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Harth Fray
04 March 2007 @ 01:25 am
If you woke up and I was in bed with you, what would be your first thought?

*Smug* C'mon. You know you're curious.
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Harth Fray
27 January 2007 @ 08:35 pm
Reply here and I will:

1)Tell you why I first approached you.
2)Associate you with a song/movie/book.
3)Tell a random fact about you.
4)Tell my favorite memory of you.
5)Associate you with an animal/fruit.
6)Ask something I've always wanted to know about you.
7)In return, you MUST spread this questionnaire amongst the patrons.

I might lie. Can I lie?
Harth Fray
12 December 2006 @ 05:22 pm
Harth massages his temples.

It's more for dramatic effect than anything else, but the minions need everything blatant. The few in front of him shuffle back nervously - more nervously than they have been for a while. After Icarus' death, Harth had more of less ignored them, short of a few clipped instructions, mostly involving the Slayer. But a few weeks ago he'd suddenly got... organised.

If organised here means controlling, short tempered, and vicious when displeased. Those few who'd thought the diminutive vampire with the face of a kid would be easy to take on hadn't continued to think for long.

Well, 'cept for Hadran. Sometimes they still hear him screaming.

A thin white finger points thoughtfully at a particularly unlucky minion.

"Right. You two? Kill him, he's a moron."

The boy continues thoughtfully over the instant scuffle. "Not that y'aren't, both of you, but that time was really his fault. See? I can be fair."

Dust billows, and attention is returned to him. "So, y'failed to grab her before she handed the statue over. Dumb, but not unfixable. You'll pay attention next time?"

"Yes, Master."

"Excellent. Now rut off, if y'would. Little Katya's gonna be freaked enough with just me."

And Harth grins. Since that's fine with him.
Harth Fray
31 October 2006 @ 05:08 pm
And she rises with the walls, rushing up to the sky as he hangs in the air.

(I heard already on the right the whirlpool
Making a horrible crashing under us;
Whence I thrust out my head with eyes cast downward.)

Harth closes his eyes.

(Then was I still more fearful of the abyss;
Because I fires beheld, and heard laments,
Whereat I, trembling, all the closer cling.)

And wakes.
Harth Fray
27 October 2006 @ 09:45 pm
[OOC: Directly after this.]

And when you look in the right place, you see.


Not much, in this case. Gray-brown haze mostly fills his vision. Looking up, there's more of the same with a slight glow of reddish-orange, but down...

Buildings stretch out, rooftop to rooftop with dizzyingly deep space in between. Harth frowns and lets himself drop to land on the ledge, sitting lazily down, one leg swinging.

And waits.
Harth Fray
26 October 2006 @ 02:33 pm
Harth sits in the dark.

S'nothing new.

The dark's where he belongs, what he'll bring to the world, but hell if it ain't depressing. Especially now-


Means nothing. This is home, this is business, not allowed there. Dirty water soaks through the seat of his pants, icy-cold. It doesn't bother him - but that fact does, a little. Sometimes it seems so far away, and then comes right back and hits him again, and hurts more than he really likes to think about.

An' there I go again.

He gets up, filthy water sloshing around his ankles, thin hands slipping moodily into his pockets. He can feel the small cloth packets of herbs still in there, slightly damp. Wouldn't normally be able t'get them in Haddyn, not without stakin' out somewhere in the Uppers. And even then, not all the right ones.

The boy smiles faintly in the gloom, not exactly happily, and jumps through a crack in the wall. From one pocket he pulls out the smallest package, tied tightly together with string. Wires spark as he pulls them from the wall-

(Up above, one of the dim streetlights sputters and goes out)

-and holds the cloth to the exposed wires until it smoulders despite the dampness, and produces a stream of musty smoke. He leaves it on the floor as the tiny space slowly fills with the constricting scent of burning herbs.

And slowly he slides down to sit against the wall, eyes falling shut (the better to see you with) as he breathes it in.




(Go back t'sleep, scaredy)

Harth Fray
03 September 2006 @ 02:31 pm
Well. He can't say he didn't know it was coming.

The fight had been amazin', he's glad he didn't miss that. They're both bleeding, he can smell hers - like a drug. As if drugs compare. He's tried - Harth'll take a good clean adrenaline rush anytime. An' even though this is anythin' but clean - blood and sweat and fear, only just but he can taste it on the air - this is perfect. It's how it should be.

"Bye, Mel."

And he shifts back to the face of her brother, 'cause even now, it's what he is, and sees the stab of pain cross her face, though she doesn't hesitate. He never made things easy, why would he start now? Oh, but Mel. He loves her too much, not to smile a bit through the sudden pain at her sweaty, beautiful face before he explodes in a cloud of dust that blows away over windy rooftops like a nightmare at dawn.

(Harth, there ain't nothin' t'be scared of-


An if they come near ya, I'll stomp em! Go to sleep, scaredy, shh.

Harth Fray
14 May 2006 @ 05:06 pm
Harth's thinking.

He does it a lot - always has, since he was old enough to remember, and particularly since he was old enough to recognise his dreams for what they were. Memories. Not his, o'course. Never his. Occasionally when he's feeling particularly candid, he admits to himself that maybe he's always been bitter. The memory of knowing that power, that heritage, that importance - one girl to stand alone - but also knowing that it isn't his. Even when he was just a human child, he knew it wasn't his, somehow. It was Melaka's. His sister, the Slayer was the rightful owner of those memories and the dreams.

