ofproseandmusing

[ofproseandmusing]

twilight-writings​:

intruder alert.

Pan laid across the couch, staring up at the ceiling as there were commercials playing on the tv. He didn’t care for them, finding human advertisements to be stupid — unless it was one of those fast food commercials where they had slow motion zoom-ins on the food, with colors being so bright that he couldn’t help but want to fly to the nearest fast food joint himself. The perks of being a demon meant he could slip in out of the walls, stealing all the food that his heart desired. 

There was something menacing about it, about taking and taking and taking. 

Although, Pan was used to far worse depictions of greed and gluttony. Humans were surprising when they wanted to be evil, when they wanted to consume the world that managed to bore them. He never questioned it before, completing the contract as their tasks unleashed immense havoc ; wars, plague, famine, you name it. He might’ve had a hand in all of it, just like how he had a hand in one of her cereal bowls filled with chips, munching away. Being stuck on Earth meant having to indulge in things he normally didn’t have a taste for — like food. 

It was also a good way to keep himself distracted from the sore fact that he was stuck here. Stuck unless his human managed to think of something so awful, so devious, that he’d be sent back to hell and locked away for the next century. Pan missed eternal slumber, as much as he missed being a demon. A proper demon, not one that simply stole food or pranked her students. That was only child’s play! 

He munched on his chips, scowling when another commercial followed after the previous one. How many more did he have to watch? He was only trying to watch cartoons, ones with that mischievous mouse and dumb cat. Tom & Jerry. It was weirdly comical, entertaining him despite how ridiculous the entire thing seemed — but it also appealed to a darker side of him, one that demanded plotting and scheming. It had been so long since he had committed such intricate acts of despair. 

He wondered if anyone had noticed that ; if the demons in hell sensed his absence. 

Probably, but what could they do? Pan was trapped on Earth until further notice … or until Lauren stopped being a rambling marshmallow. He had been on the surface long enough that the demon was learning how to engage with humans, how to carry conversations. It was disgusting as it was useful, making it easier to walk around in his non-beast-like form. His fingers reached for the remote, flipping the channels until he stopped on some random cooking show. 

Boring. 

But he liked the flickering of fires, and this random chef was grilling. Good enough, he thought, wondering what was for dinner. And then he felt it, the shiver running down his spine — a warning. Pan sat up, confused, knowing he wasn’t that sensitive to human temperatures. But he could sense bad luck, his hands turning into claws as he moved to peer out of the blinds. 

“Something is coming,” he warned, half excited and half suspicious. “Something demonic.”

The fact that Pan could be quieted with potato chips and cartoons had been a surprise at first. Considering Lauren’s initial impression of Pan’s demon form was that it was scary as Hell—an irony not lost on her considering that was where he was from—it baffled her regularly how many childlike impulses he gave in to.

Petty thievery, irritating pranks, demands to be entertained when he was bored... if she didn’t know he was an immortal entity that had the power to ruin the world or make it a little bit worse depending on the whim of his summoner, she might not have believed it. 

That said, she still had trouble believing she was in this situation at all. It was the unfortunate outcome of curiosity to be stuck like this, though if she were being truly honest, it wasn’t all bad.

Pan was kind of annoying, but he was also starting to feel like something of a companion or a friend. And given the human form he’d settled into, sometimes she could even forget that he was a demon.

Perhaps that was why she was so comfortable in this moment; despite the fact that he was a beyond powerful entity, she was sprawled out on the floor, grading her students’ problem sets while munching on her own bowl of chips and listening to the antics of Tom & Jerry between commercials. It was an odd reminiscence of childhood with an adult twist, but she didn’t mind that or what was a companionable moment, shattered by Pan flipping channels when the commercials came on.

An eye roll was her only reaction; she didn’t bother looking up from her grading to chide him to be more patient or ask what he was looking for because she’d walked that path before and the answers didn’t satisfy. As such, she waited, figuring he’d settle again because he often seemed to go through short cycles of dissatisfied boredom and something bordering contentment. Instead, he abruptly stood up and crossed to the window. For a moment, she was fleetingly grateful that the bowl of chips had been set down rather than got flying in his haste, but his words and newly returned claws chilled her to her core, marring that gratitude. 

Something demonic!?

“What does that mean?” She asked, even knowing he’d probably roll his eyes that her initial reaction was a question—after all, didn’t she always have questions—before adding, “You didn’t ask your friends to come join you here to pressure me, did you?”

She hoped not, because she still didn’t want to make good on her side of the deal and it was easy to say no when it was just Pan, but more demons might make that harder. Still, another question came to mind right after. “Wait... do you even have friends?”

Was she his only one? Was she even one?

[ofproseandmusing]

twilight-writings‌:

Starfire did not respond well to being yelled at, or to anger, as part of her could not help but flinch. Physical combat and active battle were easier for her than engaging in a screaming match, especially when she could not understand what she had done wrong ;  what had she done to receive such vitriol … from her own sister?? 

“They don’t fix anything” 

But she was trying to do exactly that — to repair the damage that had torn apart their family and stripped away her sister’s proper royal title. They were princesses, they belonged to this planet and deserved the chance to return as it was their given birthright. Starfire was only trying to help, to piece together old memories and hope that they were enough to bring everyone back together. It … hurt, those words hurt her. More than the purple glow that was blooming from the brunette’s hands or the threats that followed. 

“You say sorry like it means something, like any of your words mean anything and they don’t.”

Despite that, she smiled through it all, even if the emotion behind her eyes dulled for a second as she called out, “Blackfire, please wait— !!” It was too late, her sister soared out of the room, leaving behind destruction and chaos. Starfire hesitated, unsure if she should follow her sister or assess the repairs that needed to be examined. She chose the latter, hovering over the spot in the hallway which had been shattered from purple ultraviolet beams. Her sister always did have perfect aim, noticing the way the marble crumbled, unable to fully withstand the heat. At this rate, there would be a gaping hole in the floor … 

Starfire felt overwhelmed — she wanted to fix the damage, knowing that she could not easily cover it up either ( hiding it from curious eyes ). It was physical proof of how broken they had been … and she could not stand it. The red haired titan was so caught up in her own panic that she hardly noticed the footsteps that were rushing towards her, her eyes glancing up to find the shocked faces of guards and maids alike. Even more surprising were the people that followed behind them, the royal king and queen of Tamaran. Her parents!! 

“Mother, Father!!” she greeted, rushing towards them for a crushing hug. They reciprocated the contact, even if they pulled away with expressions that were full of concern. Of course, she did not have to explain much, mentioning Blackfire while watching their faces drop in response. And that is when she felt it again, that ache, the one she tried so hard to ignore. Were they wrong in being afraid?? Or was her sister wrong for openly attacking them in the past?? Starfire did not know … and she suddenly missed the titans ( missed the other family that understood her intentions ). 

“It is fine!!” Starfire explained, not sure if she was trying to convince herself or her parents. “She was only upset because I suggested that I could, perhaps, join her on her travels … but she is still here!!” Her parents looked sternly at the guards, their following command now ringing inside her ears: find her. Of course … of course they needed to find her dear sister!! How could they have a proper family reunion without her?? She watched all the palace workers disperse, as if they were preparing for some type of battle. Or perhaps they were frantic because both princesses had returned home without notice?? She assumed it was the latter. 

Starfire decided to assist with the search as well, pretending it was a grand game of hide-and-seek. She flew all over the top floors, not finding her sister anywhere in the rooms. How strange … could she have gone out of the palace?? Into the market somewhere?? The redhead landed near the gardens instead, noticing how eerily quiet it had been despite the flowers that were in bloom. There was a fountain in the middle, one which she could not reach as a child. She would ask Blackfire to hoist her up, eager to touch the cold water and see what was on the inside. 

It was only then that she remembered Blackfire pushing her over the ledge, nearly drowning her. 

