albaitross

[albaitross]

Fallen by Federico Ferro

[albaitross]

'Liberty has a price tag', does it? Not a pleasant thing to hear, as someone who likes liberty. Perhaps it's a statement to keep in mind; she may be able to traverse the stars at a whim, but she isn't all-powerful, and the universe is filled with many, many things. And obstacles. Or just annoyances. Though, judging from how she's been floating about rather freely for the past while, she might not have any issues here regardless.

Just has to be a little careful, as always.

"...First impressions are for fools, of course," May eventually replies, airily, letting her feet just barely graze the rich carpeting. Her tone is a little calmer here, seeming reigned back comparatively. "Which seems to be a sentiment you share. How nice to find a kindred soul such as yourself."

Well, so she says anyway - between her still-big grin and her gently-spoken words, she's certainly not making it easy to determine which way she's taking anything right now.

"Aww, no drinks for me? A shame. With your fancy sense of dress and your fancy little room and your very fancy everything, I would've been interested to see what exactly your choice of offering would be. There's a difference between proposing a nice drink and actually serving one, after all."

The woman hums, clasping her hands behind her back for a moment - before, in a sharp blink, she floats right into the other's personal space, face practically inches away now. "—But since you're a very smart and handsome-seeming person, I suppose, there should be other ways to express both that glamour and substance - besides drinks, at least. You have anything fun and interesting in mind to show me, Sir Fashionable?"

❝  please,  like  i  need  any  of  that?  ❞  a  name?  who  cares!  he'll  make  something  up  —  probably  something  really  unflattering,  too.  (  maybe  he  should  write  down  a  list?  the  rejects  get  to  be  magnus'  nickname  for  the  day.  )  ❝  look  around.  does  this  seem  like  the  sort  of  place  that  values  fairness  and  conventional  court  proceedings?  we  lock  'em  up  and  throw  away  the  key  by  default  here.  liberty  has  a  price  tag  and  i  can  already  tell  it's  way  beyond  YOUR  budget.  ❞  empty  threats  —  well,  mostly.  it's  basically  the  most  poorly  kept  secret  ever  that  the  malebranche  is  corrupt  as  corrupt  can  be.  (  but  hey,  is  it  really  so  different  upstairs?  from  what  he's  heard,  he  doubts  it.  )  escaping  the  shadow  of  his  last  name  is  pretty  much  impossible,  so  ruairi  might  as  well  spin  it  to  his  advantage  —  but  he'd  much  rather  argue  for  arguing's  sake  than  actually  make  good  on  any  of  the  blustering.  usually.

at  least  she's  not  levitating  halfway  through  the  damn  ceiling  anymore.  eugh,  that  was  freaky.

❝  not  confident?  all  that  floating  through  walls  must  have  seriously  scrambled  your  ocular  nerves,  lady.  ❞  teeth  flash  in  a  shameless  grin,  as  if  he  means  to  shake  off  the  implication  through  sheer  theatrics.  ❝  no  one  actually  cares  about  integrity,  just  how  well  you  can  sell  the  illusion  of  it.  if  the  man  makes  the  clothes,  then  what  are  first  impressions  for?  ❞   magazine  covers.  television  interviews.  podcasts.  it's  all  about  selling  a  carefully  curated  version  of  reality  —  faking  it  until  you  make  it!  (  and  faking  it  further  still.  )  ❝  that's  the  dirty  little  secret  everyone  pretends  not  to  notice,  you  know.  ❞   the  demon  continues  aloud,  punctuating  the  declaration  with  a  flippant  shrug.  ❝  no  one  cares  about  REAL  substance,  they  just  say  that  they  do  because  that's  the  answer  that  earns  them  a  pat  on  the  back.  when  it  comes  right  down  to  it,  most  people  never  grow  past  being  babies  getting  all  excited  about  a  set  of  shiny  keys  dangling  in  front  of  their  face.  ❞  that's  practically  the  entire  thesis  this  city  is  based  on,  isn't  it?  dangle  whatever  the  humans  want  in  their  faces  and  watch  them  sell  their  souls  for  it.

