unless you were... engrossed in discussion?”
Remere, now flustered, stands upright, brushing invisible dirt from their skirt. “No, um. No. If you need the space to rest, you need the space to rest. It is quite alright.” They look up to Alexis. “Do you need me to see you off? I know you don’t live far from here.”
Such mesmerizing eyes they have, Alexis thinks as he and Rem seem to incline closer yet into one another's proximity. But then he jolts just the same when the doorbell resounds. The pleasant, heart-fluttering moment deflates with The Groundskeeper’s presence, but Alexis manages to find amusement in the idle misfortune. Soft laughter escapes him, and he presses knuckles lightly against his lips in a half-assed effort to smother the sound.
“No, no, I think I can manage the brief trip in one piece,” he says to Rem. It finally occurs to him to stand upright, that he was still leaning casually against the chair, inclined into Remere’s space rather intimately. He lightly clears his throat. “You’re likewise welcome by any time. Until then... sweet dreams, my dear Witch.” A wink follows before he turns to take his leave.
As he passes The Groundskeeper, there’s a fleeting pause. There it is finally; a chill ripples over him as Alexis brushes by. He stills too quickly for the hesitation to be readily apparent, playing it off with a polite nod of acknowledgement. “Rest well, Groundskeeper,” he says politely, before he pushes the door open and promptly departs, wandering on the path toward his cottage.
The above was conjured at my home in Lunamere, a realm of enchantment and mystery. Thank you for indulging us in a safe haven for queer and neurospicy writing shenanigans!