LYCOS | tacet anima mea [Wenclair Omegaverse]

SCALDING | moon | ii (3) | 6.4k

| vi |

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☼ ⋆⁺₊⋆

| (she gathers blade) |

With every Addams is a chosen instrument for death. That instrument is in light of character. For their honor's name, there is an espoused blade.

Your father takes to his pride, that being his character. Your uncle is the same, though erratic.

Mother is fond of épée. She was never one to enjoy blood on her hands, but she is an Addams, so to your prologued horror, she adopted the estoc. Because Mother would never slash her words; her eyes are biting. There is elegance.

For Grandmama, it's straightforward: a cleaver. In many of her meals, the trace of who she's butchered haunts the plate.

Pugsley has his saber, and it's the very same which survived his Mazurka. Battered still by his explosives, the saber is the only blade in his room. For now. He awaits for the blacksmith to finish his honor's prize.

Then, there is you. And primitive comes naturally. Your technologies lay as webwork, knives are pincers, sadism the color of oil. Much of you dwells within shadows. Your honor does, and mutely so. You are the first to have your blade hidden, because it isn't pride that fuels your honor, not like it does loyalty. Instead, it's pragmatism.

The morning is grey. The clouds will not leave.

What an hour to bring your umbrella to class.

"Alright. Now pair off."

The room shuffles once the coach meanders. Today, he has irritatingly decided to be creative and not only switch the blades to fence with, but who to fence against as well. Bianca leaves you for Kent. Enid and Yoko split for Xavier and Divina respectively.

And you are left with Ajax.

There's a pursed smile before he goes back to strapping his glove. You flex yours, then stray to your umbrella. Your épée — a poor, poor excuse for a blade, truly — is kicked to the side.

"Gotta admit, I didn't expect a puppy to step up to a dick like Tyler."

"I mean, I'm not ... five."

You glance over. Enid is pulling her mask on, back to Xavier.

"Just saying! Kinda impressed."

"But wh—? Okay." (Her head tosses. You know there to be thorn in her eyes.) "I know how to fence too. So."

Xavier shrugs. There is no need to see through the helm. You know the look. That cocked smile.

You roll your eyes and cast a glance over for Ajax.

"Quit...! We're wearing the mask...! Do you know who we're partnered with?!"

He is struggling. The snakes squirm, and that much is made plain from your end of the piste.

"Bedhead?"

"A-Ah, yeah. Well." (The helmet is slammed on.) "It took them three hours to find the cold side of the pillow."

Ajax grabs his rapier in one, steadfast sweep. The hilt hobbles, and the blade wavers, the more he toys with it. There's an awkward laugh.

"H-Heh. I forget how heavy these kinda are."

"They're not made for sport."