She shook her head, shoving the memory aside. They were only playing, they were only children. Blackfire did not mean to do it, she did not — 

And then her eyes widened, finally spotting her sister. Her sister who had purple glowing hands and stood over something … someone?? The body on the floor was not moving, covered in blood, as she could not recognize their face — for how could she?? They were wearing a guard’s mask. Starfire felt her stomach churn, disbelieving the sight, even if the evidence stood proud over the deceased victim. Blackfire … attacked one of the guards?? Killed one of them?? 

Her vision started to blur as tears suddenly fell onto her cheeks. She felt disillusioned, the picture of a happy family reunion cracking in front of her own eyes. Death. Her sister had killed someone, killed someone who worked in the palace ( someone who was meant to protect it ).

She felt herself shaking, her voice breaking as she called out, “Blackfire, w-what … what have you done??”

Cooling off proved harder than expected, but as Blackfire traveled down halls that were still unfortunately familiar despite years of absence, she realized that was part of the problem. She’d never quiet the seething rage that seemed to color everything purple as long as she stood in a place she’d been banished from.

Every familiar face, every recognized room was just a reminder of everything she had lost, regained, and then lost again thanks to the Teen Titans’ interference and Starfire’s refusal to be a good younger sister and do what younger princes and princesses were supposed to do: marry for the good of Tamaran while their eldest sibling ruled. 

Of course, the fact that she’d arranged a rather hideous marriage as adequate punishment for what she’d endured because of Starfire and then called it good was unimportant.

Blackfire had mentioned to Starfire that she had returned to Tamaran more than once since her exile; while she had been wholly unfamiliar with the world beyond the palace’s walls once, that wasn’t the case anymore. There were places she had taken a liking to on-planet, that reminded her of personal rebellion and hopes for her own power. If she was going to cool off somewhere on planet—and that seemed like a better idea than trying to leave right now—it seemed most feasible that she’d manage it there.

Fleeing the palace was a little bit like losing again, most of all when it was done via a backward way through the gardens, but that was probably for the best.

Or at least, it seemed that way until a palace guard had stumbled upon her while she was making her way out and ordered her to stop at the direct order of her parents. She might have done it without a fight—only because it nearly sounded like being wanted by them—until he tacked on something about standing judgment for violating her exile.

She had rolled her eyes at the idea of further punishment from them and then killed him—after a small battle—when he attempted to make good on it and forcibly return her to the palace.

Fuck no. She wasn’t going easily to that.

Still, for long minutes in the aftermath, her hands continued to glow purple as she stood over his body, trying to work through rage for Starfire, for their parents, for his trite ideas of justice. It should have been enough to take a life, it should have been a place and moment to expel the hurt, the anger, the grief for every last wrong done to her for what felt like no good cause. Instead, it just felt hollow.

He was just a Tamaran guard attempting to serve his king and queen, attempting to execute the version of justice he obviously believed in. A fool’s errand, that, against a girl—a woman—who subscribed to her own brand of the thing founded and fed on the idea of vengeance.

It wasn’t about getting even, it was about going beyond that.

He was nothing before and now he was a dead nothing; a poor substitute for her sister who was everything for everyone, who could do no wrong, who saw the world with rose-colored glasses, endlessly forgave her and justified her supposed faults without understanding that she was the cause of them.

No one thought there was anything wrong with her until they decided everything was right in Starfire.

Was it cruel or kind that as her thoughts remained stuck on Starfire, she just appeared? It was like the story of their childhood all over again: where she went, Starfire inevitably followed, like a fucking puppy exuding sunshine and good intentions.

Abruptly, her head snapped up at Starfire’s address, an easy smirk spreading across her face at the tears and the distress and the fucking broken question as if Blackfire could give a different answer or explain this away, as if she would want to. “Come see for yourself, sister dear.”

She hadn’t dissipated the purple glow off energy her hands and she did nothing to dim it with the invitation. Instead, she recognized that for the first time in a while, it was just the two of them (finally, no fucking Teen Titans, no onlookers) in a space isolated enough that they might go uninterrupted for some time.

Suddenly, she wanted this confrontation, she wanted it so badly; anticipation for it resonated so deep it struck her bones and found a home there. “Unless you’re scared.”

journey to the past.

[ofproseandmusing]

twilight-writings‌:

Memories were precious little things — and most of Starfire’s seemed to be painted in rose gold. They were untouchable, blinded by optimism and a longing for the past. The photo, which she held so delicately in her arms ( afraid that it might break, might shatter ) resembled all of that. It was a tragically erased past that she could not seem to fully accept, fully understand. For how could they, princesses of this wonderful planet, end up so torn apart, so utterly dissimilar?? She supposed that would be normal for most siblings, but sometimes the gap between her and her sister seemed … like an endless abyss. One that Hamlet’s Ophelia must have drowned herself within. Yet they were not a tragedy — no, no they were a fairy tale in progress!! 

And fairy tales were supposed to have happy endings, were they not?? 

Starfire giggled, ensuring, “oh dear sister, nothing about you could ever bore me!!” 

There certain traits of Blackfire that she did not, and could not, possess. Perhaps that is why she was so drawn to her sister, always chasing her shadows even as a little child. Elder siblings, for the most part, are supposed to set an example for younger ones. It was the reason she was so eager to please, so eager to follow behind her sister’s footsteps. The court officials thought it was adorable how they used to play together, how they were almost two peas in a pod!! 

Growing up, however, caused their similarities to shift into differences. They preferred different colors, different hobbies, different jobs. While Starfire tried her best to understand her sister … the past blinded her, so did their doting relationship from once upon a time. Which is why she could not see that the same happiness and joy that the palace brought to her … was the exact opposite for her sister. The outburst was sudden, much like the romanticized facade of a happy family chipping away in front of her very own eyes. 

The redhead found herself feeling confused, apologetic even. “Oh … I am sorry, I did not intend to upset you!!” she insisted, her gaze filled with concern. “I am simply used to working in teams because of the titans, I — I did not mean to undermine you and your occupation!!” 

Starfire did not sense hostility from the dark-haired tamaranean, for she could not accept hostility from her own sister. It did not seem feasible, no matter how many times she had encountered attacks and manipulation. Everything always lent itself to an excuse, to a reasoning as to why Blackfire treated her in such a manner. 

‘She does not mean it!!’ Starfire once argued with her team. ‘She is simply different!!’ 

Different, villainous, dangerous. Were you not supposed to accept all of your family’s flaws?? Is that not what love is?? Surely, if she could get her parents to understand — to see that Blackfire is not entirely evil — then they could be whole again!! 

“If you do not wish to go to the playroom, what else would you like to do??”

There was too much temper, too much anger, and, stars, Blackfire had tried so hard not to give in to it, because she had plans with what she could do if she was able to finally make convincing amends to Starfire, but somewhere between yelling at Starfire and Starfire’s response, she had passed the point of no return. 

She wasn’t quite sure where that had happened, but what difference did it make? There was no salvaging this now. After all, if she were being really, truly honest Starfire wasn’t the one she wanted an apology from. She wanted an apology from their parents, wanted them to make things right despite only acting in ways that would encourage them to perpetually believe that they had been right in exiling her. 

The only thing she wanted from Starfire was for her to hurt. There was this void, a ceaselessly dark, growing thing that lived square in her chest that she was sure would only recede if Starfire understood what it felt like to hurt as badly as she had been for years. Except, that was rather hard to achieve given everything Starfire was. After all, her temper didn’t even phase Starfire. Starfire just apologized and acted like that would make a difference, like that would ever be enough. It wasn’t. 

It never would be.

“Nowhere,” she returned, the word a ground-out manifestation of hatred, dripping in it. “Nowhere with you, little sister. You say sorry like it means something, like any of your words mean anything and they don’t. They don’t fix anything.”

