Shattered Reflections [M]

[MorningStar]

Lowen stepped into Arya's modest abode, a mixture of hesitation and weariness etched on his face. Unused to kindness and wary from their prior meeting, he couldn't shake the suspicion that lingered in the air. However, the allure of a free place to rest proved too compelling to resist, especially with the ache and fatigue still clinging to his body.

Seating himself on the couch, he cast a thoughtful glance around the room before turning his attention to Arya. "So, Arya," he began cautiously, his tone a blend of curiosity and guardedness. "You mentioned you might have some insights. How long have you been in this line of work, and what exactly do you know about Ipsen?" The words hung in the air, a tentative probe into Arya's knowledge and a subtle attempt to navigate the complexities of their uneasy alliance.

[wandering_giraffe]

Arya walked out of her room, the brushed tan and brown animal skin swishing closed behind her.
She also sat down on the couch, a bundle of wanted posters in her arms.
"These are all of Ipsen. All different dates, some different sketches. The one thing the same in all are his black eyes."
Arya internally shuddered.
It was as if Ipsen had lost the original color of his eyes, the blackness showing a window to his dark and heartless soul.
"He's killed...so many people. He is to the humanity of Le'raana what the Fell is to the countries of Le'raana. He's a black spot that needs to be wiped off Le'raana. Unspeakable evil. As for how long I've been in this line of work? Around 10 or so years."

[MorningStar]

"Killed..." Lowen trailed off, a sense of dread within him.

As Arya delved deeper into the harrowing tales of Ipsen's atrocities, a subtle ache began to pulse at the edges of Lowen's consciousness. Initially inconspicuous, it gradually intensified with each added word.

"And you're.. not scared.. to track him?" he barely managed to ask, the echo of drums ringing in his mind.

He strained to maintain focus, absorbing the weight of Ipsen's malevolence, but the burgeoning pain became an overwhelming force.

As Arya's words registered more, Lowen's head throbbed, drowning out the clarity of his thoughts. He struggled to articulate his own responses, the ache transforming into an oppressive pressure that silenced him mid-sentence. His attempts to engage in the conversation were thwarted by the rising tempest within his mind, leaving him in a disorienting state.

"I would, ah-" he quickly placed his head into his hands, unable to subdue the pain any longer.

[wandering_giraffe]

Arya anxiously stood up and walked over to Lowen.
"Lowen are you ok? Here, let me get you some water."
She walked over to the kitchen, grabbing him a cup and filling it with water. She cautiously set it on the small table besides the couch.
"Lowen," her voice etched with concern, "Talk to me. Are you ok?"

[MorningStar]

Are you ok?

Are you ok?

His head throbbed relentlessly, a discordant drumbeat echoing through his senses. The agony was unbearable, a relentless assault on his consciousness. Had she given him something—a drink, perhaps? The details eluded him as he clutched his head, the searing pain coursing through every fiber of his being. The cacophony of deafening thuds reverberated within the chambers of his mind, a dissonant chorus drowning out coherent thought. A conflicting voice whispered through the chaos.

Are you okay? She won't be okay. He killed? She will be killed. Are you okay? Make her not okay. He killed? Kill her.

A shuddering breath escaped Lowen, and, for a moment, the torrent of pain seemed to relent. With closed eyes, he gradually lowered his hands, head tilting forward.

"Are you okay?" came his eerie whispered response.

[wandering_giraffe]

"Lowen?" She cautiously whispered, anxiously watching him.
"Am I ok?" She repeated, one hand moving slowly to her sheathed dagger.
It was a mistake inviting him here
She backed away, her eyes on Lowen, anxiously backing toward the loft.

[MorningStar]

Are you okay? Am I okay?

There was a noticeable shift in the air.

"Well how the hell should I know?!" the man snarled in a transformed, darker tone, slamming his fist against the table while his head remained down. "You and I were just about to get some gods damn sleep for once, but no - you just had to start whining and crying, running away and hiding like you always do. Pull up your pants and be a man for-- wait, who?"

Lowen's gaze shot up at Arya, but it was no longer the gaze she knew. Instead, his eyes, once warm and expressive, were now pools of abyssal blackness, devoid of any emotion. An unsettling and sinister aura surrounded him, as if a different entity had taken residence within him.

Standing up, he circled around her with laser-focused eyes fixed upon her. Coming to a stop, he tilted his head, examining her with an insane glint in his eyes. A curious smile played on his lips as he lifted his hand slowly, pointing at her and bobbing it back and forth in an attempt to decipher her.

