Title: Light The Night
Rating: T+ (PG-13)
Pairings: Slight CrossXOC and hint of CrossXAllen
Warnings: minor villain deaths, fangirl-ism, and mild language
Dedication: lazyweird1
Summary: The heat spread over his body as he stayed to watch the flames dip and rise, dancing in the sky as they consumed the wooden planks of the far wall.
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Cupping his palm around his cigarette, he moved to block the wind from assaulting the already flickering flame of his lighter. Pulling back, he took a long drag, crimson mane whipping across his face in the breeze. The smoke mingled with his breath in the brisk winter air. Staring at the empty grey sky, he was chilled to the bone by the shocking beauty of the crystallized trees.
The snow began to fall on his twisted, mangled, and barren world sending his senses into overdrive. He’d grown paranoid with fear, a fear that was instilled in him by the life that flashed before his eye far too many a time. He’d been stripped of his innocence and his pride when he fled, breaking the window of his confinement. A newly formed scar ached at the memory, causing his abdomen to smart almost to the point of his falling to the snow-covered earth, doubling over in pain.
“What I wouldn’t give for some Romanee Conti right about now…”
No longer did he play his silly games of tag with his foes, now he ran for his life and his only remaining chance at a freedom he’d never known. No longer was Cross Marian in charge of his own fate, having fallen into the river, forced down by the rapids to perhaps never come back up.
Pulling his long red locks into a high pony-tail, he wrapped the bandages around his forehead and down across his nose, covering the secret he never wanted on the right side of his face. Adjust the cloak around his shoulders, he let his smoke fall from between his lips to the white ocean beneath him. Grimacing, he left his spot to go back into the inn, an audible sizzle calling from behind him as the cigarette was put out by the moisture.
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“Oh! Mister McGealach, you’ve received a message from a Mister Claus, would you like to see it?”
Bemused, he held his hand out, fingers clutching the paper that was passed to him over the clerks desk. No one knew of his alias other than the lady behind him and some of the local tavern whores, but not a one of them knew his true identity. The ladies seemed to fawn over his good looks and impressive tales, though he seemed to be more adored now that he’d dawned his impression of a Scottish accent. Mr.McGealach was becoming famous with the women as they wouldn’t shut their mouths until he told them his name. Considering all of that, it made it strange that a man should know and contact him, despite it all, he read the letter.
Mister McGealach,
You are indeed an elusive one, even our well-trained minions had a hard time finding you since you left the Black Order. It matters not however, We have actually written to you this message in hopes that you will accept our request.
A girl raised by some American supporters of the Order has pleaded with us to try and get you to visit her this winter.
She reminds us much of the departed Miss Anita… We are certain you would find her fascinating ever for a normal human.
We have placed a minion in the room next to the right of yours as you exit should you wish to travel to her, he can guide you all the way, and pay for your expenses.
-Chris Kringle, Deity of the Hearth
He scoffed, shredding the note before climbing the stairs towards his room. If I wanted a woman, I’m certain I could find one here in Europe. You could not pay me to travel with a bunch of disgusting sailors to meet some girl I’m not even acquainted with! He’d dealt with many different deities before, but only the Pagans and Hindus gave him such idiotic requests. That “god” was going to have Hell to pay if it decided to get angry at his refusal and come after him.
Swinging open his door, he tossed his cloak to a chair before slamming the wood behind him. Stripping himself of the rest of his garments, he tore the bandages from his face and let loose his hair to pool beneath him as he plopped down on the bed. Extending a hand toward the ceiling, he examined it, tracing the small lines of his skin in an attempt to rid his mind of the absurdities he’d encountered that day.
Pulling a sheet up to cover his bare skin, he shivered lightly at the draft of wretched weather that came through a crack in the window. An indignant expression plastered itself to his lips, refusing to relax even after sleep had befallen him.
