I haven't played Oblivion for MONTHS. This is just my excuse to write some Bellamont. xD



Vacancy


When Bellamont hits the ground of the Night Moth- No, that whore's chamber, he becomes comfortably numb. The Silencer stands over him, like a lone pallbearer, all silent and staring down. Her black eyes flash with something like recognition, like happiness, and Bellamont smiles. His smiles turns up half-way, like the grimace of a man who just had a stroke.

The Silencer kneels beside him, Blade Of Woe, Lachance's Blade Of Woe, falling to the ground with a loud, but distant clatter. She tangles her fingers in his sandy hair, tightly, tugging painfully at the strands tucked between her fingers, sticking out in tufts. Bellamont lets out a deep breath, the half-smile growing on his face, his equally black eyes glittering in their hollow sockets.

"Just who were you, Speaker?" The Silencer whispers, her breath, minty, like his mother's hair, lingering in his nostrils. "Did you think you were some heroic avenger?" She asks, he can hear Arquen breathing heavily in the background, sobbing lightly for her fallen brethren. Her brothers. For Lachance too, no doubt. For the innocent, no not innocent, man that they had killed.

"Think of all the people you killed, think of Lucien." His name curls off her tongue sweetly, and Bellamont wants to spit in her face, but he can't. He's too weak.

"They had families too. Mothers. Think of the women you killed. They had children, just like you." She spits, hisses, like some feral cat. She jerks his head upward, making him stare straight into her eyes. Her face, so beautiful, so ugly, is contorted in a barely-controlled rage. Her fingers tighten in his hair, and Arquen lets out a sob again.

"I didn't care, dear Sister. It was…" He pauses, to stare at her straight in the eyes, to further infuriate her. "Poetic justice."

"I'm sick of your rhyming shit, Bellamont."

Bellamont smiles, eyes glittering, like a snake's eyes.

"Wouldn't you agree that criminals, murderers, deserve to suffer?"

"I read your stupid diary, Bellamont," She says, pushing him slightly, hissing like a lithe black mamba, like the dangerous animal he knew she was. "I know your stupid ideals."

"The Dark Brotherhood deserved to have their fingers cut off, one by one by one. Deserved to have someone else pulling them by their mannequin strands." He says, and her fingers curl deeper into his hair, digging into his skull. He's comfortably numb. Happily empty.

"Don't you dare-"

"I murdered Lucien's Family, had you murder them. Did you know, I was the one that had suggested the Purification? Helps to know that I was Ungolim's favorite."

He can see her reaching for her Blade Of Woe. He just needed to push her a little farther, needed to drive the knife deeper into her heart. Wrench it, pull it, tear it. Just like Lucien's spine, just like his innards.

He inched closer to her face, smelling her minty breath, the smell of his mother's hair, and whispered,

"Your Speaker bled like the squealing pig he was."

It was painful, like being burned alive, when the Listener swiped her blade across his throat, but he was comfortably numb, happily empty. Her fingers unfurl from the down of his sandy hair, and she steps back, pale and trembling as she comes to terms with what she just did in a rush of adrenaline.

Blood bubbles to his lips when he says his final, dying words,

"Isn't this poetic justice, Theresa Lisieux? Isn't it?"

Arquen gasps, and rushes to Theresa's side.

The Night Mother simply smiles.


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