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eight, the wolf remains unphased

eight
"why conceal what does
not need to be concealed?"

Olea is unphased when Florian stomps into the living room, hair still a mess, a bird's nest atop his head, from slumber, and flops down on the sofa beside her, head in her lap.

Instead of scalding him for waking late, she simply strokes a hand over his hair, pushing it back into place and puts her latest read into the ancient magics of Asgard, a classic in her books, down for later enjoyment.

"Is everything okay, Flo?" She asks, the use of his nickname fluent like the rivers in the warmer spells Summer graces her home with, when Mother Nature is feeling kind and joyous, when all is right, and war has become a quiet presence looming over the shoulder, never quite gone, but occasionally forgotten.

A knot in his hair gets caught around her finger and, without question, she begins working to untangle it. A motherly attitude of a young women who'd never had her own but had acquired plenty of experience through the years of her love of children and her love of healing. It was wonderful to see the smile on a little girl's face when a scrape oozing blood was miraculously healed right before her own, wide eyes.

"Nothing is okay," He replies dramatically, never one to shy away from the truth. Where was the use in unnecessary lies? To tell the truth is to be an open book for all to read and Florian Aubade was tired of hiding behind leather bindings and hardcovers. "Can you be completely honest with me right now?"

"When am I ever not?" Olea shoots back playfully, smiling comfortingly at him, which almost earns a smile in return from the soured youngster. "Yes, I'll be completely honest with you."

"Thank you," He says, shuffling to get more comfortable, his throat bobbing as he swallows and attempts to pluck the right words from his brain, but they just seem to keep slipping from his grip. As if they were little blue birds escaping into the Summer sky, fleeing to sing their little hearts out, build their homely nests, gorge on berries. "I just... Do you miss him? Do you miss my brother?"

His question makes Olea's heart miss a beat. Of all the conversational topics she'd considered, this certainly wasn't one of them, but she'd made her promise and Olea Kella never breaks promises.

"I think about Sebastian every single day, but I don't miss who he became. That wasn't the man I fell in love with, nor was it the brother you adored." Without a second thought, Olea wipes away the tear that leaks from the corner of his eye, smoothing it away with her thumb and letting his pain melt into her skin and merge with her own.

A healing potion unable to be replicated by hand, their pain would stitch their wounds neat and tidy and leave them behind: new and ready to begin again.

"I understand why she had to do what she did, but I wish he didn't have to die," He tells her, honesty flayed like a broken heart.

This is the most he'd spoken about what happened. Ever since he'd seen Sebastian's body, broken and bloody, he'd hardly spoken of him, let alone admitted to missing him. After they'd escaped from Remulan together, it was as if he'd left that piece of him behind, but it appeared that, in reality, it had only been hidden.

"I wish there was more I could've done to stop him from going down that path, but I was away from home for a long time. Too long, I suppose. And I can't be sorrier for what became of him, Florian, I really can't," She rambles out and now it's his turn to reach out and wipe away the tears as they fall, only missing one which runs off her jaw and drips onto his shirt, dirtied by days of wear, creased from sleep.

"It's not your fault. He was always blinded by power and Selene promised exactly that to him." Florian breathes in sharply and exhales, though his breath is shaky. "He was a fool."

"We shouldn't dwell on what we cannot change," Olea tells him, composing herself as she wipes away the wetness from her cheeks with her fingertips. Fingertips taught to heal. Heal is exactly what they will do, one day at a time.

Florian simply stares up at her, unable to find the words to thank the remarkable woman who, although she never did marry into his family, he would always love as a big sister.

She was a kind soul. Always had been. And he hopes that never changes for anything or anyone. She was to be preserved, even if it was him who had to stand between her and all the bad that seems to keep on coming for her, crashing like waves to the cliff, slowly but surely eroding away the face.

Olea Kella should never waste away.

-

-


When the two wintered Asgardians arrive at training that morning, fully fed and refreshed after their moment flooded with tears, they don't expect to find Lusine already there.

Not only was she earlier than them for once, she was already barking in the ear of a young woman who looks as if she's about to burst into tears at any second. Her plump bottom lip trembles as Lusine snarls and snaps, shining icy eyes brimming with tears.

Olea hurries over and pries Lusine away. "I think that's enough, cousin," She says, expecting to feel the force of uncontrolled power beneath her palms, the turning tide, the pull of the moon herself, the howl of wolf, the rage of the void, as she pushes her cousin back, but there is nothing.

There is only the still of the ocean on a beautifully calm day. Not a cloud in sight. Perfect enough to lie back into, to let its soft currents drift her body to a desert island filled with ripe fruits, tropical drinks and unrelenting sunshine.