Her hands were still enveloped in a purple glow and on an impulse she found herself ready and willing to use that. A momentary focus on the floor had her directing coalesced purple beams at a spot not much farther down the hall from them, obliterating the floor into shatterings of marble and dust. Without hesitating, she stepped into the cloud of destruction and then launched herself into air so that she could float down the hole to whatever was a floor below them.

Still, she paused for a moment and hovered in mid-air, unsure and uncaring whether Starfire could see her, long enough to make one threat, “Follow me and you will be the thing I destroy next.”

Now a floor lower, she took advantage of the chaos so slip through the hall and into another room. Hopefully, her destruction would draw enough attention elsewhere that Starfire would get entangled in it or in seeing their parents who would no doubt drop everything to greet their favorite daughter and see to her well-being once news traveled that she was home and there was new wreckage within the palace. 

Surely, that’d be long enough for her to find a way to cool off and then get the hell out of here.

journey to the past.

[ofproseandmusing]

kiplingwriter‌:

Adele knew that she could paint it as a pretty picture, that there was a sense of pride and hard work that went into slaying but the heart of the matter was that she didn’t feel any of that. She hadn’t in a long time, hiding it well enough away to where others didn’t question the nights when she was a bit quieter or how her attention waned when it came to all the things that used to make her happy. It was harder now, having died for the cause and learn that all it did was delay the inevitable and find herself face to face with her replacement. Someone who seemed to have a better handle on things than she did, even if she did it with a lot more sarcasm than Adele was used to giving out. Or dealing with.

“Sorry to disappoint,” she told the other from her seat, eyes downcast for a moment before she tried to pull herself out of the disassociated funk that slipped onto her too easily these days. It wasn’t the first time that she’d been told that either, having to remind herself to smile or act happier than she felt at times when it all was too much and too suffocating at the same time. Jairus was trying his best, they all were, but none of them knew what it meant to be the Slayer. And they sure as hell didn’t know what it meant to die and come back again. She was only a kid, never wanting to die this young or have to learn what it meant to live beyond it. Adele breathed out to push the hair from her face even when it was tied back in a tight ponytail and fixed a waning smile at the other. “I didn’t mean to sound so down, but it’s exhausting sometimes to be so upbeat all the time.”

It seemed like the other might understand, even listening now to the other’s proposal that shouldn’t have sit well with her but she was itching for something different. Or someone different. Someone that might actually understand what she was going through as Adele watched Renee to judge the other’s sincerity. “You mean that, don’t you? No having to drag you along on a patrol with me as long as I go out with you and try to enjoy myself?” It felt like it was too good to be true, having seem the way the other dug her heels in the dirt. Or had a comment to be made about anything. “And if I do this, is it a one time thing or are we talking that it might happen more often than that.” Because even with everything going on in her head, Adele could use the help.

There was a surprising lack of fight to her. The longer she spent with Adele the more she was realizing Adele’s reputation and Adele herself were two very different entities. Everything she had heard about the other Slayer painted a much prettier picture than reality presented, leaving Renee to wonder whether what she had heard was who Adele used to be or if it was propaganda to keep her in line.

She wanted to think that wasn’t Diana’s style, because she’d been good to her when other people hadn’t, but she was cynical enough to suspect that it probably had an element of the latter.

In answer, she tipped her head back and rolled her shoulders a little, shaking off the stupid attempt at a smile and the way it made her feel bad for Adele again. “Hey, I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with it. I’d be a fucking mess if I died and came back.” It wasn’t like coping with normal shit was her strength after all, given how much of a mess her life had always been. “I just figured little blonde you with a mom and friends and your perfect little life would default to cheerful to hide the shit. That’s what high school’s all about, right?” 

“Sure,” Renee returned to Adele’s question before she shrugged, “Diana’d tell me to good and helpful if she were around so everybody wins.” Good and helpful were weighted in a particular way to indicate she didn’t think much of those words or the ideas they implied, but that was better than the pang regarding the still untold truth: her Watcher was dead and she was in way over her head. “You have fun, the Watchers get their two Slayers doing what they’re supposed to, and I get what I want too. If I have to give a little for my part, I can do that.” She flashed a smirk as she owned her own selfishness without apology and teased Adele just a little with, “I can even make it a repeat thing if you’re good too and actually have fun.”

The idea of repetition was almost an impossible joke, though. She suspected her here for a good time not a long time attitude was going to get under Jairus and Adele’s skin quickly and if Jairus decided to do any checking on things in Vegas he was going to find out the truth very quickly, at which point who knew what was going to happen? Probably a new Watcher and bullshit chat about selflessness for its sake. 

She glanced toward what had been already indicated to be Jairus’ office then and took up drumming her fingers against the desk. “Is he going to lose his shit if you play hooky with me tomorrow? I’m talking school, not Slayer shit, for the record.”

our line of work: slaying and the want, take, have

[ofproseandmusing]

written--infinities‌:

This wasn’t a family dinner familiar to Mari. She grew up with parents who might have ordered pizza for dinner or went to the movies or asked about each other’s day. Jude’s childhood routine was a mixture of training, questions, and always learning how to be better. The semblance of normalcy she witnessed mainly came from her father when he wasn’t beside her mother - the kindest of the trio. He hadn’t always been involved in their line of work. 

Despite her working for Jude’s family, Mari had a normal life once too, one that had been interrupted by a senseless act of violence or so Jude was in the middle of figuring out. She had a few pieces in her back pocket, but not enough to complete the picture. Before she said anything to Mari, she wanted to be sure. As much as she was certain Mari wouldn’t walk out of her life, this was personal. She wasn’t going to be the one to fuck up their relationship. They had already spent enough years apart. 

Which was why, despite her mother being as charming as ever, Jude would make sure they walked out of this ordeal unscathed. Even if it meant yelling or throwing the wine glass that had just been placed beside her, filled with wine the color of blood. She lifted it with her free hand and took a rather hearty sip which earned an eye roll from her mother and a nod from her father. She smiled then because she knew how much of the lifting he was doing and she appreciated it, in the same Mari did. 

“I’m sure the more you practice, the more it’ll come back to you. After doing it for as long as me and Angelique have, you can assemble anything in your sleep. And it definitely doesn’t surprise me that Jude’s an aggressive teacher. She learned from the best.” He chuckled and lightly elbowed Angelique whose scowl could set a room on fire. But there was a slight crinkle beside her eyes too, a lightness Jude saw every now and again.

A smile appeared on her lips, meeting Mari’s gaze. Something about hearing Mari say she loved her brought a rush of warmth to her stomach. For a while, she thought she made the whole thing up. After all, Mari had left without a trace. After all, Jude had harbored anger for as long as she could remember. It had simmered now, routine and several sessions in her bedroom being a wonderful cure. 

“Girlfriend or not, there’s no preferential treatment. Either I kick your ass or you figure out how to kick mine. That’s how this life works, but love you too, if it helps.”

Angelique, by this point, had finished her glass of wine and begun pouring another. Jude could feel the bitterness in her mother’s throat as if it were her own but for some reason, it didn’t meet the air. Instead, she said, “Let’s order some dinner, shall we? Getting to know one another is best on a full stomach.”

There was something in Marisol that wanted to fidget, another that wanted to lay all her cards on the table and tell both of Jude’s parents the truth: she was sorry she ever left, she was crazy about Jude and she’d do anything for her, even the dramatic-romantic-action movie shit. If she’d fallen in love with another woman, if the world they lived in was even anything close to resembling the one she’d grown up in, the words would have already put to air in an attempt to reassure them that she wasn’t intending to break Jude’s heart again. 

Instead, this wasn’t normal, not to her regard, so she swallowed the words behind a sip of wine and focused—again—on Jude’s father who was obviously trying so damn hard to make this evening less than perfectly unbearable. As he talked, she nodded, appreciating the reassurance. However, she never meant to let her thoughts wander away from her, but there was something about his tone juxtaposed to the mention of killing for years that made her grimace just a little as she set down her glass. 

