Cavendish snorts. "Vous êtes sûr? Je suis sûr que la soif de sang. Ça me semble assez fou. En plus, tu es un tueur."
They tilt their head and reach out, taking the sword with a practiced hand. They swing it in a few basic motions, then go on to more complex ones. Eventually they stop, their hair a mess from whilring and slashing like a demon.
"I have a few ideas for what sword it is, mainly since we elves have created near exact replicas. And it does not seem to be hellhound centric. Then again, I'm not the best person to ask. I'm not the usual sort of elf, or the usual sort of supernatural in general." they murmur, returning the sword to Bane.
He looked taken aback. "Oui! Je suis sûr! Bloodlust is part of my physiology, not a choice!" He huffed a heavy sigh and took his sword back. "It's an umbra sword. They are forged of shadow made solid. Mostly hellhounds use them as demons are too sophisticated. Dad always said to me that they prefer demon obsidian, that or he yelled, 'Cet enfant ne sait pas tenir sa langue'. I was very talkative. I'm sure he's said that to you before when talking about me. Cette vie n'est pas facile." He looked at the ground and then trained his eyes toward the ceiling. "I heard something."
Cavendish chuckles. "Mais peut-être le réduire de quelques crans ? Cela aidera, je le promets."
They chuckle. "Ah. That would explain the. . . fuck. What's the word for it in English? Faireachdainn geur. . . sharp feeling! Wait no, tingling. There we go! That's the word. Gods damn."
They laugh. "You seem to hold it very well now, at least."
Cavendish looks up as well, then points. A short, sharp scream is heard that is suddenly cut off. "Nobody now."
Bane puffs out his bottom lip. "Je ne suis jamais calme." He waves their words off and puts the sword back in the sheath. "If you seem to know us, why try to fight us? And," he looks up. "I don't think that scream was helpful in concealing this location further." An annoyed look crossed his face as something else popped into his mind, "Je ne aime pas les autres." He figured it was better to say it in another language than their native tongue.
Cavendish snorts. "Ça explique beaucoup."
They move their head side to side, as though listening to music only they could hear. "Testing you. If I told you more, I'd have to kill the memory of me telling you."
They shrug. "Cylinder of Silence. Nothing can hear what happens in here. Extends 50 feet above the house as well, and 100 feet under it."
They chuckle. "Logique. En quelque sorte."
His tail wags in an annoyed manner. "You are too mysterious. It's making me quite uncomfortable." He stood up and unsheathed his sword. "Je veux me battre contre!" He played with his weapon. Slashing it in the air, stabbing, any battle move that came to his mind. His boredom caught up with him, and he kicked the wall. One would be worried he broke a bone, but the wall received a crack in it. Common delinquent behavior—that's what his dad would say. Bane had no form of self-control, one of the pure reasons he's always getting hurt on assignments. Either that or murdering innocents.
Cavendish slowly gets up and stretches languidly, slipping back into Scottish Gaelic. "Uill, nam biodh tu airson sabaid dh’ fhaodadh tu a bhith air faighneachd."
They realize their mistake and laugh. "Sorry. If you wanted to fight you could have just asked."
Bane smirked and readied his sword. "Give me your worse, Cavendish. I'd like to see you try! I'm sure you know I am dangerous." He's acting like the skirmish from earlier never happened. Bane locks his eyes onto his target, and they go blood red. He exhibits a lot of the traits of a young hellhound with the knowledge of an adult. This could be dangerous for him in the end, or it could do him favors.
Cavendish smiles violently, their form flickering slighty with a slight halo of light and darkness. "I know you are dangerous. But you have no clue how poerful I actually am."
They stay where they are, waiting for Bane to make his move.
Bane grind. He swung the sword in a circle before he rushed Cavendish. Jumping off of his left foot, he swung a strike above the left shoulder. Bane aimed for their left side. The blade slashed through the air with its sickening swish. It tainted the air around their vicinity, turning it cold. He put most of his strength into the last part of the stroke to the blow. The part of the stroke close to their left side.
(Cavendish is biologically female, btw- feel the need to say something.)
Cavendish tilts their head and moves quickly, shifting so that the blow whistles past their chest. They bring an elbow down firecly on Bane's back, throwing him against the ground. Quickly, they pin his wrists and ankles to the ground, knees straddling his hips.