Sibling rivalry, just in a slightly different way.

He wanted to be like those girls, once. He wanted to be strong, he wanted to be special, but when the fits of childish jealousy passed, it was alright. After all, weren't he and Mel just two halves of one person? Right. He was so proud of his strong sister, the way she took care of him while he dreamed and drifted, didn't mind when she laughed at him, because it was another part of herself and it's good to laugh at yourself once in a while, yeah?

Strength and power and agility, that was his Mel.

And now... now...

She's still his Mel. His, and he loves her still. So much it hurts, at times, and this? This would be one of 'em. If it was the Slayer he loved, the other half of him, why does he still watch and smile to think of her now she's just...? Well. She'll never be ordinary, not in his eyes. Why, though - that's the weird thing.

Logically, it don't make much sense. That part of him's meant to be dead.


Eh, whatever. Screw logic.

(Love you, Mel)
Harth Fray
26 October 2005 @ 01:10 am
Come into these arms again
And lay your body down

Melaka's beautiful when she sleeps.
The rhythm of this trembling heart
Is beating like a drum

Of course, Harth thinks she's beautiful when she's awake, but there's something special about her asleep. When she's awake, the Slayer is curt, rude, and capable. She leads him as if he doesn't know the way, fights as if she has something to prove, and is quick to employ her sharp tongue. All part of her special charms, and he wouldn't have her any other way.
It beats for you, it bleeds for you
It knows not how it sounds

But when she's asleep, she's vulnerable. And she knows this. When she first found him – when they first joined forces to try and get home – she had tried to sleep as little as possible, and at a distance from him, watching him warily until she could know longer keep her eyes open.
For it is the drum of drums
It is the song of songs

But he had proved that he wouldn't touch her, and even though teamwork was never his sister's strong point, she couldn't argue with his reasoning that it's safer for them to sleep in turns, one watching for danger, and in as discreet a hiding place as possible.
Once I had the fairest rose
That ever deemed to bloom
So that's how she conceded to be lying like this: curled up in a tiny hidden cave, with her head on his lap, head lolling back ungracefully, and snoring gently as he keeps watch. Right now, he could do anything he wanted to her, if he didn't need her alive to get home. Or to the bar, at least.
Cruel winter chilled the bud
And stole my flower too soon
Mel's hands and ankles are wrapped around her weapon. She couldn't be more protective of it if she could feel the power that Harth feels when he strokes it softly with his cold fingers. She couldn't possibly know what it is to hold this and know that it's hers, that it's right, and that it belongs in her hands. Harth knows exactly what this is like to feel all that, as strongly as he knows it's wrong.
Oh loneliness, oh hopelessness
To search the ends of time
Silently, gently, his fingers shift and brush the delicate amulet sitting in the hollow of his twin's throat. She doesn't know what this feels like, either. Doesn't know that it matches the scythe so perfectly, despite having been manufactured so many centuries afterwards. Doesn't know the perfect feeling of safety and security, the comfort and grounding that compliments so exactly the strength and power of the scythe.
For there is in all the world
No greater love than mine
She had thought it just an amulet until he told her what it was doing to the barriers between the dimensions. Maybe even now, she doesn’t know how important it is. Yet she defends it with her life. Would kill him without a thought if he tried to take it. Beautiful Melaka: so headstrong, so dutiful, so rutting stupid in some ways. He has to admire it.
Still falls the rain, still falls the night,
Be damned forever
Her hot throat spasms under his fingers as she snorts and shifts in her sleep, eyelids flickering in REM. Harth doesn't need to guess what she's dreaming about: he's heard her mutter in her sleep enough times to know that he is no longer the object of her subconscious.
Let me be the only one
To keep you from the cold
He wonders, briefly, if he should be jealous of the man who's taken his place, but dismisses the notion. The turtle can be in her
dreams for all Harth cares. They've merely swapped places, and Harth likes being the one she sees when she wakes up. He loves seeing that look in her eyes as she emerges from her sweet dreams and remembers where she is and who with. That fleeting moment before she remembers not to care. For that, he'll allow her as many dreams of her ex-lover as she wants.
Now the floor of Hell is laid
With stars of brightest gold
Sure, she wants to go home, and to be honest, so does Harth. Hell can be boring, after all, even if she's here with him, but who knows what will have happened in their extended absence? For all they know, her lover might have moved on, and won't that be delicious?
They shine for you, they shine for you
They burn for all to see
Right now, he's the only friend she has. And no one could ever love her more.
Come into these arms again
And set this spirit free
Harth Fray
21 September 2005 @ 11:19 pm
Harth glares at the demon, golden eyes burning- staybackstaybackbetterthanyouI'llwin...

It's young, and not strong, and Harth is winning the silent battle for dominance. But the others are getting close. Not much time.

With a furious, but fearful snarl it turns and leaves, allowing Harth to get out of the enclosed corner of rock, onto open ground. Better position, which he needs as other demons close in, curious and vicious with that.

These are older, stronger. He can't intimidate them the way he could with the other. Huh. Brute force it is, then.

Not waiting for them to attack, he launches himself at the two smaller creatures, fangs bared, hands as dangerous as any claws.

The others begin to close in.