It wasn’t faltering or moral opposition to the idea so much as a pang of grief. Since she’d finally told Jude the truth about what had gotten her into this in the first place, feelings regarding the whole thing had started making themselves known in the oddest moments; it seemed that telling someone else was like removing a scab only to find that everything underneath it wasn’t actually healed yet. Jude’s father reminded her of her own and yet was nothing like him; her father would have never have wanted this lifestyle for her. He’d have loved Jude, but Marisol knew—so much so that she could almost hear it in her mind—he’d have begged her to do something else, anything else, if he had known.

This was no way to honor the dead, and yet, it was the only one she had, assuming she could ever make good on it.

The moment passed, though; Jude responded in a neat cover—which she wasn’t sure was entirely intentional—and she found herself laughing just a little despite the way her heart ached.

Another thing to love Jude for.

“It doesn’t help, but it makes me feel better,” Marisol returned. There was a stupid smile, one she probably should have done more to hide given the company, here that lit up her face in hearing casually issued sentiment returned, but she couldn’t help it. Jude was the thing she never should have run from and despite everything else she was happy to have her now. “As does the idea of kicking your ass one of these days.”

She noted Angelique’s rapid drinking and she wondered whether the woman would be more palatable when tipsy or less. The part of her that leaned toward optimism thought maybe it would be the former, that maybe Angelique would tolerate her better and she could do the same if the woman loosened up a little. After all, Marisol didn’t grow up in this lifestyle so she didn’t understand all the ins-and-outs, but Jude seemed absolutely certain that Angelique loved her and wanted her happy. 

Given the stupid smiles they’d aimed at each other, and maybe the word girlfriend, it was a little hard to deny that they were each other’s little bit of happiness. 

At Jude’s prompt, she glanced at a menu and then shot Jude another sidelong glance. There was a part of her that felt badly, for letting Jude and her father do all the heavy lifting in guiding this interaction toward anything that was better than a complete disaster, but what was she supposed to do? She knew enough to know that if she opened her mouth and tried to initiate anything herself, this might be how she stepped into shit and couldn’t get rid of it afterward.

Knives & Silverware

[ofproseandmusing]

twilight-writings‌:

@ofproseandmusing​ ( for renee ) 

When Renee, and Alice ( with all her exuberance and excitement ), invited Grace to join the Cullens on their family vacation to Italy, all she could do was blink in surprise. The brunette hadn’t expected the extended offer, not when Rosalie still couldn’t quite accept a human mingling among their crowd. So the idea of traveling with them, spending hours together — from the various flights to the jet lag — seemed unrealistic. More than that, she didn’t want to intrude on anything. This was their family time together, and she had only been dating Renee for a few months now. 

But Alice’s insistence was hard to ignore, much like the allure of Italy. 

Grace hadn’t been to Europe, but Italy always appeared to be romantic ( and full of delicious food ). It didn’t take much convincing for the human to finally agree, her suitcases already being filled to the brim with clothes and all the travel essentials. Perhaps accepting Alice’s advice for packing wasn’t exactly the smartest decision? At least Grace knew that she would have plenty of fashion options when it came to deciding what to wear. 

Volterra, Italy. 

She wondered what the weather would’ve been like ; if it was too sunny, what would the vampires do? They couldn’t exactly sunbathe without attracting attention, even if Grace liked how Renee’s skin sparkled in the daylight. She supposed there was not much to worry about, not when the Cullens had arranged everything for her. They were too kind to her, she almost didn’t know how to repay them. ‘You’re lucky we don’t eat you,’ Emmett once joked in response. The comment was meant to be funny, and while most of them weren’t amused, Jasper’s lips did twitch a little. 

The days of counting down were nearly over, the red circled date on her calendar already here. All she had to do now was remember to grab her passport. The drive to the airport had been exciting as well, with Alice highlighting the detailed itinerary she had planned for the duration of the trip. Needless to say, Emmett protested against all her plans, finding them to be boring. Grace could only smile, observing all the siblings bickering as Carlisle sighed. 

Even if they were vampires, they were certainly a family first. 

The airport was busy as usual, the only difference being that people stopped and stared openly at the Cullens. It was hard not to, not when they looked that way ( effortless and beautiful ). Grace tried not to let it bother her, not when she was struggling to carry her own backpack, purse, and stuffed animal all at once. Thankfully, the flight wasn’t delayed and they could start boarding soon. Once she was settled within her seat, Grace turned towards Renee, wondering, “ — are you excited?” 

This was definitely the most extravagant vacation for the human, knowing her own mother preferred to drive everywhere. It would explain why they only visited cities where her boyfriend played baseball. Grace never complained, and perhaps that paid off in the long run. For now she was going to Italy, with the Cullens, with her girlfriend.  Months ago, if someone told her that this was to be her future, the brunette wouldn’t have believed it at all. Months ago, she was still piecing together Renee’s lucrative secret. The one which nearly separated them — for how could a human and a vampire be romantically involved? 

“Alice packed lots of bikinis,” Grace added, half amused and half embarrassed.

Grace was too darling for her own good. This was an enduring truth well known and cemented within the Cullen family at this point, but it was also half the thing that had won her a place with them; the Cullens wanted Renee happy (how could they not, seeing as she was second oldest of them and long the only one who had still been alone before Grace just appeared in their lives?) and that alone might have been enough, but Grace had a way about her.

There was just something there, something about her. Maybe it was simply that she was softer than Renee, maybe it was that damn smile of hers. Renee wasn't sure and from what she—unintentionally—gleaned from her family's thoughts, none of them knew what the je nais se quoi was, either because they hadn't even identified it all or because it was difficult to pinpoint.

Either way, family vacation hadn't been her idea, nor was inviting Grace. Vacation was Carlisle's, inviting Grace was Alice's, done with a simple cope de grace. Instead of asking, she simply approached Renee and told her that Grace was coming on vacation with them, that she had already foreseen it and nothing in thoughts indicated that this was anything but truth—yes, Renee had looked, in that she couldn't resist—so she hadn't bothered to protest.

What was the point? Alice's futures weren't certainties, but arguing against them was a fool's game and Renee knew better than to waste her breath. 

Somehow, that didn't stop everyone from arguing around her as they actually made their way to the airport the day upon the appointed day of travel. Was that really a surprise, though? Found families were families no less and the Cullens had a habit of entering into spirited debates and mock or real arguments as necessary, even as today, Renee found herself a quieter presence amidst it; there was a certain anticipatory tightness in the set of her jaw that started when they entered the garage and she eyed the SUV they all—for some ungodly reason—were planning to squish into and solidified as they entered the airport. Six sets of competing thoughts magnified into thousands and Renee immediately felt like she was drowning.

There was nowhere to look that didn't automatically favor someone's voice, so she fixed her gaze forward in an attempt to see beyond everything so that she might endure; this part was the worst of it and she had known that long before they got here. Everything would improve significantly once they boarded the plane, which was almost laughable; it was nowhere near close to isolation, but it was fewer people and that would be enough.

She could only take a deep, cleansing breath as she stepped on to an almost empty plane and found herself with momentary respite. Gratefully, she settled into her seat, leaned the chair back, immediately, uncaring that she probably wasn't supposed to and eased out a careful sigh. 

Then Grace spoke, so she turned her toward her and offered a tired smile. “I am, I promise. This part is just hard for me. That many people around makes me feel like I'm drowning.” She had no idea if this had been quietly explained to her while she was lost in the fog of coping, but either way, Grace deserved to hear it from her.

More people filtered on to the plane, but she kept her gaze steady on Grace, trying to use this focus to dull the continual introduction of new inner voices. 