An 'oof' escaped from his mouth. His jaw hit the ground, and his sword flew out of his hand, clinking against the floor. He let a howl of pain. He tried to get Cavendish off of him using his bare strength. "GET OFF OF ME!" He whined. He tried to claw at their wrists, struggling to get in a single swipe. "Grrr!" He withered his body, trying to shake them off. Things are extremely difficult when your ankles and wrists are pinned to the ground.
Cavendish tilts their head, smiling lightly and in amusement.
"You really don't enjoy being bested, do you?" they ask, pressing down harder.
Bane howled louder, the pain in his back and jaw spreading throughout his body. "I don't personally enjoy it!" He spat, gritting his teeth. His forearms flex as he's trying to yank his pinned wrists. "Do you enjoy being pinning people, cause I am not enjoying it!" He whimpered
Cavendish lightly flips off of Bane, having successfuly riled him up.
"You gonna lay there?" they murmur. "Or fight?"
Bane reached for his sword, hooking it onto the leather binding with his claw. He used the butt of his sword hit Cavendish in the face. He used his strength to throw Cavendish off of him, slashing them on the forearm. The slash burns, and it feels cold. He pinned Cavendish to the ground, a hand on their neck. "My turn bitch."
Cavendish starts laughing, softly at first, then louder, as they bleed. Their airflow is slightly restricted, though, and it turns every breath into a slight truggle. They can't even speak, they're laughing so hard.
Bane pressed his hand further on their neck. His smile became sickening as he received a thrill out of their suffering. He pressed further and further, almost choking them before he came to his sense. His eyes went dark, and he let go of their throat. He got up and threw his sword to the corner of the room. Walking away, he said, "Make sure you clean out that wound. It will continue to burn your skin."
Cavendish just continues smiling, even as Bane's choking them, looking positively demented. When he realeases them, they start laughing again, heaving breaths at the same time, clutching their stomach. They eventually stop laughing and slowly sit up, going over to Bane and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.
"That is the first time anybody has ever done that without hestiation, based off of my slim figure. Because I look like a girl. I respect you for the fact that you are equally as brutal to me as everyone else." they say genuinely.
Bane was startled by the hand on his shoulder. "I—um—I don't fight people based on gender. I fight them all equally." He took a deep breath. "Didn't know you like that. Sounds strange. I had to stop. I didn't want to kill you. I like to think of you as my mentor now." He smiled. "But you must clean out the wound. It will do more harm than good."
Cavendish chuckles when Bane jumps.
"I'm glad." they murmur. They look up and smile. "'Like it?' I more than liked it. I enjoyed it. That is the first time I've felt alive in a long time."
They tilt their head. "'Mentor.' Huh. That's a new one. Friend. Enemy. Sister. Aunt. Niece. Lover. Mother. Mentor."
They chuckle. "But I appreciate the fact that you look up to me."
"I'll be fine. I've ingested Stygian Sleep before." they shrug
A shutter when down Bane's spine after hearing the joy Cavendish had nearly being choked to death. "Well—It helped me let off some steam. You've been called so many things—I'm either called son or nuisance." He smiled. "You're certainly better than dad. He's a big old brute—I don't necessarily like how he keeps tabs on me 24/7. Especially through other people."
Cavendish smiles as they notice Bane shudder. "You find the idea of someone enjoying their own pain rather unsettling."
"I- yes. Some more than once. . ." they chuckle, their voice trailing off as their eyes close and they withdraw within theirself. They shake theirself out of it when Bane continues speaking.
"Nobody likes being watched constantly. But I can help with that." they say.
(Just to note, I aged Bane's chronological age down to 24 to 25-ish to match his history better. He still looks 19)
He sat down on the floor, curling his tail around him. He's situated himself far from the others. "I do find it rather odd. It seems—unnatural for someone to enjoy their own pain. I certainly didn't enjoy you hitting my jaw against the ground. That was painful and still is." He paused, playing with his necklace. "How can you help me? How can you help me stay out of dad's radar? You see what he has done to my face, right!" He gestures to the fresh scars. "I want to escape, but I can't!"
(That's cool!)
(I gotta go, it's getting close to time for bed. I might be back on later but who knows?)
(And Shinso, if you get on later, sorry!)
