bigbaddy: (happened to smeaton)
bigby wolf ( THE BIG BAD WOLF ) ([personal profile] bigbaddy) wrote in [community profile] mysteries2014-07-06 04:49 pm

ic; feed their lungs to the family dog



( also known as mary, please, private rooms, personal space, ever heard of it?? )
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[personal profile] raws 2014-07-07 12:50 am (UTC)(link)
Mary, Mary, quite contrary—

[ Despite her legend being a menacing and, well, bloody one, Mary appears quite relaxed as she slowly surfaces in Bigby’s mirror. Her location is shrouded in darkness, only parts of her face visible in the shadow; the bone lines that make her up, jaunt planes and sharp angles, are marked by it. She almost looks like pieces of negative space and what opposes it, cobbled together by too many artistic hands that had worked over one another, under one another, but never with. Too many artists with too many paint brushes and what came out of the canvas was Bloody Mary.

Sprawled in a chair, leg tucked over leg and her grin wide, toothy, unpleasant, she continues - ]


How does your garden grow?
With silver bells and cockle shells…

[ There’s something quite horrible about her laugh, horrible and beautiful, like bells and screams. He’ll hear it now, her words trailing into a laugh, girlish and not. ]

…and all pretty maids in a row.

[ Her feet are bare, he’ll notice, as they swing into the light.

A grin, as unwelcoming as a skull’s, is tossed his way. ]


Morning, Sheriff.
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[personal profile] raws 2014-07-07 03:00 pm (UTC)(link)
[ He says her name and it’s the perfect in between of “get the hell out” and Mary knowing she’s in for a good time. She continues to grin her bow-like grin, content to just watch him stew in his own quiet misery. Not all of it had been accomplished by her hand, but enough of it had. He can’t banish her from his mirror, not while teenage girls push each other into bathrooms and treat her existence like a party game; it’s power, it’s heady, she could get drunk off of it if she wished to. ]

Oh, don’t be like that. I just wanted to look into your big brown eyes once more.

[ Her eyebrows dip, as an appropriate prelude to the shift her face takes. More animalistic, more amused. ]

Not the ones you’re wearing right now. You were— how shall I put this. More interesting way back when. You inspired so many nightmares.

[ Not as many as her, of course. He’s the nightmare of children, but she’s everyone’s nightmare. Mary likes it that way. ]
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[personal profile] raws 2014-07-07 08:06 pm (UTC)(link)
If I wanted to watch that dumbass thief comb his beard, I’d already be there.

[ Her words, as ever, come out as little more than a purr. People don’t consider it necessary to live without mirrors, Fables included, and the Woodsman is no exception. Mary has absolutely nothing constraining her - nothing but the Crooked Man’s orders and her own desires, after all. She doesn’t want to talk to the Woodsman, so she doesn’t. His story is over. He’s boring.

Mary’s head lolls in consideration and she shifts, sitting forward instead of sprawled sidewards, taking up all the space the way a man would. With feet flat on the floor and shoulders squared, back hunched, well. He’ll get a peek inside her shirt’s neckline as well as an uncompromising view of her expression. ]


Look. The mirror is traditional, and I like tradition.

[ Her smile jerks, widening, as abrupt as twisting a knife. ]

It’s not necessary. Any reflective surface will do. Your toaster, a puddle of water, Crane’s glasses. I just have to be fast enough. And I’ve had plenty of time to work on that. So why don’t you make this easier on both of us and, I don’t know, invite me over for a nightcap?

[ His expression, all torn up in impotent, wolfish anger, really is delightful. She can’t get enough of it. She’d laugh, but laughing hurts her throat in anything more than tiny, murmured bursts. Everyone has always told her how terrible her laugh is, that it makes mundies bleed from the ears and fingernail beds. Who knows what it would do to him. It’s an experiment for later. ]

I like warm milk with a splash of bourbon.
Edited 2014-07-07 20:13 (UTC)
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[personal profile] raws 2014-07-07 09:14 pm (UTC)(link)
[ If there’s one thing Mary likes, it’s getting what she wants. The mirror mists red, growing more and more opaque until it is welled up to the edges with solid colour. When Mary appears again, she’s in his apartment, standing on his floor and breathing his air. It doesn’t look like she moved through the mirror so much as faded into existence beside it, but one hand is left splayed against its surface. For balance, even if she goes out of her way to not indicate that. It’s harder. Although not impossible, when they don’t invite her willingly. Bigby had gone out of his way not to say her name, and that’s where the power of invitation lies. ]

Please. The last thing I need right now is to hear the shrieks and giggles of stupid girls.

