We Are Bulletproof

"All right."

Satine didn't ask, didn't prod, didn't push for answers. This conversation was over--for both of them. That was the way it had to be for now, she thought not without a tinge of sadness. Rhys used to trust her with all of his secrets; now they were so distant. There were shades of their past selves inside, but too much time had passed between then and now.

The drive back was mostly quiet; Satine had her own thoughts to contend with and her answers were mostly monosyllabic and uninformative. In front of the apartment building she put the brake on, then after some thought leaned over and slid her arms around Rhys for a loose hug.

"Good luck, Rhys. I mean it." Satne pulled back with one of her rarer smiles--a warm smile she reserved only for him. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do, all right?"

Ah. Raphael. That little servant boy with the name and face of an angel, he stuck out like a sore thumb. Satine heard he was something of a joke, really—nobody took him seriously. He was always saying dangerous things, things that could get people killed if they weren't careful enough. And yet he was sent along on this trip. He came with Rhys and Keith, both very capable assassins and trusted extensions of the King's rule.

Whose protection did he enjoy?

"Raphael not doing his job is pissing you off? To that degree?" Satine snorted softly. Right. And she was born yesterday. Either it wasn't Raphael or it was, and something else happened. She thought back to the pause earlier, when she first met Rhys, when he couldn't even come out to say, in one breath, that he'd sent his servant out.

Was it the job? A job of a personal nature? Possible...

"Just kill him. If he's not doing his job, he's worthless. Father will send a replacement for you, it's not as if that's difficult." Satine side-eyed him. Why hadn't Rhys killed him, if he was that much trouble? She couldn't imagine it would be hard. But then she thought... of Raphael, his eyes on Rhys the last time she saw them together, the over-eager way he ran for refreshments, tea, coffee, how he hovered...

"Aaaalll right," Satine said slowly, watching Rhys stalk back towards the car in a terrible mood. An actual terrible mood, hm? Not merely vague annoyance or faint irritation? No scorn? No blase dismissal of whatever it was that he had read? Going back to work surely didn't demand this level of... reaction.

She followed him at a more leisurely pace, watching him with keen eyes. Something—someone—had gotten through to him. Satine didn't know what to make of it. She didn't read the letter and didn't see the writing, so she didn't know who sent it, but she thought that they were... dangerous. If Rhys wanted to remain the heir to his father's throne, that person was dangerous to him.

"Hey," she said as she caught up to him at the car, unlocking it. "You're sure everything's okay? You can still tell me things, you know. I'm your sister."

And she was here for him no matter what, no matter where their lives diverged. Satine turned the key in the ignition and pulled away from the woods, back onto the highway.

"Well you gotta show your work, Rhys," Satine said with a short laugh, rising from the dead wolf with a quick wipe at her face. Blood smeared all over her, all down her front, but it was nothing a good shower wouldn't fix. Besides, was she hurting for money? Not really. She could buy new clothes to replace the ones that were ruined. Human money was basically printed paper, anyway.

"Feel better?" She walked over after kicking hers down the side of the ravine too, watching it rolling only briefly. Rhys looked invigorated. That brought another smile to her face as she patted him on the back (with a bloody hand) and then she paused. "Hey. Is that...?"

A little Seek-Me floated towards them, playfully doing loops in the air. It stopped before Rhys, tinkling in a happy kind of way, and presented him with a letter.

"The hell? Who'd send you a letter out here?"

Satine avoided over-thinking. It got her through a lot of the shit they made her do to 'prove herself' and her loyalty to the goddamn dark king. Drake Nightshade. What a despicably common storybook name. Like something ripped straight out of a bad fantasy book. It wasn't his real name, she'd bet. Not Drake Nightshade, when he was born a fae. Maybe it was something fruity like Rainbow Joy McSparklepants, and he wanted to get as far away from that as possible. (That was the stupid name she gave the villain in one of her childhood stories, the ones she made up with Rhys back when he was still innocent, before he Fell.)

And really, neither was Satine her real name. It was a name she made for herself because she wanted to distance this monster that she had become from the pure-hearted little girl she used to be. Back when she thought she was their real daughter, that Rhys was her real little brother, and when she hoped one day for her own wings to grow—so that they could be taken from her. The world had a bad way of crushing hopes and dreams. It had a way of grinding certain people down to dust.

But hey, what was the point of bitching and moaning? Satine got shit done. She was no one to be fucked with and the two wolves that Rhys pointed silently out to her were going to learn that the hard way. Satine made a half-circle in the air with her index; she would go one way, Rhys could go another. They'd trap them in a classic pincer movement. With a little crooked grin, she was gone. Adrenaline surged through her body as she sprinted at top speed along the side of the ravine, hidden by a screen of trees.

Where the trees thinned out, she sprang out, daggers drawn. Satine took a flying leap and landed on the back of one of the wolves. Sure sign of a Feral—they were much bigger than the ordinary wolf. More like wolves on steriods. One of her daggers sank into the thick fur at the back of its neck; it let out a sharp yowl and immediately tried to buck her, whipping its slavering, snapping jaws around. Satine let out a growl of her own as the other dagger flashed like a blur through the air, stabbing indiscriminately.

