I should give you the heads up that this story jumps around a bit. As much as it's on purpose, you should pay attention because it's really easy to get lose :)
Originally meant to be about a 200 word thing to go with a picture, But I started writing and didn't stop. Plus the picture isn't very good, so screw the picture.
It's past 3:30am, why did I do this D:?
Characters belong to Gearbox. Whoo.
He had more than enough reasons not to get involved with people, let alone women.
'People aren't worth your time, especially girls,' his mother had always warned him, 'And please, stop leaving dead animals in the lounge, especially if you've been tearing them up.'
The latter and former where often said together on various occasions, usually in regards as to why through the years he hadn't been very much liked by the girls at his schools. He'd been 'quirky', usually in the wrong ways, and showing an interest in hunting and taxidermy at a young age was rather frowned upon where he had grown up. A little on the 'sick' side, most of the parental figures had written down when they took to writing about him. Those parental figures were usually women to boot.
That aside, he had never met a woman who was more a pain in the arse than that damned siren. If things had gone his way she wouldn't have been in the picture to begin with. It would have been just him, Pandora's desert, Bloodwing and a good gun. Plus copious amounts of blood and loot. Pure bliss.
That had been the plan when he'd packed up and headed for Pandora, and it had remained his plan when he boarded the bus. Sitting, staring out the window of that bus, that plan still hung lazily around. As the bus turned native wildlife into roadkill though, the plan started to get a little… Hazy.
A tap on his shoulder had caught his attention, and the smirk those pretty pink lips wore made everything crash down. 'Hey jackarse, you're coming with me when we stop,' a sugar coated demand, the red haired traveler giving no indication that he could decline, 'Got it?'
Half way through the bus trip, the plan grabbed its bag and told Mordecai to go fuck himself, before jumping out the window. In his mind he'd been leaning out the window, trying to grab it as it flipped him off in the distance. Even his mind was a prick.
He didn't know how long ago that was. The days on the sun drenched planet confused and agitated him. They dragged on and when night finally fell he couldn't get any sleep. Either his body told him to piss off and get a move on, or she felt it was time to pester him and hope to get some reaction. Which she always did.
Whenever the sun was about she'd snap should he lay so much as a fingertip on her without her permission. He'd gotten a broken nose once from a misunderstanding – But damn it if hadn't been a good grab he'd gotten in, accident or not. The pain was worth it, even if he had to deal with the redneck laughing at him each time they strolled through New Haven. Actually, no, that part wasn't worth it – First thing he'd do back in New Haven was punch him. In the face. Hard.
That woman was pure torture at night. He could always feel her staring at him through the darkness, sitting with her legs crossed and hands resting in her lap. Doing very little more than staring and waiting.
'Go to sleep, Lilith.' He'd never seen her sleep, and was sure she was far more bearable when she was resting. But as soon as he made that statement, she no longer remained idle or quiet.
It was usually a moment of peace he'd request. She'd continue to stare at him for that time, before moving onto her hands and knees and edging a fraction closer to him. Hearing her against the sand, he'd move away each time.
'Mordecai?' She'd always continue on, and he wondered what she'd do if he sat up and inquired about what she wanted in the first place. On the occasions he'd looked to her, he'd been met with a smirk and sly, teasing expression. Seeing it only seemed to make him feel worse. 'Mordecai… Mordecai? C'mon. Mordy, Mordy…'
He'd clench his eyes shut when she put a hand on his shoulder, giving him a light shake. 'Mordy…' fingers digging into his skin, he'd always hope that the frown he wore would get him some sympathy, 'Mordy… Cai.'
She took to playing with his hair at that point, repeating 'Cai' sweetly and appearing amused with his dreadlocks as she sorted through them.
When bored with that, she'd lean on him, placing one hand beside him and tracing circles over his arm with a finger of the one unoccupied. 'Cai…' and she'd lean in close to his ear, voice low and hot breath against him, 'Cai-caiii, baby…'
His eyes would fly open and he'd try to push her away, to which she would simply press against him as he shouted. 'What is it you want from me, woman?'
She'd roll off him onto her back after that, resting her hands behind her heads and staring up vacantly at the sky. She'd pucker her lips, offering a small hum and a smile. 'I don't know, really.'
'Fuck off already!'
There had only been one night had played differently, the one occasion he remembered where he actually fought off sleep out of choice.
He'd woken up with a start, feeling around for his knife in the dark. It could usually be found a few centimeters away from his chest, always within arm's reach. He'd pushed up from the ground, looking to and fro for the sharp instrument, but turning up with nothing. He'd risen to his feet, feeling uneasy without it.
Bloodwing had grunted, having been asleep near his head, and quickly hid back under its wing to get the sleep his owner never received.
Mordecai rubbed his eyes, the small amount of rest he had gotten only proving to blur his vision and convince him that he greedily wanted more of it. He could make out limited shapes, the night sky tainting everything in a purple hue.
The small 'oh' which followed a certain siren's awareness of his presence gave him some hint as to what was out of place. She'd had her back to him, but turned to face him, his hunting knife in her hand and reflecting the moonlight. With a lovely red tint, one should add.
'What are you doing?' he'd growled at her, trying to piece together what was in front of him.
She'd given a sheepish smile, both arms spread and a blush on her face. She muttered her reply quickly, dropping the knife as if needing to prove she served no threat. Mordecai leaned forward and strained to hear the words she spoke.