[ Rather like a nosey guest, she’s sizing up every inch of the place. ]

But if you’d like to put on a pink teddy and chant in front of the mirror, it’d make for a fun night too.

[ Mary intends to have fun regardless, but right now, she feels like the ceiling is pressing down on her and the floor caving up in turn. The apartment is rejecting her presence, making her head swim. Her grin is far less smug then it was moments ago.

That doesn’t stop her from making herself at home, though. Sprawling into one of his kitchen chairs, she plants her booted feet on the table, one ankle crosses over the other. ]
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[personal profile] raws 2014-07-09 01:51 am (UTC)(link)
I already told you, Sheriff.

[ She tips her head back, keeping him in her field of vision as he moves around the room. Mary’s interests may lie in the dark, the exotic, but she’s far from blind. He’s nice to look at. He simultaneously looks his age and doesn’t, worn and lined and leathery. There are worse things in the world to be stuck staring at. ]

I’m here for a nightcap.

[ She doesn’t sleep during the night - to do so would interfere with her precious hobby - so when the Crooked Man doesn’t need anything, she’s left wholly to her own devices. It can get boring. She doesn’t like being bored.

Bigby was, is, never boring.

Why can’t it be that simple? ]
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[personal profile] raws 2014-07-11 01:54 am (UTC)(link)
[ He finally deigns to look at her and Mary holds his gaze without flinching, her smile crooked and unkind, almost playful. ]

I already asked for warm milk and bourbon. I’ll take whatever you have.

[ Water, he had said, but she’s skeptical. Not enough to get up and look through the fridge herself, though. Or perhaps she can’t just be bothered. His notions of milk and cookies, being tucked in, are dismissed with a careless pull of her eyes. His proximity isn’t unwelcome; standing over her as he is, she can feel the animalistic warmth emanating off of him in waves, heat and blood and life. Mary’s been cold to the touch, like unlit glass at night, always. ]

Why don’t you tell me something, Sheriff. Why are you so concerned why I am here? Are you worried I’ll stick your little pig friend?

[ Standing out of the chair, she takes advantage of his proximity to enforce her presence. Although her head tilts back a fraction, she stands uncomfortably close to him.

Either he’ll step away or he won’t.

As far as Mary is concerned, either one is a win for her and a loss for him. ]
Edited 2014-07-11 01:56 (UTC)
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[personal profile] raws 2014-07-14 06:46 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Mary tilts her head. She’s pleased, and her entire expression is an outward extension of that pleasure, from the malicious crease and dip to her brow to the razor slip her smile becomes. When he sighs, the veins in his throat pulse with the movement, taut and loose in turn, and she finds herself wondering what it would like to be to taste the blood underneath. Is it wolf’s blood, Mary wonders, or the blood of a human.

She could, too. She could lean forward and… ]


I’ve never been a good girl.

[ Those few words only and then she lashes out, the heel of her hand driving straight into his chin. Her legend gives her strength - Bloody Mary, the spectre in the mirror; Mary I, queen of England for a day. It’s belief, as well as blood, that flows through her, powers her, makes her strong. A Mundie who received a blow like that wouldn’t be alive now. The force of it would sever an ordinary person’s head from their shoulders. Human skin, bones, sinew and muscle - they’re wonderfully, beautifully fragile things. And boring.

It’s amusement and interest that sharpens her cheshire’s grin now.

It won’t be any fun if he dies tonight, after all. ]
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[personal profile] raws 2014-07-19 02:04 am (UTC)(link)
[ She’s strong, fit and fueled by the potency of her legend, but she’s comparably powerless in her glamoured form and he’s, well. He’s the Big Bad Wolf. He’s never needed a glamour. His change is entirely his own. Her shoulders hit the wall, her back following. It hurts. Were she a Mundie, the force of it would have likely snapped her invertebrae like a twig. She’s not, though - and it’s only a tickle, a twinge, a welcome heat at the base of her spine and spreading rapidly upwards.

The shove had enough force behind it that all the décor on the wall rattles, and it’s a very sweet sound to her. ]


I don’t have to go anywhere, wolf.

[ For the moment, she appears resigned to his hold. Really, Mary’s thoroughly unafraid. He can’t do anything to her that she doesn’t want. And this is pleasure, after all. Not business. There’s none to answer to but her own desires. ]

Can you let go of me? The noise will wake your neighbours, like little miss Snow White. And you don't want that, do you, Sheriff?