Here, she breathed out quiet amusement as the next comment. She might have spared Alice a look to ask just what it was her sister thought she was up to, but she loathed the idea of changing her focus and she had a feeling she both knew and would be unable to summon up any annoyance for it anyway. “You only have to wear them if you want to,” Renee returned, stressing that, before adding, with a little bit of mischief, “Say you don't and we'll shop for something else.” She momentarily paused before she lazily added on, “Or really, say the word and we'll go anyway. I like shopping in Italy. Not as good as Paris, but it’s good enough.”

no blood, no foul.

[ofproseandmusing]

twilight-writings‌:

When push comes to shove, anything was possible ; much like Camilla quietly admitting that they would’ve liked that night to go a certain way. Hell, the whole situation was so amusing that it took all of Blair’s already limited control to resist laughing at the absurdity of it all. Just when she thought she was doing the right thing, the responsible thing — it backfired on her. Fucking perfect, wasn’t it? This was the last time she would be doing that again: being thoughtful. 

Or maybe she had it all wrong, maybe Camilla didn’t want thoughtfulness ; maybe they wanted a night to let loose, to forget about the coven and the politics of it all. Either way, Blair could indulge in that — the debauchery, the scandal, the flames. She thrived in all this, persuading, “so you planned it out from the beginning? Clever girl.” But Camilla wasn’t a girl, they were a witch. A pretty witch, whose dark locks seemed to curl around her fingers. 

It was intimate, it was close ( but not close enough ). 

“You’re thinking too much,” Blair noted, challenging them. “I mean, if you want to talk about what the coven won’t let you do? We can be here for hours, unpacking all of that. But that’s the reason why you accepted the bet, isn’t it? I think we both know you need to let loose and who to do it with. In case it wasn’t obvious, I’m volunteering.” 

If Blair was just a means to an end, she could accept that ; the blonde had done that to people herself, used them for a night of fun. Sometimes it was easier that way, the lack of commitment and the fire on her skin making it all worthwhile. The witch hadn’t expected the brunette to have the same approach but, who was she to judge? Camilla could’ve been fucking her entire coven for all Blair knew — it would make sense given how they were so protective of the heiress. Of the poor heiress who merely wanted nothing to do with the weight on their shoulders. Blair could give them a massage if that’s the case, the thought causing her to nearly smirk. 

“Well, you doing anything tonight? Because I have all the free time in the world, y’know.” 

“Unless you’d rather I buy you dinner first.” Because that was the polite thing to do, wasn’t it? Blair didn’t care, she hated the theatrics of all that ; she’d rather get straight to the point, which was pinning a certain witch to bed. 

“Tell me something I don't know,” Camilla muttered quietly as Blair began to challenge them, before taking another long pull of cider. They knew Blair was right, which was almost shocking, but Blair simply was saying things they already knew; they could spend a million years discussing rules and regulations when it came to the coven, and they always overthought things.

It always came back to that and they didn't know how to break the cycle; it was the nature of who they were, what they were, and the 'blessing' they were defined by.

It was only sheer luck that they had already swallowed when Blair bluntly said: in case it wasn't obvious, I'm volunteering. If they hadn't the alcoholic drink would probably have been spat out directly.

It wasn't that they thought themselves unattractive, it wasn't that they thought Blair was wholly disinterested. Their last encounter had proved otherwise. It was more that they weren't one for such bluntness and hardly knew what to do with their own wanting, so to hear Blair put hers to words so easily, it was just... surprising because it wasn't their way.

If Camilla envied Blair anything, it might have been this: the way she knew her wanting so well and had no problem acting on it, which applied farther than just their... whatever this was. Blair had given herself the world because she wanted it and Camilla had never left Bellflower, not for lack of desire, but because they hadn't ever known how to act on a vague dream when reality seemed intent on getting in the way.

And speaking of a hard reminder of reality, there was Blair's question so bluntly put as if there was nothing to it, just like everything she ever said, at least by Camilla's memory. In answer, first Camilla shook their head, but they didn't elaborate on the negative answer further, perhaps because they weren't sure what they were saying no to.

Was it a no to doing anything? Was it that and consequentially an offer of their time? Were they just shaking their head with some kind of incredulity at Blair's blasé disregard of everything that could be considered responsible?

Camilla hardly knew, but thankfully, Blair kept speaking so they were free to not figure that out so closely, laughing begrudgingly at the new thought, though she shook her head too, somehow caught between amusement and disbelief.

“You aren't thinking enough,” they countered, throwing Blair's words back at her, altered to suit the situation. “Where do you and I go that has real food, quiet—and I mean quiet my way not the normal way—and won't get back to your mother, mine or my coven?” On initial consideration, Camilla could think of nowhere that fit the bill. And maybe that was for the best though. Camilla wasn't entirely sure they wanted to try and suffer through a dinner anyway. What the hell would they even talk about?

But then it hit them. Camilla could think of one place that sort of fit, that one being their home, which would be two out of three unless one of the cooked. The percentage wasn't ideal, their home was—no doubt—not precisely what Blair was offering or thinking of when she spoke of buying dinner, but it was better than nothing, wasn't it?

So that raised the question... what did they prefer? Non-ideal or not at all?

“Come home with me.” The words tumbled out of them, a blunt wanting that matched Blair's typical way of navigating the world, and immediately they flushed again. Later, they would wonder what got into them, what made them say this, do this, but for now, they were trying on Blair's style of existence to—they supposed—maybe limited success? They didn't owe Blair an explanation or an affirmation, but they offered one of the latter anyway, perhaps if only to convince themself. “I want you to come home with me.”

It guaranteed nothing considering last time they had ended up alone together Blair had stopped things well before Camilla had wanted them stopped. It guaranteed nothing because the concept of a sustainable future anything was almost laughable. But maybe neither of those things were reasons not to do this anyway.

the aftermath.

[ofproseandmusing]

twilight-writings‌:

“You must tell me how you infiltrate heavily guarded facilities!!” Starfire exclaimed, always curious about her sister’s ongoing whereabouts. It was not that she did not know her sister was a criminal … but she chose to ignore that fact and focus on other positive aspects!! For Starfire, her sister’s rebellious streak seemed to be a mere moment of passion ― a villainous phase of some sorts. Perhaps that is why she never took it too seriously, neither the threats or the heartbreak. It was much easier to gloss over those things when she had crafted a happy ending inside her own head. 

One where they would be together, as a family, and mimicking the very photo that was held in her hands.

“You are so sneaky!!” she noted, giggling. Amongst the titans, the tamaranean princess was not the most stealthiest nor the most aware of such combat techniques. Robin definitely was highly trained in that aspect, always surprising her with his unexpected entrances. Raven proved to be nearly the same, disappearing through the walls and emerging from the shadows. Even Beast Boy could show off his fair share of ninja-like abilities with the way he could morph into tiny critters, hiding in plain sight. As for the redhead, she already stood out too much given her stark differences from humans. 

Perhaps that was part of the reason why she thought Blackfire would have been a better titan ; her sister already possessed so many lucrative skill sets. She would have made a great addition to the team … even if Starfire would have left as a result. Of course, that whole encounter had ended much differently, and it was an ending that she preferred to breeze over ― for surely, her sister did not mean to frame her!! There were many things about Blackfire that she could compartmentalize, yet the happy memories from a long forgotten past were not one of them. 

“We were, we were so adorable!!” she proclaimed, smiling. “And now we have grown so much, is it not magical how much we have changed??” 

There were so many changes to marvel upon … even if most of them were not good, most of them felt hard to grasp ( and she could not catch them, could not hold them close ). The training and competition that was encouraged by the warlords of Okaara were one memory, but the rest seemed … to be unreal. To be a fracture of reality, difficult to piece together and fully breathe in. Maybe Blackfire did not attack the throne, maybe her parents did not ban her from the planet, maybe it was all a bad dream. Maybe … but they were on Tamaran now, they were here, they were together!! So it was silly to focus on such technicalities when there was so much ahead of them ― such as the playroom!! Starfire giggled at her suggestion, “and become your accomplice?? I would be honored!!” At the end of the day, she would do anything to spend time with her sister ; and she would forgive and forget, knowing that passage of time soothed over the messy bumps of the past. The mention of her parents, however, caused her to hug the photo, holding it close to her heart. Her parents, how could she have forgotten about them?? The reigning king and queen of Tamaran were not to be dismissed, not when she loved them dearly. 

