Author's Note: Due to the warm reception of 'Morinth — Desire' I've finally worked up the guts to try my hand at it again. As you probably know by now, I'm a little uncertain of it all. I've tried to emulate the style I used in Desire, but this is somewhat longer, has a different time-frame, actual plot and even some dialogue. I hope I preserved at least some of the atmosphere of Desire, but I'll let you be the judge of that.
I feel terribly uncomfortable writing lines for Shepard. Every single sentence has been arranged and re-arranged, every single word has been scrutinised and - in some particularly bad cases - been read aloud in a bad Mark Meer imitation. You wouldn't know from the result just how much effort went into it...
Those of you vaguely worried about my fickle updating habits, I've got it all written out (well, four out of six), I'm merely polishing before I post (you wouldn't know that from looking at the result, either).
A word of warning: This is getting dark, especially towards the end, so tread carefully.
MORINTH — IN FLAMES
by moondusted
1. The Goddess
Morinth lets herself fall back against the window of the observation deck. The moment stretches and spins out of control before she hits the glass. Thrill shoots up her spine like lightning. Of course the glass can take her weight, there was nothing she could do to break it, but the impression was real and the exhilaration is right there with it.
The glass catches her, solid and cold from the void beyond. She lets her head rest against it, pushed a little until her entire body is stretched along its length.
Her mother used to meditate, but Morinth has her own prayers to voice.
"Shepard," she whispers, like an invocation or an unlucky charm that will bring him to her if only she believed it hard enough.
She squares her shoulders against the glass, ice travels down her arms with the promise of death.
She has long since wondered what it had been like for him, out there in the cold, alone and with the air running out.
Of course, she knows he will come here, sooner or later, she has been present at the briefing before docking at Illium. He wanted everyone off the ship while people contracted through Liara T'Soni cleanse it of every taint Cerberus might still have left on it. He was suspecting a traitor or a mole of some kind, despite everything he had done to save each and all of the crew, even if he had never spoken of it.
She puts her head to the side and breathes his name again while she thinks the stars behind her prick her like a million tiny needles and laughs a little at her own private little blasphemy. There is an answering hiss from the door as it opens and she laughs again, lower in her throat, watching him walk in.
He has shed that tasteless militaristic gear he usually wears, not unlike when she first met him in the Afterlife, where he played her own game better than she had.
Below the pale jacket, she can see the faintest, slightest outline of a gun.
"You look good, Shepard," she purrs, but the seduction in her voice is almost entirely habitual.
He is never going to give in, is never going to fall for any snare she might lay for him, but she still enjoys putting the proposal at his feet. After all, there is always a chance with someone for whom impossibles do not exist.
"You can't stay," he says, brushing past her words. Oh, but he knows it anyway, knows and calculates on what people see when they look at him: The nobody born in a slum who grew up in the streets; the Butcher of Torfan and the man who saved the galaxy twice — clothed in such magnificent flesh.
She curls her shoulders again, let herself slide a little along the glass, sideways, then down.
"Oh come on, you don't believe I'm working for Cerberus, do you?"
"I'm not big on belief," he shrugs. "You'll get in the way and I don't want Liara to catch onto you."
She fakes a pout. "You just don't want to share her."
"I just don't want to share her with you and the Shadow Broker."
Morinth chuckles, pushes back up. "But really, I thought you would prefer it if stayed here. After all, you'll let me loose on all of unsuspecting Illium?"
He watches her as if imagining the unspoken implication. If she could, she would place the vision of an orgy in his mind, colourful and with all the debauchery of her varied life. As it is, instead, her world tumbles once more though only briefly, when his expression unexpectedly softens. The predator in him settles back from the forefront of his gaze, the ice and steel become less tangible.
"If you are done dry-humping the window, I have an offer for you," he says and he sounds playful, the smile on his face infused not only with genuine humour but also genuine warmth.
It is always worse, Morinth thinks, when he remembers that they are allies while she forgets it. She loses herself in the webs she weaves - it is part of the thrill - but for all the danger they can be for each other, they are on the same side. His life had been in her hand more than once, after all, when he had neither flinched nor hesitated to trust her. Of course, he can do so easily, knowing how she would never betray him on a battlefield. Where would be the gain in that? All that power and passion and ruthlessness thrown away and wasted on another pointless death? No, Morinth would - and will, she is certain - sacrifice her own life just to keep him alive.
She stops moving but remains with her back against the glass. She likes it like this. The darkness behind her has texture, she can feel it wrapping tiny tendrils around her, enveloping her; a coat of starlight fit for a goddess.
"Such beautiful words," she says, drawing out the words. "Such a promise."
"But I'm a liar," he counters calmly, letting the moment hang between them before it snaps, in the same inevitable way the glass has stopped Morinth's fall earlier. There is a promise here, but it isn't being voiced.
Morinth relents, shifts back to her feet and steps to the couch, slips down on it to sprawl, one arm hanging limply over its back. "Let me hear it."
"You said once that you used to be into duelling."
Morinth finds herself leaning forward in her seat, the studied sensuality dripping away from her as her eyes go wide with anticipation. She wet her lips, "You want to duel me?"
He walks forward, meets her halfway as she comes up from her seat, rising like a mermaid against a rock and brings them face to face.
"Don't think too much of it," he says quietly, almost croons as he does. "I say that to all the girls."