❝  anyway,  i'd  offer  you  a  DRINK,  but  i'm  pretty  sure  it  would  go  right  through  you.  you  know,  because ...  ❞   words  trail  off,  yet  ruairi  finishes  the  thought  by  gesturing  towards  her  with  a  hand.  floaty.  ❝  a  tragedy,  really.  i  would've  filled  it  with  edible  glitter  so  it  could  be  glamor  AND  substance.  ❞  like  drinking  wet  sand.

[albaitross]

(final review pending until she eats at a nice restaurant and sleeps in a fancy hotel probably) - continued / @riverdebt !

May nods and hums as appropriate, quietly cataloguing every word spoken into a neat little pile of theories and connections in her head. Her little smile has curved into a wider one - into something a little sharper, a little more intrigued by the picture being slowly painted to her, piece by piece.

"Afterlife, you say? That certainly explains a lot." A hum, as she rolls a few of her thoughts like dice, clattering about, before gluing them all together in her head. "Well, if you want such a honest opinion, then why not? Though do mind, I've only seen very little of your beloved city - a tourist only visits for so long before they stop being a tourist, after all. But let's see now..."

The woman folds her arms and glances elsewhere: to the glittering lights around, the dark alleyways between, the neon skyline ahead, glamour and gloom in steep but consistent contrast. The sun has had yet to show its face since the Nephilim set foot here - possibly her sense of time has become muddled, or the sun is non-existent. Or maybe they're underground? This pale stranger did say "afterlife", didn't they...

"—It's a pitiful place," she starts, blithely. Still smiling, pointed and curious, but there's a distant quality to it too now. "Pretty on the surface, dull beneath. The ratio of pleasant faces to unpleasant ones is quite uneven, if you ask me. Ah, though you might not believe me when I say that! After all, the streets are so bright and colorful, and everyone appears to be making the best of things. But behind closed doors, it seems to be a different matter?"

A pause, before the woman giggles. "Oh, I probably shouldn't have said that last bit. You can only see behind closed doors when trespassing - and from the sounds of it, you seem like the law-abiding type. But it's not my fault if the doors aren't working as they should, right? Hmm—I guess as a tourist, perhaps my number one feedback is that you should all have better doors? Unless the infrastructure of this city is meant to be so dysfunctional."

[albaitross]

("even God(TM) could have worn crocs better than this dude for sure lmao" - may, probably, circa 2XXX) - continued! / @riverdebt !

And taking the obvious ragebait, the man rambles back to her about his very stylish and impeccable dress sense. Or something like that. To be frank, May wasn't really paying attention - she had half an ear out to listen, and the rest of her focus was on a quick survey of the room, where she concluded that the interior certainly matched the rest of the rooms and hallways she had floated through prior to sticking her head into this one.

Quite the fancy place this was, really. The aesthetic is quite adjacent to Mr. Person With A Very Stylish And Impeccable Dress Sense And Yes That's Sarcasm. Hm. Hmmm.

"—Sue me?" the woman replies, more an absentminded repeat of the last thing she heard, before the words properly register and she grins. She starts to float the rest of herself down from the ceiling - though she stops short of reorienting herself from her upside-down position. "Hilarious. Do you even know my name? Pretty sure any formal procedure like that requires a name for the defendant. And the plaintiff too - but is your name even worth being put on some petty court documents?"

She giggles, and finally turns to a proper standing position that isn't upside-down - although, she's still floating some ways in the air regardless. "From my first impressions, I'm not sure of that. After all, a truly stylish man—one that you so proclaim to be—probably wouldn't care if their wardrobe gets any media attention whatsoever. After all, it's not that clothes make the man - it's the man that makes the clothes."

A delicate sigh, mocking sigh, as she rests her cheek in a palm. Red eyes fall into a narrow, perhaps contemplative look - or at least, if her demeanour didn't reek of an acting jester right now. "But it seems you're just not all that confident. Or all that of anything. All glamour and no substance. Or are you? Any evidence to the contrary for this court case?"

[albaitross]

❝  𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇  𝐌𝐄  𝐘𝐎𝐔  𝐆𝐎  𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎  𝐀  𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐘  𝐎𝐅  𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆  … ❞  hello  hello!  this  is  a  brand  new  blog  for  two  𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐌𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒  𝐎𝐂𝐒  loosely  inspired  by  𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄'𝐒  𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐎.  (  written  by  avalon.  )  i'm  original  character,  multimuse  and  crossover  friendly!  if  you  wouldn't  mind please  giving  this  post  a  quick  𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄  or  𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆  if  you're  interested  in  interacting,  i  would  appreciate  it  very  much!