“They did spoil us,” Starfire admitted, fondly. “Do you remember all the dinners they allowed us to attend??” Young princesses surrounded by diplomats and officials, ones in charge of molding the laws, of setting a course of stability for the future ; most parents would not allow their children near such tough discussions. The redhead felt thankful, however, that she got to experience the royal lifestyle ― even if she felt more human now, more bonded to the titans. 

“Shall we go to the playroom?? I wonder if they have kept it the same, it has been so long!!”

Starfire's tactless exclamation simply made Blackfire freeze for a moment, more to contemplate the sheer stupidity of the thing than for shock. It had long been clear that Starfire knew plenty about her antics and crimes but seemed supremely unconcerned about all of them. That wasn't where her surprise found itself. Instead, it was more that she could not imagine any situation in which anyone would appreciate—or necessarily allow, if they were to take place in these walls, considering she wasn't even supposed to be here in the first place—Blackfire teaching Starfire how to better embody the criminal element.

Wasn't The Teen Titans as an organization entirely counter to that?

“Starfire, it would bore you to tears,” she said, offering a kinder demure that she wanted to, trying to find some patience with this venture. She still didn't know what Starfire was hoping to get out of this, but she was growing more and more impatient with this as the moment continued; yes, Starfire was humoring her, giving her a stake in this by letting her choose where they went, but that was the problem.

Starfire was letting her. It had nothing to do with power and everything to do with kindness and she couldn't stand it. The idea crawled under skin leaving an itch in its wake and she didn't know how to quite the irritation when Starfire wore rose-colored glasses and missed the malice in everything she said.

“I'm not trying to be,” Blackfire countered next, on the topic of sneaky behavior, “It probably just seems that way in comparison to you.” This was a more overt prick at Starfire than most others she had issued today and she still didn't think it would make a difference. Starfire would probably simply nod and admit to the truth, unbothered by having her own failure pointed out to her.

It was insufferable.

So was almost everything about this situation. Contrary to Starfire, she didn't waste much time continuing to linger over the picture and wandered a little further down the hallway as Starfire continued to reminisce and considered the entirely low-stakes dare offered to her. This was a good move for several reasons, one of the largest being that it was infinitely easier to roll her eyes when she was a little farther away and consequentially didn't need to hide it. After all, it was harder not to roll her eyes than it was to do it when Starfire spoke on the magic of change.

Yeah, it was magic all right. Only, Starfire meant that in a good way and Blackfire could think of not a single good thing change had brought her, except perhaps freedom of a kind she never would have known being Tamaran's princess and heir. 

She made a sound that was meant to indicate vague agreement rather than try to find the words to falsely do so or worse yet, explain her dissatisfaction with the situation. Contrary to the belief of some (probably), she did have a heart, but she wasn't about to start bearing it for Starfire to see. There was almost nothing she wanted to do less.

But, if she had been annoyed or upset by anything that Starfire had said before, the lighthearted comment about being her accomplice was a new level of the thing. Starfire continued to talk and reminisce and Blackfire barely heard her; instead, she was too busy caught in a whirlwind of thoughts, trying to successfully contain her now heated temper in an attempt to not do what she was tempted toward.

She failed and therefore whirled back to face Starfire and stepped closer her. “Fuck the playroom. You are not, and  never will be my accomplice.” The words were hissed out, eyes flashing with a form of temper, as hands curled to fists and glowed a faint purple. “You act like the things I've done and the things I might do are a game and they are not. Little sister, grow up.”

She had always been the better fighter—despite a loss or two when outside forces involved themselves—and right now, she would not be wholly opposed to mounting another match in these hallways.

journey to the past.

[ofproseandmusing]

twilight-writings‌:

She liked a challenge, especially when her ‘be darling like your doppelganger’ bargain was starting to get far too boring. Sure, the original Grace might’ve saved her from doom but pretending to be an angel was almost torturous. It went against her entire being — the situational irony almost laughable. How had she been roped into such a deal, such a facade? Perhaps that darling Grace was far more clever than anyone gave her credit for. The brunette saw an opportunity and took advantage of it. Meanwhile, the double? Well, this wasn’t the smartest move on her part. 

The double lived on impulses instead, the worst kind. Selfishness being one of them, the emotion unearthing when Grace initially offered the double her luxurious lifestyle on a platter. Saying yes to the whole contract had been the easy part, saying no to whatever that followed wasn’t. The neighbor-next-door being off limits was one of those clauses that proved to be difficult to adhere — until now, until she didn’t have to anymore. There was something about Renee that was entirely too hard to resist. It might’ve been the fact that she ran with demons, she played with them. And oh, how the double desperately missed the feeling of hell ( of untamed chaos ). 

More than that, she liked Renee, she liked a woman in power and control ; liked it even better when they fell upon their knees. Toying with the Vice was its own special thrill. Of course, that game was now changing its course. If the neighbor wanted to be entertained, who was she to deny that request? It wasn’t like Grace was here, telling her a list of dos and don’ts. 

“Strip tease it is, then,” the double responded, smirking. Given that they were in a dressing room, it wouldn’t be odd to find her fully naked. That is, if any of the employees bothered to check on what was taking them so long. The many perks of being rich meant that you weren’t bothered, not over such little concerns. 

“The Disney princess is on vacation, in case you were concerned,” Grace explained, taking a few steps back, which wasn’t much given the size of this dressing room. “And I’m stuck being her for those paparazzi cameras and curious onlookers alike.” 

Now all the cards were out on the table, the truth dangling between them, much like the sultry bra which she unhooked and dropped onto the floor. Her arm covered her chest, because while there was no point in appearing modest, Grace also remembered that this was a strip tease. Not a strip show. Not that she was opposed to the latter idea either. 

“Did that answer all your questions?” she asked, grinning.

Now that she was seeing this Grace for what she was, Renee almost found it difficult to believe that she had ever confused her for the original—the real—Grace. There was nothing half so demure in her and to some degree, Renee had known that all along, which was what had confused her so much in the first place, but it was so thoroughly delightful to witness the unveiling and full ownership.

The smirk carried as Grace followed what she said and owned herself by making a decision without anyone's particular input. It was only further reinforcement into what she already knew regarding Grace and Saints and Sinners or perhaps Heaven and Hell, but this time she ignored the pang of irritation that —again—made itself known on this topic. There was no sense in wasting attention on even further acknowledgment of this particular emotion, not when Grace was making herself into something better suited to Renee's most base self.

Still, even for the wanting and thoughts that were drifting progressively more explicit with what was no practically promised to her, she found enough wherewithal to acknowledge Grace's explanation, nodding easily. “I assumed that was the case.” She hadn't contemplated it for more than a moment, before deciding Grace must have wanted a break. “What else has Grace ever wanted more than an escape from her pretty, perfect cage?”

There was a smidge of disdain embedded in her question and her lips pursed a little, a small sign of her somewhat disapproval of Grace's handling of her situation; on the one hand, Renee understood, really she did, because the public persona of Vice was restricting in some fashions and she had crafted it for herself, so there was no one to blame other than she. On the other, Grace could so easily step from her and she didn't for the sake of fear and she didn't hold with that. 

“Funny,” she murmured then, “People would sell their souls or kill to have what she—you, whatever—have, and here you stand complaining about it. Poor you,” she murmured, tone obviously mocking her, just a little, “Stuck pretending to be Grace Lowery, Hollywood's sweetheart. Life must be so difficult.”