[ She's close enough that the last few words are little more than a sultry breath against his ear, Mary leaning in. ]
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[personal profile] raws 2014-07-26 12:02 am (UTC)(link)
[ He moves in close in turn and she can feel his breath tickle her throat. The warmth excites goose prickles along her skin, and her smile sharpens in extension - pleased as a cat, with a smirk to match. He’s holding on, despite her attempts. Mary’s fine with it. He’s still the big bad wolf from stories, whether his eyes are brown or gold. He plays the role of Sheriff, wears the badge like a cloak of change, but she doesn’t believe it. Tonight— or however long it takes, really— she will get him to face his bloodlust head on, be who he really is. ]

You’re asking the questions here, is that it?

[ It’s a jibe, a play on words, teasing out something she’s heard in every cop procedural drama she’s ever watched, “I’m asking the questions here.”

Even with her pinned by her shoulders, she still has some movement of her arms. One hand shifts, sliding around his waist to find a spot on his back— aha. Right there.

Her fingers press into the scar left by her silver bullet, so many months ago. ]


Remember this?
Edited 2014-07-26 00:04 (UTC)
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[personal profile] raws 2014-08-01 01:14 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Mary rolls her eyes. Her fingers continue to linger over the bullet wound, with only his flimsy work shirt as a wall between her touch and his skin. A spiral of ridged flesh, and a scar left for a man who normally never scars. Her mark. For the rest of his life, she’ll be stamped on him - her weapon, her intervention, her attack. It’s a nice feeling; a thrilling one, from the base of her spine to the back of her knees. Her chin dips just that tiniest bit lower, nearly brushing against the curve of his neck, before her lips graze his ear. ]

Please. Quit posturing. I know who you really are.

[ The child of the northern wind and a wolf, and he became something else altogether. A legend of malice and bloodshed that could rival hers. She doesn’t understand why he doesn’t return to it, even though it would probably disrupt the town’s order - shatter it, even. Mary kills and maims and tortures for fun, yes, but she still needs to make a living somehow. The Big Bad Wolf wouldn’t need to be burdened by such limitations if he didn’t choose to. He would be a force of pure ruin. But, instead, he puts on the Business Office’s pretty little shackles, punches his time card, and plays nice. It’s entertaining, until it isn’t.

Mary has never done well with things that don’t entertain her. There’s still his proximity, though; his scent, his taste, the warmth coming off of him in waves, like the hot breath of a furnace. Her shoulders dig just so harder into the wall from his steeling grip and Mary only continues to look pleased. ]


Why don’t you prove you’re still a man instead of making idle threats?

[ The spot just below his ear, a bit more clean shaven than the rest of his jawline. That one, there. Her tongue darts out to taste his skin - and then Mary bites down. ]
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[personal profile] raws 2014-08-07 12:02 pm (UTC)(link)
[ The growl reverberates through his throat, making his flesh vibrate under her teeth. It’s a nice feeling and, following it, she’s prepared to dig her teeth in deeper. His reaction distracts her, claws goring the yellowed wallpaper and his entire body shuddering, flaring to life against her. Mary decided long ago that he really is better looking like this, not confined to the chains of a human appearance and human rules.

Except he still won’t admit it, and that pisses her off. ]


Don’t you get it, wolf boy?

[ With a hand shaking behind his neck, she grabs a fistful of his hair and yanks backward. She can’t do too much with him pressed against her, the strength of the wolf bearing down, but that’s not the same as not doing anything. The hollows of his throat are thrown into clear relief, and the sight of the blood she left on his neck makes Mary chortle darkly. ]

Sure, you can kill me, but there will always be the legend. I’m the queen and the bogeyman rolled into one. As long as they continue to chant my name, I’ll always be there.

[ She releases his hair just as abruptly. ]

I’m not here to kill you. I’m not on a job. What else do you need to know?
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[personal profile] raws 2014-08-09 09:02 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Of course she’s here to annoy him. As far as Mary’s concerned, that isn’t even a question. The fact that it’s working fills her with no end of glee, but that’s not entirely his fault. She knows what buttons to push. The entire town knows what buttons to push, really. The Big Bad Wolf doesn’t want to be big or bad anymore. He wants to be an upstanding citizen. But long lives breed long memories, and no one will forget. Mary believes it would make it so much easier on himself if he were to revel in it, stop trying to play by the rules of a thankless society. Fables choose to act like that toward him, yes, but he chooses to put up with it.

If Mary were slightly more empathetic, or could be bothered, she might try to explain that to him. She suffers from an abundance of not-caring, however. Her own desires are what matter now. He’s feeding them, turning them gold.