She just wanted to see the blood and the fur fly. To feel the life ebbing from that strong wolf's body. Its companion was already springing at her, jaws bared and howling, but Satine knew Rhys would have her back.

Or she could just kill him.

Making him suffer like that was the fallen way, or it was Keith's way, but really... Satine didn't hate Niall Gallagher. She didn't know him enough to feel any type of way about him. The little she saw of him during her rounds of staking out his place didn't tell her much. He was a flaming homosexual, that much she knew, but she never heard him talk, didn't see him doing much else. His lover protected him so intensely and so zealously that it was rare to even see Niall Gallagher alone, all by himself.

So... yeah. A blade between the ribs was the most merciful way to get the job done. And then she could join her real family and there, she knew she would be useful. Not only did she know magic, she grew up around it; she could lead them to dens of supernatural creatures and she could finally be accepted. She would be home.

Briefly she glanced at Rhys. He was family, too. He was home once. But now... The fact that he could suggest such a plan was proof positive that he was no longer her little brother. He was just Rhys, son of Drake Nightshade. Prince of the Fallen. So Satine steeled her resolve and nodded. Yes. Fuck shit up. Avoid that weirdness she sensed in him earlier, disregard her own feelings. Just go and kill and feel better about themselves.

"All right." She hopped out lightly, feet crunching on the dry leaves and branches underfoot. Satine didn't wait for Rhys, just as Rhys didn't wait for her back at the apartment. She knew he'd follow, into the woods and between the trees, treading now lightly, avoiding even the slightest bit of wayward noise. Wolves had amazing smell; ferals more so. But Satine cast a quick blinding spell over her to keep her scent out of the air, and crept forward with one hand on her belt, where her fae-crafted daggers were.

"Keith is a fucking asshat," Satine growled, secretly hoping that Keith did fail just so she could see him getting torn apart by the king. Not her king, though. Not even her real dad. Her real dad was somewhere out in Ireland with the rest of her family, never even knowing that their baby daughter had been taken from them and replaced with a fae baby.

And they were hunters, was the real irony in all of this. Her family was legacy. They hunted since the beginning of time, taking down scum like those ferals that she and Rhys were about to go an decimate. They probably also hunted fae, and fallen. Well, that part was unavoidable but Satine was sure that she could at least protect Rhys if it had to come down to it. Rhys was her brother, if not by blood then by tears alone. She loved him in her black heart, as much as anyone could love another person. (Or non-person, as it were.)

"Oh you heard about Sri." Satine's laugh was unamused and dark. "Spell rebounded so bad, he was torn to shreds. Wasn't pretty." After that they decided to take a step back and reformulate their original plans. "We've been taking turns keeping an eye on him. That hunter boy he's with isn't much of an issue, because he's human, but we're not equipped to deal with fae magic that strong. Probably need to wait for a Surge to get him really defenceless, enough to corrupt him."

That was their plan—her plans with Sal were ridiculously simple. Get in and stab the fucker in the heart. No fae magic could defend against a blade, after all. Satine pulled off the highway, down a stretch of bumpy side road. "Ready to fuck somebody's day up?" She smiled over at Rhys. If they couldn't have a good day, nobody else better be having a good day around them either.

It really was like watching Rhys dying before her eyes, the way his personality faded. Satine was too young to know what to do back then and even now, she wasn't sure if the path she forged for herself was the right one. She couldn't tell anyone about it; she could confide in no one. But that was the last straw. When she realized that the Rhys she knew and loved wouldn't come back, there truly was nothing left for her. Without Rhys—her Rhys, her precious, spirited, lively little brother—what was she hanging around for? To be denigrated and looked down on? To serve some mad fallen king hell-bent on converting all of the fae across the world to fallen?

In the car she was quiet for a moment, letting him talk. She focused on driving. "Mm I heard. Seems like you've got trouble on your hands, with that fae prince he's tangled up with. You think he's close to realizing his powers? Did you get anything useful out of the fixer you found?"

That was a stroke of luck—fixers were rare even in the fae realm, but one with that much information on their target? He was a sitting duck, practically. Satine only heard whispers here and there through her connections in town, but Rhys would let her know all of the major developments, she was sure. Jack Ripley wasn't her problem anyway; she had her own mission with Niall Gallagher, and keeping tabs on him until the King himself could come to reclaim his child. But Satine, she had other plans—plans that didn't involve waiting around like a good little girl. Not this time.

"That's my boy." She patted him on the back, and then almost as though she had to think it through, paused and rubbed it gently the way she used to when he was ill or troubled. Something was wrong. Something was off. She could tell when he was blasé and ho-hum life is boring, and she could tell when something disturbed that status quo. For Fallen, feelings and emotions were weird things. Forbidden things. Their very power depended on them being void of all emotion and yet their own natures fought against that. They were fae once; they were made in the image of beauty rather than to sow the seeds of chaos.