'What did you say?' He'd muttered, annoyed and wanting the answer he deserved. His eyes had looked her up and down as they cleared, noticing her shudder when she became aware of it. Her torso was drenched in blood, as was her face partly. Speckles and splotches of the gunk had been spread over her arms, and was no doubt mixed with her hair, too.
He'd glanced down, seeing a relatively familiar scene from his childhood. He wasn't entirely sure what Lilith had gotten her hands on during the night, but if it were to walk away from this it would be a miracle.
The sand below the woman's feet was as red stained as her clothed. Skin torn inch-by-inch off the flesh, tissue and muscle peeled apart, all sorted and dissected with a childlike, curious manner. With the disturbed feeling that had seen most people wishing to not be associated with him many years back.
Lilith had licked her lips and looked away as her arms fell to her sides, nervous habits of hers he'd noted over time. 'I'm a little sick.' She repeated loudly, swallowing a knot in her throat before adding a little more to her response, 'They always used to tell me I was on the sick side when I was a kid.'
He was sure the smile he wore must have confused her that night.
But it was different now. He could hear her breathing, deep breaths and struggling, rattling both her body as well as his nerves. Much time had passed since the previous night's sleepless events. Too much that he wasn't aware of.
He had her on his lap, now. Sitting, the unwounded side of her head resting against his shoulder, arms limp from deep sleep while she showed signs of a fever. She tossed and turned every now and then, giving soft cries of pain in her slumber. Every time she managed to show some strength in her arms she'd try to grab onto something, and he'd hold her hand tightly before she sunk back into her previous state.
They sat up above on one of the abandoned building, situated on the highest roof and pressed up against the corner, as far from the edge as possible. It was a spot out of view, a small safe spot in a hot zone of gunfights.
It had happened earlier that day. Her stubborn streak had been as bold as ever, and she refused to move on, driven by the need to seek and find. Mordecai on the other hand simply wanted to trek forward, to keep the adrenaline pumping through the bloodlust that commonly overtook him when he had a rifle in his hands.
They parted on bad terms, but reluctantly agreed to meet in half an hour. Half an hour came and went, and no sign of the tattooed young lady only served to piss him off. Anger in his stride, he'd stalked back until he'd spotted her, leaning against one of the rock formations.
He saw her sway, stumble slightly, and pick herself up. The aggression subsided, replaced with a sickly feeling in the pit of his stomach. He hurried his steps before he even realised he was doing so.
There had been no cocky remark or annoyed rebuttal in regards to her healthy state as he called out to her. No - She had only gazed up and given him a tired look, a pitiful whimper following soon after as a desperate plea for his help.
He'd come to a surprised halt and stood shocked for a few moments. She'd stared back, tears in her eyes as she held a hand to her head. When he finally willed himself to move, he'd only just gotten to her in time to catch her as she collapsed.
He hadn't noticed it at first. Even if she hadn't been putting pressure on it, he wouldn't have seen. A patch of her hair, above her left eye was matted and soaked with red, warm liquid that matched it in colour. The fluid mess only dripped and spread, running down her face. He'd go on to never find out exactly what had happened to put her in such a state.
He'd acted without reflecting what he was thinking. A colourful array of thoughts ran through his mind, the two most noted being why he seemed to care, and that he should simply leave her and be done with it.
What had driven him in the mean time was logic and personal reassurance. Logically speaking, there would be too much distance to cover before he had any way of getting to anywhere to serve as useful help. The only thing keeping him calm was that personal knowledge – About what she was, and that she could be fine if given the time. He was sure Sirens could grow back limbs if need be.
How he'd gotten to that specific spot high up, he was unsure – But he was thankful for it. The only hint to the area given was a pole jutting out from the platform, and Bloodwing perched at the end keeping a look out.
It was a shudder from the young woman that snapped him from his thoughts. It was a violent shaking, despite it lasting only a moment, and the fact that she made no sound or further movements afterwards proved to cause him concern.
He whistled in her ear, half expecting – and hoping - to receive the back of her hand to his face. A few seconds passed – Nothing.
He shook her shoulder gently, grabbing her arm when he still got no reply. His grip tightened, fingers digging in roughly. "Lilith," much more time and the pressure would bruise her surprisingly durable skin, "Lilith!"
She coughed and wheezed, snapping back to life after his shouts. Each gasp for air sounded wet, heated liquid dripping and spluttering. Such a beautiful crimson colour. His grip eased on her arm, as he opted to slink has own arms around her waist and hold her closer.
He felt her squirming, barely having any fight to put up against him, but braving it regardless.
"Ugh… Christ, what are you doing?" She looked up at him, rubbing her arm, red from his fingers, and apparently completely unaware of the red mess seeping from her mouth.
"…" He only offered her a disheartened expression to replace any words he could offer. He hesitantly moved one arm from around her, reaching into one of the hidden pockets in his vest to pull out a handkerchief.
"You're such a fucking arsehole." She spat, giving a discomforted shout as he dabbed the fabric over her mouth. She paused, taking on a sad expression as she saw the cotton take on the deeper colour. "… But thank you. I don't know how you put up with me."
"Just don't make me do this again."
She leaned willingly against him, resting her head on the crook of his neck. She no doubt would have thought up a come back, but the moment she let her eyes shut, she was overcome with the need to rest.
He uttered some words against her hair as she dozed with eased breath – Of insults, or slight hints of affections, would have been anyone's guess.
Truth be told, he'd become rather fond of this particular pain in the arse.