Big Book Of Parvill One Shots

Hands Unclean (S)

TW: Implied/Referenced Self harm, Blood Magic, Blood/Injury, Implied/Referenced Character Death

~Chapter One: You Don't Have To Stay

Strife complains, a lot, he knows he does. It's hard to keep a lid on it when he's got nothing else to talk about and nothing else to do. Most days when Parvis invites him over he's either fixing something, cleaning something, or watching Parv stand around the altar with a tome or scroll or some other kind of literature on the intricacies of blood magic. He's not sure what he's supposed to be doing here anymore – or why he keeps being invited. Or why he keeps accepting the invitations. It feels like he's just waiting for another disaster to clean up.

And in his defense, he hadn't really thought that anyone was paying any attention to him. Neither the witches nor Parv spared him so much as a glance unless he was bringing something or taking something – like when he takes the wicked, curved blade from Parv's hands, drags him away from the altar and into bed. Or when he has to take whatever new potion or trinket or whatever that the witches have conjured to escape.

It's never pleasant. And he can tell both parties are bitter and resentful about him doing these kinds of things. Furtively whispering and glaring when his back is turned.

So he complains. About the state of the building mostly. The walls look like they could collapse if the wind so much as picked up, and there actually are places where the roof is sagging inward. The building, Parvis, and the witches, all of it feels like it's balanced on the edge of a knife. Something's going to happen soon, he just doesn't know what.

"You don't have to stay," Parvis tells him suddenly, interrupting Will's rather lengthy complaint about the temperature of the building. It's cold. Empty in most places. He wonders how Parv sleeps here. "You can leave if you like."

Will frowns, taken aback. But...Parvis had invited him here. Invited him to watch the mage work on his sanguimancy or vitalomancy or whatever they were calling it these days. He crosses his arms. "You want me to leave?"

Parv, perched on the edge of the altar, doesn't even turn to look at him. He's obviously distracted by the book in his hand and the swirling blood before him. He merely shrugs. "You don't have to stay."

The reply irks him for some reason. He's been coming here for months, watching, conversing, and fixing things for Parvis and the mage can't be bothered to care or even appreciate it? It's not that he wants a 'thank you' from Parv, although it'd be nice, but some acknowledgement of him being here or being a friend or colleague would make him feel like he was actually doing something, like he had a purpose in coming here and taking care of every damn person and thing here..

He huffs, and gathers his things, frustrated and sullen. "Fine."

When he's gone, the blood mage tosses the book aside and leans heavily against the altar. The blood settles and he frowns, looking solemnly into the deep and wet red.

~Chapter Two: Ancient Power

Strife tries not to think about Parvis, and stamps down any thoughts of returning until Xephos storms through his front door, eyes glowing and clothes swirling around him, moved by some unseen force. He looks very much like the old and powerful being that saved him so long ago. Of course, this time, he is the face of all-consuming rage. Although Strife fears what he's done to incur the wrath of whom he respects very highly, he stands his ground.

Xephos is not happy.

"I put you in charge of Parvis." He tells him. "And you've abandoned him!"