[albaitross]

we diagnose you with a creeping sense of alienation forever. incurable

[albaitross]

Charlotte Brontë  — Jane Eyre

[albaitross]

me [coming to terms with a truth about myself]: hm..................................................... unfortunate

[albaitross]

🌟Golden Christmas Star🌟

[albaitross]

oh see I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to know. hope that helps

[albaitross]

doesn’t everyone constantly feel like they’re acting. All the time

[albaitross]

a nervous breakdown? I’m actually very confident in my breakdowns. I’m experienced.

[albaitross]

[albaitross]

(one of my fave song covers resurfaced in my recommends and i remembered just how much i love not just the singing but all the additional details and op's sprinkle of narrative and character lore in just a cover ww

also its very maycore for her original setting lmao)

[albaitross]

poise and demeanor and power - unchanged yet ever so fractionally glowing, ascending to the heights of one who has some amount of experience in looking downwards. but it is not the kind of person who looks down even as their own feet remain planted in the earth, it is the kind of person who looks down because they themselves exist above the world itself.

or something to that effect. perhaps you're wrong with your judgment, as fanciful as you like to be. but you will make a modest bet on the guess anyway.

"Kratos." an acknowledgement and a test of the syllables. your smile doesn't falter despite it all - growing instead. so, so very amused, and still so. even though the smart thing would be to bow your head a bit, show some humility... well, as the mythos go, it was hubris that brought low the heavenly messengers; the morning star, the brightest pinnacle of the sky, was unceremoniously tossed into the earth's dregs for the simple sin of pride. supposedly. 

supposedly.

the thought sharps your smile for a second - too sharp, a little bitter. but it's a passing thought so it's an equally passing feel, and your mere curiosity for the present resumes its primary place after.

"What a fine name, my good sir! In my homeland, there's a figure of myth with that same name - a divine figure meant to embody the idea of strength, serving the king of all gods as a hound of his rule. Ignoring any unpleasant details, it is a name connoting power. A good name for a good child, yes?"

you laugh, the sound tinkling like a nymph's chimes. "And a child you might just well be, in the eyes of the vast, endless expanse of all in existence. Or are you as old as the nothingness between worlds? Older than the primordial origin of the universe itself? If you are, I'll have to excuse myself there - not even I'm that old. But from what you've said so far, I'll take a guess on my spinning bottle and say you aren't. Not nearly, at least. You're at least an old-sounding middle aged old man, and old enough to have known what war truly means."

idly, and somewhat performatively, you stroke your chin, a thoughtful gesture. "All the more reason, in that sense, that I must play games, Mister Oldie Knight Guy. Even if you're super wise and super smart and super experienced - with age comes stagnancy, the curse of predictability and habit and safe choices. It would be a practical thing if you learned to loosen up some more. But in my sole case, I just like having a fun time by—as you put it—regularly getting a rise out of people, and some more! Not to say the mask is false, per say."

you shrug. "Youths like me should just enjoy life to its fullest after all, before we lose the ability to. Though that doesn't mean it can't be regained - and the same goes for you too. As you say, there'll always be something that remains, so maybe your lost childhood innocence and wonder is somewhere in there too. Maybe? Can't know without finding out.

"So why not play the game for a while? Spin the bottle, trade questions and answers. Maybe you'll rekindle the joy of discovery and the innocence of learning. Remember what it means to be a man again - not that you really need that much of a nudge to do so, if you ask me, Mister Rusty Hair Man. Because I'll have to disagree and say there's no such thing as a man who ever transcends themselves—man will always be so, if not in skin than in their heart and soul." a pause. tone dropping quieter, for the briefest of heartbeats - "A man who isn't a man is just a monster otherwise."

