Sibling Rivalry (T'nK and ErBa'Al)

Bells. Sweet, ringing bells. They sing and they laugh and they shout into the night. I hear them, so many, so beautiful. These bells in my head.

Humming to myself, as fingers curl into the hide and begin tugging sharply. My knife, so sharp, meticulously clean, slipping between sinew and flesh. Tearing, jerking, stripping away the exterior and exposing what lay inside. Working the animal clean until it hangs there, suspended along the rotisserie spike I had fashioned just for them.

"I'm not entirely certain what spices we should use with this one. It's good stock, mind you, but I'm not convinced of the flavor." I off-handedly comment to myself. Sometimes she's there to listen, sometimes she isn't. I don't pay much attention in either event.

I pause, stepping back to cut free the last bits of skin from thighs and calves. Careful slits with expert precision, and the body is cleaned with one final tug. A beautiful specimen, held aloft, displayed for me. Displayed, but lacking pride. I know it immediately, and the turn of lips into a sneering grin is something I wish the poor ingredient could see. But, like the rest of the tender bits, the eyes had longed been removed.

"A stew. Simple, without a chance for greatness. Yet people will still love you, even make you a favored recipe. Unless we also decide to have your children, as well. Then you will be truly unique." Casually dismissive, I wander away towards the counter. Stainless steel, freshly cleaned, with only a few towels and utensils scattered about in preparation. I had been waiting for today. The chance to truly shine, and show my darling sible that I was more than only a knife man, more than the magic man.

"Although, I'm not really sure I'm quite in the mood for a stew. Perhaps instead I'll just chop you down and freeze you for later." Waving off the thought, I moved back around, stepping next to the carcass. "What do you think? Jerky, maybe?"

My attention was stolen away by the jerking, wrenching cry of my kitchen door. I had been meaning to get the hinges fixed, but they sounded so lovely when groaning. Much like the main course before they were butchered. Then in through that door came one of the many associates that operated this establishment. Weasley little imps, hated all of them. They all smelled like a meal waiting to happen.

"Hey, we got some people out here wanna talk business. Vincent says he wants you out there, 'case people get jumpy."

I shuddered at the horrible murder the man's native tongue was undergoing. How terribly obscene.

"Yes, yes. Go about your day, Oaf. I shall be there, presently." Stepping closer to the meat, I leaned down, looking at the way muscle still clung to the skull. Then farther, following neck and shoulders, seeing evidence of fine upbringing and much exercise. Yet there was the smell of contamination. A life lived impure.

Reaching down, I dipped pale-grey fingers into the meat of its chest, whipping knife through fat, before holding the wiggling mass, aloft. "What do you think, was she a B cup, or more of a D?"

Watching as the man's face paled to that of bone, then greened an instant later. His lunch was soon spilled into a wastebin, much to my own amusement. Joke aside, and the moment passed, I tossed the bit of tissue aside, turning my attention back to the skewered woman, fleshless and suspended over a drainage floor.

"I'll stew half of you, freeze the rest. Yes, that'll do, nicely." Wiping blood from my hands, satisfied with my decision and that it could be made alone, I twisted around and followed steps behind the oaf that had summoned me. Watching as he staggered half-useless, through the loosely swinging doors.

Stepping out into the bathing light of the dining room, conspicuously empty save for a dozen gathered around a large table. Wine glasses filled to varying degrees, ashtrays with butts and smoldering stubs. Laughter from pigs that didn't know their lot in life. Didn't know the supreme enjoyment of serving. Oh, but they would. They would definitely come to understand. Eventually.

I took up my place behind Vincent, one of the leaner gentle-swine cavorting with the crowd. His laughter was distinct in tone, piercing in that way which set my fingers to curling. Around his throat in my thoughts, but merely into my palms otherwise. I could control myself. I honestly could. There were just times when particular people were begging for my impulse. They were practically screaming for it, and who am I not to oblige? That would be horribly rude of me, and terribly remiss as the chef for the evening's feast.

Vincent enjoyed me being there, though. Enjoyed having a drow to keep on his leash of scraps and opportunity. He thought himself clever, oh so clever. He thought himself superior over all of the men within this horrible, miserable, second-rate restaurant. They didn't even fold their towels into swans!

Licking my lips at the dryness in the air. Sweat, meat, smoke, alcohol. Illness upon disease. So much rotting flesh sitting around one table, and none of them were aware. None were aware of the purity that stood behind them. I was aware of her every second of every day, always just lingering in the back of my thoughts. Sweet and beautiful, and my own. But I couldn't speak of it. Never a word uttered, never an oath taken. I ignore her, aloof to all her words and flirtations, the gentle barbs of siblings grown together so intimately.

I pay attention, only so much. They prattle on, sweating out details to little things that bear no meaning to T'nK, or myself. Until they talk of contracts. I do enjoy contracts. Chances to kill more of their kind. I always loved getting to kill their kind.