There is no void to rake claws through skin.

This was not the storm who had once brought havoc to her home.

This was a sunny day; perfectly in control.

"Agent Mills needs to learn how to obey orders. If I say run until you can't run anymore, I mean it. I don't expect to see any Agents stopping after only two minutes like she did," Lusine spits out, the war commander in her coming out to rear her iron head and whip these youths into shape.

A war commander of a hostile planet, born from blood, sweat and tears. Refined by death. Taught everything she knows through life itself. Knowing mercy would not bring victory.

Only severed heads, smoking villages and slaughtered armies could bring home the gold, riding on the backs of crystal white horses by the princess of the palace, dressed in red and gold, smiling with bloody teeth as she greets her subjects. And they cheer. Oh, they have to if they don't want to meet the same fate as the decapitated traitor.

So, they cheer, they adore, they keep their heads.

"Agent Mills, that means start running, not continuing to stand here and sulk," She snaps, iron teeth locking shut into a snarl to rival the feral.

Agent Mills nods her head and joins the rest of the agents, who were still jogging up and down the length of the training room, some lagging and gulping for air whilst others are still going strong.

Olea steps back from her cousin.

"What?" Lusine's mouth cracks into a smile of simplicity. The only show of emotion that still throws Olea off. She was used to the violence, the anger, the pain, not the genuine smiles or affections that time had taught the warrior woman. "Surprised that I'm actually in control for once?"

"No, I—"

"It's okay, dear cousin, I'm surprised too. Maybe surprised isn't the right word." She purses her lips and folds her hands before herself, a practiced gesture. "Maybe a better definition would be: waiting for the relapse?"

"Considering how far you've come, I don't think there will be a relapse anytime soon," She reassures, hoping that her words provide some shade of warmth where Winter still holds fast.

Whether they do, she can't tell.

If Lusine Volkov is consistently anything at all, it's a liar.

And, naturally, she's a talented liar. Years of practice under her belt. Sprouted from the innocent lies of a child to the deceit only monsters could conjure.

"Thank you. Your confidence is always nice to hear. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got training to do and I'm sure you've got things to be doing too. I was informed that the resident doctors wish to speak with you about your healing methods," Lusine says, cold and clinical, and turns away to bark more orders at her trainees.

They were slower than she thought they'd be and already getting tired. A few had dropped out in the time she'd been talking to Olea, one of which was Agent Mills.

Whether it was lack of sleep or genuine frustration, Lusine storms over to the pair of agents sat against the mirrored wall.

With arms folded across her chest, she asks, "And what do you two think you're doing slacking off whilst the others run?" Her eyes snap to Agent Mills as she draws in a sharp breath. "Especially you."

"We can't run anymore, Lusine," Agent Mills replies, the misery that was once there replaced by a tiredness with the newest tutor. This was a girl used to getting away with murder. A slacker. She has very little time for slackers. Slackers die quick.

"Can't run anymore?" Lusine's head tilts back as she laughs at the two girls sat at her feet. They stare up at her, terrified. "Can't run anymore?"

In a flash, followed by a yelp, the two girls were gripped by their throats and slammed into the mirror, both clawing and grasping at the hand at their neck.

From behind, Florian audibly gasps at the sight, knowing he wouldn't be able to save them if this was Lusine losing control. What could he even do against her? She was stronger than him, undeniably. In fear, he becomes a bystander.

"How will you ever survive in the field? You're supposed to be agents, not children. If you can't keep running, you'll be dead before you can pray to whatever god you believe in for help." Her fingers flex around them, their lives literally in her hands.

In the hands of a woman, unhinged.

"Please," Agent Mills rasps out, icy eyes burning with tears.

A blurred grin splits Lusine's mouth in two.

"You pathetic excuses for agents are just lucky I'm not out for blood. Oh, you two would be on the top of my list. Dead before you could even scream." She chuckles, low and emptily, as an ancient cave lost to time, before she releases their necks and lets them drop to the floor, chips of the mirror embedded into them where it shattered from her force. "Now, next time I tell you to keep running, you keep running. Got it?"

The two girls are compelled to nod their heads, fear a ruthless master.

-

-

When the training session ends, Lusine is left alone and the relief washes over her. She is surprised she hadn't shouted her throat raw from the amount of discipline she'd been forced to give out to recruits who didn't respect her. They only thought her insane.

Unhinged.

A loose cannon ready to blow.

And maybe she is, but that didn't mean they shouldn't listen to her commands. Better they fear her wrath than run circles around her.

