How the dead keep dreaming [Mammon, Belphegor]
Challenge: Blizzard survival
Title: How the dead keep dreaming
Word count: 486
Characters: Mammon, Belphegor
Notes: It's survival in a way...?
"I'll never see Mammon use that skill!"
Mammon walked towards Belphegor's petulant howl, squinting through the snow. He could keep off the impression of its coldness and mass, but it obscured his vision determinedly. He poked Belphegor in the ankle and got picked up and inspected at arm's length.
"Did you use it?" Belphegor said.
"Yes. She's dead."
Belphegor cuddled him close. "Unfair! The blizzard kept me from seeing. And they give us so few missions together now that Boss is on ice..." He put his tongue out to catch snowflakes. "I wonder if he could lick his way out."
"Then he would have done it by now."
Belphegor sniffed, and shifted his arm to squeeze Mammon's neck. "End this illusion. It's making my toes numb."
"It's not me! It was her! Women obscure their bodies after losing a fight!"
"Did you go around killing women illusionists specially to find that out?" Belphegor sounded intrigued, but didn't stop choking him. It wasn't hard enough to be serious, but it was still hard.
"No - I've heard of it, but this is the first time I've fought one vain enough for this. Look!" Mammon said impatiently, and waved an arm at the thick of the storm. "Why would I do that?"
Shadows between snowflakes, shifting of wind, the twist of a tree branch - and somehow it formed a woman's face, eyes closed, still within the motion that made it.
"Her?" said Belphegor, and his arm loosened in his distraction. "She's beautiful. You killed the Snow Queen, Mammon."
"She was stupid enough to get killed." The embrace was comfortable now, and Mammon relaxed into it. He hated these baby instincts. "Let's get out of this."
Belphegor trudged through snow though Mammon offered to erase that illusion, because he liked to kick the piles into crystalline spray. "But how can dead people keep dreaming?" he asked.
"Who knows?" Mammon said, and there was too much smugness in his voice, because Belphegor replied in a nasty knowing tone, "I think you do."
Mammon was silent, and Phantasma huffed an annoyed breath. "Not yet," Mammon murmured, and stroked the hell ring in his pocket that he'd taken off the woman's finger. Yes, the rumours might be true; there might be power there. "I might find out soon, after some research. And after that you might have a chance to see me use that skill. We might have more missions together soon..."
"Oh," said Belphegor, startled. He was insane, but he did think quickly. "Oh!"
They walked out of the last flurries of the tiny storm and into sunlight. "Freeing the boss? You've got big plans for a little brat." He cuddled Mammon carefully, chin resting on his head beside Phantasma.
"We'll see. Soon," Mammon said, almost making a promise. Then he grumbled to himself for being so comfortable with Prince the Ripper and settled into the embrace. Stupid baby instincts.
Title: How the dead keep dreaming
Word count: 486
Characters: Mammon, Belphegor
Notes: It's survival in a way...?
"I'll never see Mammon use that skill!"
Mammon walked towards Belphegor's petulant howl, squinting through the snow. He could keep off the impression of its coldness and mass, but it obscured his vision determinedly. He poked Belphegor in the ankle and got picked up and inspected at arm's length.
"Did you use it?" Belphegor said.
"Yes. She's dead."
Belphegor cuddled him close. "Unfair! The blizzard kept me from seeing. And they give us so few missions together now that Boss is on ice..." He put his tongue out to catch snowflakes. "I wonder if he could lick his way out."
"Then he would have done it by now."
Belphegor sniffed, and shifted his arm to squeeze Mammon's neck. "End this illusion. It's making my toes numb."
"It's not me! It was her! Women obscure their bodies after losing a fight!"
"Did you go around killing women illusionists specially to find that out?" Belphegor sounded intrigued, but didn't stop choking him. It wasn't hard enough to be serious, but it was still hard.
"No - I've heard of it, but this is the first time I've fought one vain enough for this. Look!" Mammon said impatiently, and waved an arm at the thick of the storm. "Why would I do that?"
Shadows between snowflakes, shifting of wind, the twist of a tree branch - and somehow it formed a woman's face, eyes closed, still within the motion that made it.
"Her?" said Belphegor, and his arm loosened in his distraction. "She's beautiful. You killed the Snow Queen, Mammon."
"She was stupid enough to get killed." The embrace was comfortable now, and Mammon relaxed into it. He hated these baby instincts. "Let's get out of this."
Belphegor trudged through snow though Mammon offered to erase that illusion, because he liked to kick the piles into crystalline spray. "But how can dead people keep dreaming?" he asked.
"Who knows?" Mammon said, and there was too much smugness in his voice, because Belphegor replied in a nasty knowing tone, "I think you do."
Mammon was silent, and Phantasma huffed an annoyed breath. "Not yet," Mammon murmured, and stroked the hell ring in his pocket that he'd taken off the woman's finger. Yes, the rumours might be true; there might be power there. "I might find out soon, after some research. And after that you might have a chance to see me use that skill. We might have more missions together soon..."
"Oh," said Belphegor, startled. He was insane, but he did think quickly. "Oh!"
They walked out of the last flurries of the tiny storm and into sunlight. "Freeing the boss? You've got big plans for a little brat." He cuddled Mammon carefully, chin resting on his head beside Phantasma.
"We'll see. Soon," Mammon said, almost making a promise. Then he grumbled to himself for being so comfortable with Prince the Ripper and settled into the embrace. Stupid baby instincts.