"Anyway!" —cheerful! "Pleaaaaase won't you humor my silly little jokes to pass the time, Sir Taller Old Man? Or are you really so much in a hurry that you'd rather just have everything be so boringly straightforward? Liiiive a little!"

his  smile  withers  to  nothing  ,  right  before  the  young  women's eyes.  how  long  had  it  been  since  kratos  was  seen  as  young  , since  someone  met  his  prose  and  otherworldly  gaze  back  with  its  own?  (  too  long  to  keep  track  and  far  too  long  for  him  to  care  for  the  specifics  ):  weather  the  spoken  tongue  is of  god  or  beast  is  irrelevant:  kratos  can  tell  that  she  ,  too  ,  plays  the  same  part  in  this  play  on  life's  ever  moving  stage  (  in  this  fabrication  upon  fabrication  ):  the  women  is  no  more  ordinary  than  he  and  ordinary  is  a  word  not  used  amongst  his  vernacular  often.  modern  man  would  give  them  wolves  among  sheep  (  a  shepherd  amongst  its  own  herd  ):  devils  in  the  presence  of  heaven  ---  angels  at  the  gates  of  hell  (  they  do  not  belong  here  ):  mayhaps  ,  neither  belongs  anywhere.  what  was  a  coward  made  god?  nothing  more  than  what  still  remained  buried  under  false  holy  skin.  these  where  the  people  that  interested  kratos  the  most  after  living  for  aeons  and  aeons  ---  individuals  that  kept  him  guessing  ,  individuals  that  kept  his  blade  sharpened.

listening  to  her  is  easy  and  following  her  strange  mannerism  is  just  as  well.  once  ,  long  ago  he'd  once  been  like  her:  so  young  ,  so  wild  ,  so  free:  a  knight  who  wanted  to  do  right  by  the  people  and  end  a  thousand  year  war  of  senseless  bloodshed.  but  ,  that  was  how  the  mighty  and  righteous  always  began  (  so  full  of  hope  and  life  and  optimism  ):  the  realities  of  the  world  had  a  knack  for  knocking  one  down.  to  taking  all  emotion  but  grief  and  depression  ---  stripping  any  ability  for  one  to  see  color  ,  for  one  to  hold  any  laughter.  ❝  man  may  always  be  man  young  lady  but  some  do  forge  a  path  beyond.  not  all  that  one  does  is  always  foretold  by  how  they  began.  ❞  it  is  here  that  kratos  crosses  his  arms  over  his  chest  (  to  feel  the  feel  of  his  arms  ,  nothing  more  ): people  that  came  from  the  same  worldview  may  have  boarded  the  same  ship  home  but  both  would  have  the  harbor  as  they  say.  ❝  much  more  than  studied  wisdom  i  can assure.  it  is  no  different  than  an  illiterate  man  learning  to  read  and  do  script  or  a  youth  learning  the  rules  of  the  hunt.  a  piece  of  the  identity  before  will  always  remain.  ❞  it  is  here  that  his  arms  unfold  ,  his  arm  extending  to  pop  itself  on  his  waist  the  same  side  as  his  concealed  blade.

❝  kratos.  ❞  surname  unneeded  and  it  is  here  that  he  hovers  for  a  lingering  moment  ,  fixing  his  eyes  on  the  curl  of  her  lashes  then  on  her  smiling  lips  (  her  expression  something  oddly  twisted  ,  a  look  that  vaguely  reminded  him  of  a  mithos  slipped  deep  into  madness  ):  her  voice  was  sugary  sweet  but  still  eerie  ---  seemingly  slithering  like  the  tongue  of  an  unbecoming  garden's  snake  in  eden.  ❝  any  other  details  are  unimportant.  do  these  quirks  of  yours  regularly  get  a  rise  out  of  others?  or  would  this  be  ,  as  you  said:  one  of  many  varieties  of  face  paints  to  wear.  ❞  it  is  more  statement  than  question.  curiosity  make  itself  clear  in  the  dark  of  his  irises  ,  he  moves  a  bit  closer  towards  her  and  his aura  grows  even  grander  (  makes  him  seem  even  taller  ):  casting  a  downward  glare  at  her  self-satisfied  expression.  ❝  i  cannot  say  that  i  have  ,  young  lady.  my  youth  was  spent  during  a  time  of  war  and  not  much  time  for  leisure.  why  make  it  a  game?  why  not  simply  ask  and  i  can  do  the  same.  if  you  do  not  wish  to  answer  ,  you  have  the  right  not  to  speak.  ❞

[albaitross]

reblog if 🔪

[albaitross]

Patti Smith, from “Year of the Monkey”