(no subject)

[iniquiticity]

Of course, Washington doesn’t say anything when Hamilton is introduced as his new potential EA, but he stinks of black magic when he walks through the door. Stinks is actually understating it, in all honestly. It pours off Hamilton like sludge. It makes patterns under his manicured fingernails and flickers in his eyes. If Washington was not accustomed to his own less savory dealings, he might have choked on it.

Hamilton impresses on his interview, although in all honest he would have to be an incompetent failure to not get the job. It’s just that a man who casts like that is too useful to not keep near him. He consults [ ] about Hamilton - who, after it’s snarling and promises about how he is going to burn in the abyss, etc, it should never been conquered, etc – agrees that the boy not only has done a lot of forbidden art, but he’s not even half bad at it.[ ] knows the spells, knows the scent of the magic. [ ] remarks that there’s a beautiful, long note of pure agony in hamilton’s magic, that it’s powered by. your little human slave suffers so tenderly, [ ] murmurs, his “voice” like charcoal. the world has shredded him. mortals have ruined him. he is long-defeated; he simply does not know what that means. but i suppose! ah you, my cursed master - you know how to benefit from a man who is long-defeated. you will wring him of his usefulness.

yes, i will, washington replies, through their link, bound in the invisible tattoo across his thigh and held firmer by his signet, which he forged himself in the abyss.

he plans to purposefully interrupt hamilton’s latest spell. [ ] says, in the back of his head, hamilton has made it himself, which is quite impressive. the spell would never accept him if he wasn’t so pleasantly scarred, [ ] adds, sniffing close to hamilton as if to get high off him. hamilton looks stunned when washington appears, eyes red red and clothes ragged and lightening crackling under his flesh. [ ] becomes visible, claws and teeth and shaking reality, and hamilton understands. hamilton studies [ ] for a long time.

“demonblood! just what i need!” hamilton says, brilliantly unafraid. without a beat, he reaches for the knife and pricks his fingers. “trade you?”

[ ] looks at washington first, as a good slave. but he nods, and it breaks off a finger, demonblood splashing like oil. hamilton collects in in some invisible jar.[ ] bends his head, licks hamilton’s bleeding finger.

we should make an arrangement, master, [ ] says to him. the things i could do, with your – assistant’s – blood — and he could do with mine – for you - of course –

washinton studies both his slaves. considers. touches his signet.

“we’ll see,” he says, noncommittally. but there are things that need to be accomplished…..