When her back hits the floor, Mary barely reacts. The pain is dull, a distinct sensation that transmute into pleasure, nerve endings hit at the exact right angle to excite her.

He speaks of second chances and her smile twists, unbecoming. ]


Oh, kid. I’ll give you a second chance, when you stop pretending letting this town shackle you is a good way to live.

[ Hands sliding from his neck to his chest, she flicks the solid length of his badge, tucked inside a pocket. ]

You’re on a leash. It breaks my heart, really. Sends me crying to bed every night.

[ He’s right, though. It is what she wants to see. His eyes are so inhuman, so piercing, and he hasn’t even slipped out of glamour. For a moment, she’d like nothing more than to slip her fingers into those eyes, feel the warm blood of his sockets slide down her hands, pluck them out and display them in her apartment as a trophy.

Fortunately, the moment doesn’t last. He’s pressing down on her, respectful proximity thrown away for menacing force. She can practically taste his breath.

Mary can’t imagine she’s supposed to be intimidated, but honestly? She is really, really turned on.

She’s said her piece. There’s no danger for her here. Mary only presses forward, drawing the encounter to its logical conclusion.

His question doesn’t get an answer - at least, not verbally. Her hands snake around his neck again, taking advantage of his closeness. This time, instead of tugging him away, she pulls him forward, kissing him hard. Here, now, she can taste the wolf in him. His sharp teeth scrape against her tongue as it forces its way in, mixing blood in with her taste and his. The facial hair is coarse and scratchy against her face, and it’s a good thing Mary isn’t especially ticklish. The kiss is forceful and demanding, but there’s nothing except her own grip keeping him there. She’s strong, but Bigby’s stronger, and this is his turf. What happens next is up to him.

She’s very excited to see what he’ll do. ]
Edited 2014-08-09 21:57 (UTC)
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[personal profile] raws 2014-09-16 07:54 am (UTC)(link)
[ He surrenders, or he fights. In an instant, Mary is filled with him: his taste; teeth and tongue; his hands - claws, now - tearing through her shirt and digging into her back. Her back arches as he scrapes at her, ribs in a forward jut against his chest. She can hear his own clothes straining against the halfway of his transformation, seams holding desperately and futilely. He had wanted a second change, or so he said; Mary is not the person to be offering that. This isn’t that - but it’s something. An offering, a challenge, a bending of lines. Her fingers trace down his arms and the touch is surprisingly gentle, spider-light… until she turns her fingers, just so, and that soft touch becomes the sharp, unforgiving kiss of her nails. Against his fur and flesh, they cut like glass.

He’s bearing down so forcefully that it’s hard to breathe and she’d be fine with that normally. She’s a Fable, a myth; her legend is her oxygen and sustenance. It may not be worrying, no, but it is uncomfortable. The longer the discomfort remains, the more she longs to lash it back at him. No effort is made from Bigby to support his own weight. In one swift motion, she pushes at his shoulder to reverse their position. Mary is left on top of him, sitting comfortable at his waist, seizing him as if he were a throne and she were the queen designated.

Her glamour is an expensive one, even now that she’s no longer under the Crooked Man’s employ, but even it can’t transform certain things. Plain eyes darken, sigiled and bloodied. Thrill and delight undo her mask in degrees. ]


See?

[ Mary takes a moment to smooth down her hair. There’s blood on her tongue, a splash of near-black contrasting the delicate pink, but she pays it no mind. ]

I knew you liked it rough.
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I'm going to find a new Bigby, you have failed me!

[personal profile] raws 2014-10-24 05:40 pm (UTC)(link)
[ His teeth rip clean through her shirt, tearing fabric and flesh alike. Blood flows, staining white. He’s leaving marks on her the same way she had branded him, so many months ago, but the difference is his teeth marks will fade by morning. Her breath hitches, biting back a grunt of pain - of pleasure, maybe - as their position adjusts, as he presses close and in, as he bites and marks and claims for himself. ]

Now, now. If you keep up with such sweet talk, everyone will really think we’re in love.

[ Murmured against his ear. It’s an absurd idea, and one he likely finds both contentious and repugnant; she’s trying to see how angry she can make him, where desire ends and rational mislike begins. How much of him is the big bad wolf and how much is Bigby?

He hadn’t been wrong, earlier. She’s still trying to annoy him. It’s quite fun, really. Mary can see why most Fables make a hobby of it. So, guess what, Bigby. She’s not going to shut up.

Her mouth remains hovering somewhere near his ear. Against his skin, alight and electric with whatever they’ve conducted between them, he’ll feel her words as much as he’ll hear them. ]


I have a better idea. Why don’t you make me scream?