She shook her head then, meaning to say more, but instead, she found herself distracted by the start to previously promised entertainment. There wasn't much for her to lose, at least in the way of clothing, but how much did that matter? A frisson of desire lit through Renee as Grace unhooked her bra, in the moment she saw more than Grace perhaps intended, a flash of everything before an arm settled across. 

There was a fleeting thought toward Belial here, an awareness that he would be so amused by all this if he knew or if he was eavesdropping into her thoughts as only he could, same as ever when she let the most unrefined and greedy aspects of herself win out. He had taught her to be perfect in a fashion that suited them both but somehow he always delighted in watching her abandon the premise, perhaps because she clung to it so carefully, which he had never quite intended for her. 

Or maybe it was just that she was most like him when she was her least perfect.

Renee's thoughts didn't stay on him long though, they lingered on Grace's almost but not quite exposed breasts, expression betraying the same open appreciation she had previously given while she was wearing a bra, but perhaps more magnified. Undeniably, in this moment, she was privately tempted toward action of her own; there was a part of Renee that wanted to reach for Grace, to kiss her, touch her, strip her the rest of the way and do what naturally ought to follow.

But, again, that wasn't the point of this, was it? Plus, any move she might make toward implementing that desire was interrupted by Grace's question, anyway. It took a beat longer than it should have, but she settled her gaze back on Grace's face and chided her not quite gently, “Darling, the striptease is charming, whatever this part is supposed to be isn't.” Do better.

beneath the mask.

[ofproseandmusing]

written--infinities‌:

Jude anticipated the night to revolve around putting out fires. The fact her mother had cleared out an entire restaurant meant she wanted no witnesses to her behavior and most importantly, wanted to play on Mari’s already existing nerves. While her girlfriend’s expression was determined, it didn’t take much for Jude to know she was nervous. Her mother was difficult at the best of times, let alone when she had a vendetta or words itching to escape her lips. 

There was also the unspoken part of her mother’s anger - that having Mari around was a distraction she hadn’t anticipated for her daughter. So much of Jude’s childhood was about extricating anything that could make her vulnerable and somehow Mari had slipped under her skin, broke her heart, and was forgiven all in a matter of years. Mari was a threat her mother couldn’t get rid of because doing so would push Jude away. And despite all of her mother’s shortcomings, Angelique did love her. She didn’t want a universe where Jude didn’t exist. 

Jude had leverage and if it came down to her or her mother flinching, it would be the latter. 

She didn’t attempt to hide her smirk at Mari’s response, keeping her fingers laced with hers, and making sure her mother was aware she’d stand by her. There was a certain kind of thrill that ran up Jude’s spine at irritating her mother. Rebellion had always been a part of her. No assassin could exist without a desire to break the rules. 

“You should be thanking me for keeping one of your best in top shape for when duty calls.” Jude finally said, taking that as her cue to lead Mari to the two chairs facing opposite of the ones already claimed by her parents. She took a seat, smoothing out the fabric of her jumpsuit. “Besides, the both of you have always advocated for finding ways to clear my head and well-”

“I think we can move the discussion from your personal lives to more…appropriate topics.” Maxim cleared his throat. Despite being at the head of their family business, a slight flush had risen to his cheeks which almost made Jude laugh because it was something so human and so normal for her father. 

Angelique eyed Maxim for a moment, her jaw working as she debated whether to press the issue or not. She soon conceded, taking her own seat and offering a veiled smile to the group. “I suppose you’re right. The purpose behind the dinner is to get to know Mari a little better considering you and Jude are involved.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Jude hummed. 

“I think, before we do that, we should order some wine.” Maxim swiveled to the right, flagging down the waiter and asking for two bottles of top shelf merlot. Jude couldn’t be more than thrilled with her dad taking the reins of the conversation. Though she wondered if alcohol would make this night better or worse. “Mari, how have you been settling back in? I’ve heard you never quite lose the muscle memory of what we do.”

Jude’s show of support in the form of continued interlocked fingers was well appreciated. It contributed to a steady heartbeat rather than something more erratic, made her feel somewhat stable where she otherwise shouldn’t have been. However, neither of those things stopped Marisol from rolling her eyes a little at the verbal show of support that followed what she said to stand for herself.

It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate the sentiment, because she did. It was more that she thought the idea ridiculous; Angelique would thank Jude for nothing, least of all in relation to her. No matter that, though. Marisol would settle for just making it through the evening without a blow out in the more deadly fashion they were all capable of.

There was a rush of gratitude, too, for the fact that Jude knew the moves here better than she did or likely ever would; she could fake it well enough to get by during work, but a setting like this wasn’t her strength mostly because it didn’t really feel like home to her. No part of this echoed the world she had grown up within.

She took a seat and tried to settle herself for what would come.

However, this gratitude didn’t exactly last when Jude circled the conversation back to what she had already half-warned her not to do. Marisol had a feeling this had much more to do with battling her mother because there was a point of contention rather than bringing the point home, but it didn’t matter overmuch at the end of the day. It would change nothing.

Thank God for Maxim and the way he both was positioned well to change the topic and felt as she did regarding this one in that this was inappropriate. 

She was more than content to sit quietly until directly addressed, at which point she had no choice any longer, which was hardly a surprise considering the supposed point of this dinner.

“It’s weird, um—” Marisol started, pausing as she tried to find the right words. She wasn’t looking to give Angelique ammunition, but she couldn’t very well pretend that the truth wasn’t what it was. “The muscle memory’s there for a lot of it, but there’s always a sticking point; if it’s easy to start then I struggle with the middle bit, or I struggle to start but once I get it, I’m good.” This wasn’t a very good explanation, but she didn’t really know how to phrase things. It felt like it might help to provide an example. “It’s like, I don’t know, doing a full assembly/disassembly for the Baretta rifle. Starting’s easy, but I keep tripping myself up in the middle steps and it takes too long.” And it went without saying that speed was of the essence.

“J’s been helpful with like pop quizzes.” Her gaze turned on Jude then, fondly amused even as she shook her head and nudged her, deliberately withholding the details as to how this somehow went down or naming a reward because she wasn’t eager to circle the conversation back to clearing their minds and adjacent activities. “Don’t interpret that to mean I don’t mean what I say when I grumble during them.” There’s laughter in her eyes as she adds, “Love you, but you’re mean.” Was it a mistake to say that in front of Jude’s parents? Maybe. She didn’t care.

Knives & Silverware

[ofproseandmusing]

written--infinities‌:

Having Mari back in her life felt right, almost as if the past five years hadn’t happened. The memories of bitterness and late nights in the training room were beginning to be replaced with a semblance of domestication, or as much of it as Jude could muster. She wasn’t raised in a two bedroom house with parents who had day jobs and picked her up after school. She had been home schooled in a family run business all while learning how to fight, evade, lie, and scheme. Dating, settling, and waking up next to someone who actually loved her was new territory. 

For an assassin, it wasn’t even supposed to exist. Jude could play that card with her mother if she really wanted to. She married her father, both equally as involved in the games they played as much as Mari. Jude wasn’t hiding her life or sneaking around with a woman she’d forever have to deceive. Mari could do anything and it had shown when they took down Jackson, that even through separation they still operated on the same page. Jude filed that argument away for when her mother inevitably brought up how Mari left and Mari was behind the others. 

Jude had seen some of the new recruits and they had to fucking catch up.

“We might make the devil sweat,” she hummed, flashing Mari a grin, before leading her towards the elevator. As suspected, the family driver was parked outside of the building in a bulletproof limo with blacked out windows. Jude let go of Mari’s hand to open the door and usher her inside before she did the same. “Give it to me straight Arthur. How cranky was my mother on the phone?”

The man simply laughed and said, “No more than usual.”