Thank fuck she was human, for that one reason. Thank whatever fucker was up there or down there that she hadn't been born with wings. To have everything that made her unique stripped from her was almost too much to bear. She still remembered secretly crying when Rhys had his removed. Magically excised. That fucker up on that throne did it himself, with his own two hands, and he was damned proud of it.

That fucker.

"This way." Satine redirected her steps to her car, which could take them to better hunting grounds than downtown fucking Hazleton or the suburbs. Someplace where they could hunt with complete freedom, where dying screams couldn't be heard. "I know where some ferals might be hiding out." For the challenge.

"Don't blame you," Satine muttered—she'd been trying to get away for years. Out here in the middle of fucking nowhere, it still wasn't far enough away from him.. She scrutinized Rhys again as he seemed to forcibly rein himself in. Errands, huh? That was normal enough; lackeys weren't good for much else. "Is he going to come back with another sack load of teacups?" That kid had a weird fetish. Or maybe he was a hoarder, but Satine definitely thought he had issues.

At the mention of her own mission, she cracked a dark smile. "Going okay." Satine wasn't saying much more else. Rhys was her little brother—her beloved little brother, even—but some secrets weren't meant to be shared. And he wouldn't understand. He had been doted on and appreciated since birth; he was the heir to the throne, practically, raised by the king's own hand and fashioned after his own image. By all accounts, Rhys was the golden child. Not a drop of rebellion in him, either, and he was loyal to a fault.

"Needed a break from goddamn Sal though. You busy? Wanna go relax?" By which she obviously meant—go and hunt something. Killing was their job but it didn't mean they couldn't enjoy it, either, and it was a great outlet for any pent-up frustrations.

Satine regretted a lot of shit from that god-forsaken place she came from, but she never regretted Rhys. He was the only one worth staying for around there, the only little bit of brightness in an otherwise pitch-black past. Maybe it was because they were raised together. Maybe because they spent so much time together and were of a similar age, it was easier to form an attachment.

See, Satine didn't have issues with feelings and emotions; she wasn't Fallen. That seemed to be a theme in her life. Not being things, not being enough. Not belonging. But Rhys never made her feel that way, even if they drifted apart gradually over the years. Satine knew it was because he was a Fallen that his feelings became dulled and faded, that the inquisitive and bright little brother she used to play with and roll around on the grass with as they wrestled and tussled was still in there, just corrupted. The memories of him couldn't be corrupted though. That was what mattered in the end.

She strode along after him, double-time. Two steps to his one, with those fucking long legs of his. Satine snorted. Sure he heard her. "What do you think?" She didn't come here to see Keith that was for damn sure. And she tolerated Rhys' little buttnerd lackey, Raphael, but she wouldn't make a trip all the way down here for that little air-head. Yet, she was reluctant to say that she missed him. It took a while for her own feelings to get warmed up, okay?

Catching up, she elbowed him lightly in the side. "Your hair on fire or something? In a hurry to get places?" Shit, where the hell was he storming off to? Satine's sharp glance slid over him, taking in the tension in his jaw and the steely look in his eyes. That look that said he was determined to not feel a certain way about something. Rare for one who had been fallen for so long. Feelings. Hah.

"Where's your dumb little shadow?" His absence was noticeable; usually he was dog-trotting after Rhys, babbling about something or other in that annoyingly chipper voice of his.

Well fuck.

Satine stood in front of the apartment building, arms akimbo, staring up with distaste in her expression. She didn't like these apartments. They were disgustingly rectangular, devoid of structure or design. Just a fucking box they stuck people into like sardines in a can. Humans. Even if she was one, she had never grown up in their world and so everything was weird and different and unsightly.

Back where she came from—she refused to call it a home—there were dark spires like claws extending into the sky. There were also hovels, slums, with houses slumped over like hunchbacks and grimy cracked windows flickering with oily, weak light. If you weren't anyone, you weren't worth shit back there.

Yet, Satine never managed to rise above being worth less than shit.

Ironic, given that she was raised by the so-called royal family. Her lip curled just thinking about them. Something dark in her chest curled too, but rehashing all the ways she'd been wronged wasn't why she was here. She'd been out here too long. She wanted something familiar without being nauseated by all of the shitty memories that she harbored of her past.

Supposedly, Rhys was here with his little tagalong friend and... Keith. If ever there was someone who deserved to be banished to hell, it was Keith. Hopefully he wasn't around; Satine couldn't be held responsible for what she might do to him on sight. She started to go inside the building when that familiar face she'd been looking for stormed out. It looked like he didn't see her, because she waited for some sign of recognition but... nothing. Rhys looked distracted despite his stoney-faced expression.

"Ey. Little fairy boy." That was safe to yell here; at most someone would think she was some kind of blatant homophobe, which was all right by her. Didn't make it true. Satine strode towards him, her glossy dark boots clicking with each step. "You too good to acknowledge your own sister now?" The words were abrasive, after her usual fashion, but the slight smile on her face was not.