"Well lookie lookie, who the hell do we have here?" he began in a demanding tone.

"Oh, I got you. I know you," the man said with a sinister grin. "You're that wannabe bounty hunter! Been taken care of ol' Lowen in my absence, han't ya? Bet'cha weren't expectin' me."

The mysterious side of Lowen eased up, his smile growing more malevolent, emitting a soft, amused chuckle. "Arya, right? Well, I do have to apologize, missy. I hear the voices but I can't see the faces until it's up close and personal. Ol' Lowen.. you know, La.. La.. Lowen," he mocked, "likes to keep the world all to himself most times. A real piece of shit if I do say so myself."

Everything about this person was different from Lowen – more confident, sharper, eyes brimming with rage that never broke contact. Even his accent had a rustic, unsettling quality. The calm and bashfulness of Lowen's voice had morphed into someone raised on the harsh outskirts of civility.

His grin softened into a malignant state as he awaited her response, a disturbing air lingering.

[wandering_giraffe]

This man was insane. And somehow, he had managed to trap her, walking around her looking ready to attack. Arya had drawn her dagger the minute he had raised his head from the table and his eyes were black...the exact same man on the wanted poster.
First she felt fear...unbridled, intense, terrifying fear. Fear that struck to her core and rooted her to the ground. The way he tilted his head and looked at her...
But then she felt anger.
She unsheathed her dagger and had it up against the man's neck in an instant, the whirl of steel being deadly fast, her hazel, angry eyes locked onto his infinite black ones.
"You bastard," she seethed.
"I invited you to my home, I trusted you, only for you to lie to me!" Her voice was shaking alittle, a combination of fear, shock, and raw anger. She pressed her dagger alittle into the guy's neck to get her point across.
"You were Ipsen all along...I should have killed you in that alleyway!"

Was Arya scared out of her mind? Absolutely. But she wasn't going to let this Ipsen guy see her fear...at least she hoped so.

[MorningStar]

Ipsen, the malevolent force revealed, curled his lips into a malicious smile as he locked eyes with Arya. His gaze fixated on the knife at his throat, and a twisted enthusiasm danced in his eyes. With wicked glee, he pressed into the blade just enough to draw a prickle of blood, allowing it to trickle down his neck, a macabre display of his unhinged delight.

In a swift motion, Ipsen disarmed Arya, expertly relieving her of the weapon, and with a forceful shove, he distanced himself from her. However, he refrained from launching an immediate attack. Instead, he walked casually and confidently, his stride exuding an evil presence as he circled the room like a predator surveying its domain.

Finally, he halted, turning to face Arya with a malevolent grin still etched on his face.

"I trusted you, I trusted you," he taunted, his voice dripping with malevolence. "Well, you sure fucked that one up, scarface. Lowen's off crying in some corner now. You get to deal with me now."

In a sudden surge of fury, he advanced upon her, a menacing presence closing in.

Another forceful shove, this time slamming her against the wall. "I ought to beat you on principal," he roared. "If you try to pull that tough rogue act on me again, I will beat your ass to Sunday! Do you understand me?!"

The scent of her fear filled the air, and his grin transformed into a sinister semblance. Stepping back, he took a few deliberate paces, propped his elbow on the wall, and leaned against it with the predatory grace of a vengeful beast.

[wandering_giraffe]

Almost faster than she could blink, her dagger was torn from her grasp and was now in the hands of Ipsen. She lunged for her dagger but he seemed to anticipate her move, shoving her away from him.
The way he was walking around her house, acting like he owned it...rage was beginning to build up in Arya.
Well, both rage and fear.
The more Ipsen taunted and mocked her, the angrier she got. Until she found herself slammed against a wall by the unhinged Ipsen.
She saw stars when he slammed her into the wall. She grunted in pain and then defiantly looked up at him.
"Well it's a good thing it's Friday. You don't have very far to go."

[MorningStar]

His penetrating gaze softened, the previous fury dissipating, and the twisted grin transformed into a subtle smile. Yet, a lingering air of malevolence persisted, now veiled behind the semblance of an amused old friend.

Allowing his guard to momentarily lower, he pointed at her, playfully bobbing his finger back and forth in a motion of recognition. "That's a good one," he sneered, the tone now tinged with amusement. "I like you, Scarface."

Retreating a few steps, he returned to the couch, assuming a relaxed posture. Seated, one leg crossed over the other, he leaned back with folded arms and smirked up at her. "You're quite a looker, ain'tcha? Can't find anyone better than our dear La-La-Lowen, huh? What's you want with us, anyway?"

