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Oct. 18th, 2020 01:35 pmAround him, there are fires burning, the light of them flickering against his skin and hair, turning him gold. Screams split the night air, and Mad Sweeney stands in the centre of a small plaza, a dilapidated fountain to his right, a broken park bench surrounded by a display of rotting pumpkins to his left, and three East Hallow villagers facing him down.
He understands the purpose of all this. It's been clear to him for weeks, the need for sacrifice burning through this place, and even without the warnings he'd known what this place wanted. Having a ghost whisper it in his ear had only clarified what he already felt and he's been waiting for this. Waiting for the violence of it, waiting for the good he knows he can do, even if he'd have never phrased it like that.
What he hadn't counted on was feeling like this. This sense of otherness. Of a flickering between who he is and who he was. It ripples down his spine, a separation of Mad Sweeney and Lugh, a leprechaun who revels in violence and a god-king who once demanded sacrifice. Was he all that different from this, he wonders? Or was he just another wild-eyed villager with blood on his hands, trying to lead his people to a greater, more peaceful life?
And does it fucking matter?
He can feel a fine trembling at the edges of his sanity. The split between Sweeney and Lugh grows wider or perhaps it's growing smaller. Is he two or are two coming together? Does that matter either? Thousands of years of life and memories will never be packaged into anything that makes a goddamn bit of sense and he thinks maybe it's high fucking time he let that be the end of it.
Spike is here somewhere, seeming like the last fucking thing he has to hold onto, and he will rain blood down on this fucking place to make sure they both make it out of here alive.
Maybe it's time for Lugh to take his own goddamn sacrifice.
"Come on then, you fuckin' cunts," he grits out to the villagers advancing on him as his hands flex and then tighten into fists by his side. "You want a gift for your gods? Come and fuckin' get it."
He understands the purpose of all this. It's been clear to him for weeks, the need for sacrifice burning through this place, and even without the warnings he'd known what this place wanted. Having a ghost whisper it in his ear had only clarified what he already felt and he's been waiting for this. Waiting for the violence of it, waiting for the good he knows he can do, even if he'd have never phrased it like that.
What he hadn't counted on was feeling like this. This sense of otherness. Of a flickering between who he is and who he was. It ripples down his spine, a separation of Mad Sweeney and Lugh, a leprechaun who revels in violence and a god-king who once demanded sacrifice. Was he all that different from this, he wonders? Or was he just another wild-eyed villager with blood on his hands, trying to lead his people to a greater, more peaceful life?
And does it fucking matter?
He can feel a fine trembling at the edges of his sanity. The split between Sweeney and Lugh grows wider or perhaps it's growing smaller. Is he two or are two coming together? Does that matter either? Thousands of years of life and memories will never be packaged into anything that makes a goddamn bit of sense and he thinks maybe it's high fucking time he let that be the end of it.
Spike is here somewhere, seeming like the last fucking thing he has to hold onto, and he will rain blood down on this fucking place to make sure they both make it out of here alive.
Maybe it's time for Lugh to take his own goddamn sacrifice.
"Come on then, you fuckin' cunts," he grits out to the villagers advancing on him as his hands flex and then tighten into fists by his side. "You want a gift for your gods? Come and fuckin' get it."