Let them think her unhinged.

Let them think her insane.

Let them think what they want.

Maybe one day they'll be thankful for the cuts and bruises in training when it inevitably saves their life in the field.

Lusine is about to begin to stretch her muscles, preparing for her own training, when she catches sight of Natasha Romanoff storming into the training room, a flash of red and black in the mirror's reflection.

Calmly, she spins to face the preying spider.

"Romanoff, what can I do for you?" She questions, ever so polite, though the wolf paces behind thin glass.

"I had two young agents come out of this room crying. When I asked them why they cried, their answer was you, Volkov. So, now I'm here to ask you why?" And even as she controls her rage, Lusine can see it bubbling beneath the surface, just begging to be released.

She would be more than happy to do the honours.

"Well," Lusine stands a little straighter, "they cried because they fear me. And rightfully so. It makes them smart. Their only redeeming quality, I suppose." She smiles as if she'd answered Natasha's question with exactly the answers she'd wanted.

"Nurses had to pick glass out of them," Natasha tells her bluntly, tensing to strike when Lusine takes a step closer, and another, and another until she makes the agent snap, "Don't come any closer, Volkov."

From here, Lusine can see the fangs glistening with venom as the infamous agent stands her ground.

"They would not obey my orders. If this was Remulan, they would've lost a finger from each hand for their disobedience. They are lucky I'm not enforcing those rules," She replies, hiding her amusement well as Natasha's jaw clenches tighter. "Would you have enforced those rules, Agent Romanova?"

The use of that name feathers the woman's jaw even tighter.

"You are not on whatever hostile planet you come from. You are on Earth and you will play by our rules. Do so, or go home," She says, biting back hard, but the fangs of the spider do not pierce the armoured wolf.

Lusine smiles, all teeth.

"And," she takes that next step forwards, pushing and pulling at every thread of silk the spider had exposed, "are you going to make me go alone or are you going to personally deliver me to my home? I would be oh-so-grateful for your company as always, Natalia! You really are a delight. Perhaps you would like to see a Winter cold enough to rival your place of origin?"

Lusine, somehow, smiles wider. It splits her face in two with deviance and disrespect.

"Now, would you like me to introduce you to my absolutely wonderful mother, oh you'll adore her, as Natasha Romaoff, Natalia Romanova, Natalie Rushman or Black Widow?" She questions mockingly, head tilting sideways as she bores eyes sparkling with a reborn mischief into the pair fuelled by rage staring right back at her.

"You read my file," Natasha concludes, hands balling into fists at her sides. An invasion of privacy. A breach of boundaries, her own and the agency's.

"I read everyone's files," She corrects, straightening herself out, pleased to have gotten under her skin, even if the woman was an expert at concealing emotion. You didn't become one of the best without control.

"How?" She is in full agent mode now, digging for answers, pushing Lusine into the answers she desires with just the right questions.

"If I told you, it would ruin the magic of the deception, wouldn't it?" She shoots back, quicker than an arrow to the sun, and reels herself back in when another familiar, and much more adored, face strides into the room. "Hello, Steve," She greets, already back to the woman of stone, not the child of mischief.

"Did you read his file too?" Natasha asks, cutting Steve off from his greeting. A small victory in a war that was promising to span for years.

Without hesitation, Lusine replies, "Well, yes. I read them shortly after we all met for the first time, actually."

"You read my file?" Steve stops in his tracks, face melting into a look of hurt she'd never wanted to see resting there and, yet, here they were and there that look was.

"Yes, but you have to understand that, when I read them, I was not a shade of the woman I am now. Back then, I would've done anything for Loki. We all know that. I read them to tell him every strength and weakness about each and every one of you in hopes that we would be able to best you and rule Earth, side by side. That was before I realised what we were doing was wrong. I never told him any of the information."

"And what's stopping you running back to him and telling him now? Perhaps he'd begin plans for a second invasion," Natasha points out, grasping straws.

"Unless you know of a way to raise the dead, I don't think there's a chance of that happening, Romanoff," Lusine snaps, all the jesting shoved back behind walls and replaced by the black marble of her castle, of which she stands at the very top, glaring down at those who dare approach her walls.

A liar in her element.

"He's dead?" Steve's shock is not so well concealed, but why should he conceal what does not need to be concealed?

"Yes. He died saving his brother. An honourable death. One that enabled the Dark Elves to be stopped from bringing destruction to this world and all," Lusine says, hiding behind twisted truths. "Agent Romanoff, if you'd excuse us, Steve and I were about to train..."

-

2910 words
26.12.18

maybe this is a good sign?

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