[wandering_giraffe]

"What did you do with Lowen?" Arya asked, slowly inching away from Ipsen. He still had her dagger.
"What are you? A demon?"
She rubbed the back of her head that had hit the wall, wincing. At least it wasn't bleeding.

Ah shoot. Her sword was leaning against the wall across the room, meaning she'd have to cross Ipsen to get her sword.

"What do I want with you?" Should she tell this unstable man that there was a bounty on his head? She then realized that the bundle of posters she had brought out to show Loren were still sitting on the table by the couch.
She nervously eyed the sword that was currently unreachable.
"There was just a case of...uhhh...mistaken identity...that's all."
While she was talking she was slowly moving across the room, desperately hoping to get to the sword before Ipsen caught on.

[MorningStar]

Despite his outwardly relaxed demeanor, he remained acutely aware of Arya's maneuvers, watching her with meticulous precision. To catch her off guard even further, he dramatically rose from the couch and clapped his hands together with a resounding noise.

"Amazing!" he exclaimed, swiftly moving to swipe the sword off the wall. Holding it aloft, he eyed the weapon with sinister delight. Swinging it through the air with calculated grace, he maintained a fixated gaze on Arya. Eventually, the smile faded, and he lowered the sword to his side.

"Don'tcha worry about Lowen," he murmured, a hushed tone accompanying the words. "It's just us now. Unless... wait. Are you into that whole shy guy shtick? Come on, Scarface. Let's aim higher than that."

[wandering_giraffe]

"Oh, I'm worried about Lowen—-put the damn sword down!"
Arya nimbly jumped onto the ladder and climbed into the loft, coming back nary 20 seconds later with a sword of her own.
"Fight me," she challenged.
"If I win, I get to collect the bounty that's on your head. If you win, you can use this house as a hideout."

[MorningStar]

Ipsen observed her movements in the loft with sheer amusement, a soft, breathy laugh escaping him. He examined the sword in his right hand, shaking it slightly with a frown before drawing a dagger, wielding it in his left.

"You know what I like about knives, miss ma'am," he remarked sharply, dismissing her offer. "It forces you to fight up close. You can almost taste the blood when you cut a man's throat."

Then, a smug look crossed his face as he peered up at her. "You're fun," he declared. "I can't wait to play with you."

With that, he tumbled backward onto the couch, both weapons slipping from his hands and clattering onto the floor. A weighty breath escaped him before he opened his eyes, revealing the hazel hue of Lowen Thorn.

Lowen blinked heavily, glancing around in disorientation. When he spotted Arya, he offered her an apologetic frown. "Is it morning already?"

[wandering_giraffe]

Arya stood there speechless, watching the deranged man turn into Lowen.
"You're playing a trick on me...there's no way..."
She dropped her sword, "that wasn't meant for you, it was meant for the, er, other man...do you know he does that?"
She cautiously approached Lowen.
"Lowen...I found Ipsen..." she gently poked him in the arm.
"You're Ipsen. Which makes my job so difficult!"
She frustratedly took her head in her hands.
"I can't capture you, you're not Ipsen! Well, not technically..."

[MorningStar]

Lowen appeared visibly perplexed, a touch of sympathy in his eyes for her evident distress. Though her words conveyed genuine stress, he was convinced they couldn't be further from the truth.

"Hey, Arya," he spoke gently, seeking her attention. "Did you have a bad dream or something?"

[wandering_giraffe]

"What?! No I didn't have a bad dream, he was—-he was right here! He was you!" She paced back and forth.
"Lowen, you're in danger, he—-I don't know how but he possesses you. Or—or something!"
"Your eyes turned black and everything!" She decided she wouldn't tell Lowen about Ipsen slamming her against a wall, she didn't want to cause him more distress.
"You've got to believe me!" Her eyes had grown wider, her breathing faster.

[MorningStar]

Lowen's heart plunged into the depths of his stomach. Was she speaking the truth?

The bloodstains on him, the gaps in his memory, the looming sense of dread, and those peculiar dreams - her explanation seemed to connect the dots. He swallowed hard. Accepting that he might be Ipsen, or as she claimed, possessed, felt like a monumental leap.

Pulling himself together, at least for her sake, he rose from his seat and calmly approached her. Placing a reassuring hand on her arm, he tried to comfort her. "It's okay," he said gently. "It's me. It's Lowen."

[wandering_giraffe]

She broke down as soon as he touched her arm, pulling him into a hug.
"He—he knows about you," she said, her breath coming in gasps.
"I dont know what to do now! I'm so sorry Lowen."