Tags: Vulpes Inculta, f!courier, het, complete, Summary: F!courier decides to court Vulpes Inculta and creeps him out in the process.
Her face was red, painted with what he presumed to be the blood of her enemies. No wonder the new recruit had practically been pissing in his uniform. The whites of her eyes and the whites of her teeth against the red created a stark contrast he could only call horrifying. Not only that, she'd filed four of her teeth, her canines, into sharp points. When she smiled she looked like a feral beast.
She'd also shaved her head, leaving only two tufts of hair that looked suspiciously like horns. Instead of her usual ratty wasteland attire, she'd cobbled together some kind of bizarre leather armor that left too much skin exposed for it to be effective protection. The effect was curiously demonic---it would have been arousing if she wasn't covered in blood and clearly insane.
“I'm going to assume you're responsible for all of...this,” he said.
She grinned, eyes wide with madness as trails of blood streamed down her face, her neck, her arms and pooled at her feet. He kept one hand at his side, just in case he needed to go for his machete---he still couldn't tell if she was here to kill him. He hoped she wasn't. Though he didn't doubt Caesar could be swayed from anger, even Vulpes would have a difficult time keeping himself from being crucified if he had to kill the woman. He wasn't even sure he was physically capable of killing her.
“I've brought the rest of the dowry,” she said, “Thirteen young Bighorners, fattened and ready for slaughter. We can begin the ceremony.”
“Dowry? Ceremony? What are you talking about?”
He felt a pain behind his eye, a curious throbbing and an emotion he can only describe as tendrils of fear tightening about him. The smile slipped off her face to be replaced by a scowl.
“To begin our courtship,” she said, “Your Man-God accepted and gave me his blessing.”
Vulpes didn't know whether to laugh, cry, or stab her in the throat. At least he knew what Antony was snickering about yesterday. It made Vulpes' failure to uncover this madness all the worse---as leader of the Frumentarii, he should have put it all together. How were his men supposed to trust and respect him if he couldn't even stop one foolish tribal from blindsiding him?
“There's been a misunderstanding,” Vulpes said, gesturing to the severed heads, “There will be no courtship. There will be no more of this...disturbing display. You've made me look like a fool.”
He tried to look threatening. Any other time he would have succeeded, but the sympathetic look on her red stained face coupled with the sharpened teeth behind a knowing smile---it was unsettling. He looked at her and he could imagine a thousand deaths at her hands.
“There's no shame. No man in the history of time has ever caught a daughter of Omega during a coup,” she said, “Be glad. You'd be dead if you had.”
“I'd be dead?”
“The old gods don't protect the unworthy,” she said.
Her grin stretched wider and wider until he felt certain her face was going to crack open. He tried not to flinch when she planted a kiss on the tip of his nose. Outside he could hear the Bighorners calling out to each other as they were lead through the camp. Likewise Courier Six took his hand and steered him through the tent.
Like a lamb to the slaughter. It was an old phrase---he didn't know what a lamb was but he imagined he knew how it felt.
Daughter of Omega 2/2
Summary: F!courier decides to court Vulpes Inculta and creeps him out in the process.
Her face was red, painted with what he presumed to be the blood of her enemies. No wonder the new recruit had practically been pissing in his uniform. The whites of her eyes and the whites of her teeth against the red created a stark contrast he could only call horrifying. Not only that, she'd filed four of her teeth, her canines, into sharp points. When she smiled she looked like a feral beast.
She'd also shaved her head, leaving only two tufts of hair that looked suspiciously like horns. Instead of her usual ratty wasteland attire, she'd cobbled together some kind of bizarre leather armor that left too much skin exposed for it to be effective protection. The effect was curiously demonic---it would have been arousing if she wasn't covered in blood and clearly insane.
“I'm going to assume you're responsible for all of...this,” he said.
She grinned, eyes wide with madness as trails of blood streamed down her face, her neck, her arms and pooled at her feet. He kept one hand at his side, just in case he needed to go for his machete---he still couldn't tell if she was here to kill him. He hoped she wasn't. Though he didn't doubt Caesar could be swayed from anger, even Vulpes would have a difficult time keeping himself from being crucified if he had to kill the woman. He wasn't even sure he was physically capable of killing her.
“I've brought the rest of the dowry,” she said, “Thirteen young Bighorners, fattened and ready for slaughter. We can begin the ceremony.”
“Dowry? Ceremony? What are you talking about?”
He felt a pain behind his eye, a curious throbbing and an emotion he can only describe as tendrils of fear tightening about him. The smile slipped off her face to be replaced by a scowl.
“To begin our courtship,” she said, “Your Man-God accepted and gave me his blessing.”
Vulpes didn't know whether to laugh, cry, or stab her in the throat. At least he knew what Antony was snickering about yesterday. It made Vulpes' failure to uncover this madness all the worse---as leader of the Frumentarii, he should have put it all together. How were his men supposed to trust and respect him if he couldn't even stop one foolish tribal from blindsiding him?
“There's been a misunderstanding,” Vulpes said, gesturing to the severed heads, “There will be no courtship. There will be no more of this...disturbing display. You've made me look like a fool.”
He tried to look threatening. Any other time he would have succeeded, but the sympathetic look on her red stained face coupled with the sharpened teeth behind a knowing smile---it was unsettling. He looked at her and he could imagine a thousand deaths at her hands.
“There's no shame. No man in the history of time has ever caught a daughter of Omega during a coup,” she said, “Be glad. You'd be dead if you had.”
“I'd be dead?”
“The old gods don't protect the unworthy,” she said.
Her grin stretched wider and wider until he felt certain her face was going to crack open. He tried not to flinch when she planted a kiss on the tip of his nose. Outside he could hear the Bighorners calling out to each other as they were lead through the camp. Likewise Courier Six took his hand and steered him through the tent.
Like a lamb to the slaughter. It was an old phrase---he didn't know what a lamb was but he imagined he knew how it felt.