Her fingers. I'm shocked into stillness, rigid in the bones. My skin is soft, pliant, though. Always responding to her. A touch is all it takes to grab my attention. How easily I am strummed by my darling sister. An awareness she is all too keen to demonstrate on every occasion. I would protest, if I did not approve of it so much, in my own way. Soon. Soon enough.

Muscles react as they have for years, a reflexive jerking towards her to brush aside that finger. My own hand caressing her hip, her thigh, her buttocks, whatever gravity and momentum bring me into contact with. Again, my own little way. Quiet, natural, accidental. Clean. I do so enjoy when it goes cleanly.

"A'right, you all are wonderin' why I invited you here tonight. It's not just to eat up all this great food my chef has prepared. It's not to drink up all of this vintage wine that I've stored away for a special celebration. It's to discuss terms. Terms of your submission to my family." Vincent's tone turned serious, and the crowd of men went silent. This part was the exciting part. I always found myself mildly aroused when I knew the humans were about to murder each other. I get especially excited when I get to do the killing. Have I mentioned how much I enjoy killing them?

A few chairs slammed back, toppling over and onto the floor. Men jumped and growled out their obscenities, carelessly shaming their own language in the process. I never did understand why they so enjoyed butchering their own tongue. Baffling.

This was the moment for my sister. The beautiful, silvered tongue. How sweet it was, the warmth of it caressing... words. A contract spoken by her was far more binding than ink and paper. And the prices she would make you pay. I always told her that a life as an escort would have made us more money.

I could see, by the smug, self-important grin on Vincent's face, he knew it was her turn, too. Were you paying attention, sister? Or did you daydream of dirty things, again?

I could feel night fall upon us the moment sun penetrated horizon. I could feel the lack of warmth on my skin, that flicker instant after light dipped away. It was such a sensual feeling. All over, head to toe, the coolness of night enveloped me. I thrived, then, in the darkness. Not like home, though, the pitch black caves of sewer rats. Not under the yoke and chain of Lloth's filthy priestesses. No, this was how a predator thrives in a game-rich environment.

Our game, my game, was simple. Follow my sister, keep us alive, try to kill as many people as I could. Little, quiet, subtle deaths that could be overlooked as anything else. Tender killings mixed with artistry and adroit understand of abstract thought. But most of all, I enjoyed the slow deaths. Those agonizing, scream-filled, horrific finales that left the victim's face permanently contorted in that look of absolute terror and suffering. It was the most beautiful expression I had ever seen, since the earliest days that I could remember. So pure, so unbridled, so absolutely passionate.

When the half-orc whore was given warning by my lovely sister, I knew what my sible was doing. I feigned sleep, deep and comfortable. It wasn't terribly difficult when the right spells are known. As much as I loved my sister, sweet T'nK, I could never fathom a reason to trust her implicitly. Duplicitous, cunning, manipulative, and heartless. But she was my everything.

After her show, the display of ritual to Lloth, the sexual offering of oil against skin, she sought to rouse me again. This time I answered, as the charade of sleep had long since lost it's purpose. With a slow opening of eyes, I looked up at her. Holding her gaze for a long moment as she settled onto the bed. I lay there moments longer, looking at her naked body stretched out beside me. Lavender skin, supple and silken, always a joy to touch.

Rolling from my back, a knee and thigh straddled over T'nK's legs. I rested atop her, equally nude, not caring for the situation. It was one I had grown familiar with, and despite my best attempts, enjoyed. Our trysts with other meat, the games and dalliances with each other. Always vying for a better position, even though she knew well enough that I would ultimately obey her. I always obeyed. Not without question, I am no dog. But I would do as she judged best.

Fingers snapped up the oil from her, letting it dribble down her spine and pool in the shallow valleys where muscles bunched and relaxed. Beautiful. Perfect. I could break you right now, sister.

"I see our guest woke early." Casually mentioned, an observation not accusation. The pawn moved forward on our board, placed where it can be seen and noticed, yet not reacted to. That'll will be soon. "I had hoped she would have stayed for dinner. I had an excellent pasta recipe in mind for her."

My fingers slide effortlessly across her back, smoothing up and back down, working oil into flesh. She glistens like a doll in the half-light of the evening city. Touching her, feeling her warmth beneath my fingertips, the way her ribs flutter at a touch, so arousing.

Leaning over her, my hair dangles spider-web tips across her shoulders and neck, just barely teasing her skin. Then the gentle press of my weight atop her, hands moving down around her sides and sliding like knives between her and the sheet. Here, now, is the sister I love. When the game is just starting, before either of us have any real chance to play. When it's the two of us realize that we are together still, alive still. This is the T'nK that I long for.

Yet that longing jaggedly scrapes along my sanity, knowing that soon enough the T'nK I hate, will come back. Scheming, slithering about seeking out some new advantage. Always trying to out think everyone else, or simply lay enough shadows at their feet that they'll never see their death.

"My love, I would have let her live if you asked."