Jude nodded and reclined against her seat, keeping most of her thoughts to herself because as much as she liked Arthur, he worked for her mother and would report anything he found interesting. The ride came to an end in front of a rustic warehouse that had been converted into a fancy restaurant - tall ceilings, large glass windows, brick with its color purposefully faded. Jude found it kind of dumb for her entire family to be in a place so public, so accessible, but then again, no one messed with the Wardolfs and lived. Whether they were alive to finish the job or marched through the gates of hell. 

Stepping into the brisk evening air, Jude exhaled. There was no getting out of this and she took Mari’s hand in further affirmation that they would survive this even if it would be easier to walk on hot coals or broken glass. She made out the figures of her mother and father, tucked in the center of an empty dining room, each empty spot definitely paid for. And as they entered, both of their heads swiveled towards them, her father smiling and her mother pretending to, which was the most Jude could ask for. 

“Hello my love.” Her father kissed Jude on the cheek and shifted his gaze to Mari. “Nice to see you as well. You look like you’re settling in.” While that would have been a dig from her mother, it was said in sincerity here. 

Her mother, eager to attack, placed a hand on her hip and bypassed Jude entirely. “Is that what we’re calling visits to Jude’s room these days?”

Jude’s eyes narrowed and she felt the tug in her gut to protect Mari (when the hell did this happen).  “Is this really what you want to discuss, mother? Because I can go into detail.”

For as comfortable as Marisol was in Jude’s company—and hers alone—there was nothing of the same in what followed as they greeted evening air and then slid into a limo (a first for Marisol, which she suspected Jude was aware of considering her previous questions and kind enough not to remark upon), flashing Jude another small smile as she did.

They all had their defense mechanisms and falsities. This was one of hers in the form of the appearance of some kind of ease she absolutely didn’t feel.

Considering the situation, she figured it best to simply take her cues from Jude and hold her tongue. With what she knew of Jude’s mother and her particular grasp on the people who worked for her, she doubted any conversation they choose to have would go ignored by the driver, if it wasn’t being monitored or recorded electronically already. 

No sense in giving Jude’s mother any more ammunition than she already had with Marisol’s sudden departure or her return that was equally sudden.

Still, it was the second greeting, the emergence of the car that was far worse. She was steady, because if nothing else, this shared profession of theirs had taught her to keep her hands stable even when she was nervous, but she was grateful Jude took her hand, sparing her from having to do it. 

For a moment, she curled her fingers tightly about Jude’s hand, before she realized what that was going to look like. She forced out a quick exhale and relaxed her grip with it. This was fine, it was going to be fine.

It was a mantra worth repeating as she and Jude entered and quickly spotted Maxim and Angelique dead center in the room. A completely empty room. Oh for fuck’s sake, why were they like this? She shot Jude a side-long glance, trying to ask without asking whether this was normal or for her “benefit” but she could do no more considering the room’s quiet and their inevitable approach.

She found herself standing a half step behind and to Jude’s side. There might have been something to be said for it, but truly, Marisol figured it was both a natural place for her and the most appropriate one. Again, the vague nauseated sensation made itself known, returning from wherever it’d gone when Jude had soothed her nerves, but she ignored it. Instead, she found a genuine smile for Maxim, grateful for both his kindness and the steady, sincere way it was delivered. Again, it was easy to remember that she liked him, that he reassured her that she could be deadly and not lose everything of herself because he certainly hadn’t.

“I have,” she returned, with a simple nod. “It feels good, actually. I—”

She broke off as Jude and her mother exchanged barbs, missing neither woman’s sentiment. She only hesitated a beat before shifting to face them both more fully.

“J—” Marisol hissed out, winding the barest amount of warning into her tone; she didn’t want what she was threatening both because she was afraid Angelique would say yes just for the sake of winning by making Marisol—if not Jude too—uncomfortable and because hadn’t Jude told her she had to stand for herself? She wanted nothing more than to not say anything to the woman, but she was determined to start this off as right as she could.

“We can call my visits to Jude’s room whatever you want, Angelique, but I don’t see how they’re your concern,” Marisol countered with a deliberately even tone, “Between the range, the training room, and the gym, Jude still logs the most hours of anyone, and I don’t trail her by much.” This might have had something to do with the fact that Jude had already established a habit of giving her an extra hour or so in the mornings before pausing to drag her sorry ass into the gym and partnering with her for good portions of the day, but what difference did it make? “What we choose to do with what little free time left to us is our choice.” 

Knives & Silverware

[ofproseandmusing]

written--infinities‌:

Jude would have preferred to not join her parents for dinner. She didn’t hold the same reservations as Mari. Rather she was all too focused on what they could be doing and it involved her bedroom or Mari’s or really anywhere they found privacy. But Jude wouldn’t give her mother another strike against Mari’s name. She may have forgiven her a little too easily. All of these promises that whoever broke her heart would be making their final mistake and Jude’s worst punishment upon Mari was yelling at her. That would not be her mother’s approach. She awaited a slip up, one that would cause Jude to step aside. 

So maybe Jude had filtered the conversation when relaying it to Mari but Mari wasn’t foolish to not pick up on the subtext. She also wasn’t foolish enough to underestimate the boss. The sooner this was over, the sooner they could return to training and Jude could dig more into what actually happened to Mari’s family. 

She smiled as Mari’s fingers interlaced with hers and then she cursed herself for being able to melt as something as basic as this. “You have a point. Better to commit than do something half-assed.” Jude could imagine her mother’s face if they didn’t show up or worse, if they showed up only to make a run for the door tucked away in the back of the kitchen. She may as well kiss her living quarters goodbye at that point. 

At Mari’s question, she fought back a shrug. How did she even please her mother other than by following orders and not bringing the police to their doorstep? “I don’t think shutting up is the right approach. She’s going to bitch a bit, throw a few back handed compliments, and honestly the biggest way for her to get over stuff is by not letting her stomp all over you. Besides, I’m not walking away from you in my life so she’s going to have to deal with it.” Her mother couldn’t control her even if sometimes Jude knew she wished that were the case. 

Pushing her hair over her shoulder, Jude tugged Mari forward. Ten minutes had come and gone which meant the driver would be outside. “To our doom?”

There was power of a kind in making a woman like Jude smile at something so simple as basic affection and there was a part of Marisol that reveled in this. She didn’t know what that said about her, that she enjoyed knowing she could make Jude soft but she couldn’t help it. It was simply there in the same way she now knew she could be soft with Jude and though she wasn’t particularly comfortable with it, she’d try to respond appropriately for her.

Of course, that power was probably the problem when it came to Jude’s mother’s regard of their relationship. After all, they both knew that Jude’s childhood hadn’t been normal like hers had been. Jude was raised to be invulnerable, to ignore feelings for the sake of other things, whereas Marisol had been dressed in pink and told she was a princess and that she could be anything she wanted to be when she was grown, that she was made of limitless potential.

And she had believed that until it all came crashing down.

It was something she tried to be mindful of, was trying to figure out how to navigate considering she couldn’t help what was and she refused to be sorry for loving Jude, for finally allowing them both this. Hadn’t they taken care of Jackson together well enough, despite the—at the time unacknowledged—feelings between them? Marisol was reasonably sure she and Jude could make a kickass team, especially once she got herself back up to speed more wholly.

“So it’s more walking the nearly invisible line between not pissing her off further and not taking it,” Marisol grumbled, but it was really only half-hearted at this point. She was going to suck it up and get through this dinner, having the dress zipped had essentially resolved her to it. Still, she didn’t stay annoyed, not when Jude finished it out with a sentiment like that it. It wasn’t exactly sappy, but it was certainly damn close for a woman like Jude. In a rush of appreciation for it, she pressed a quick kiss to Jude’s lips and smiled at her. “Agreed. No more going anywhere.”

Only there wasn’t much more room than that for sentimentality. Time had ticked by and a car was soon to await them if it wasn’t already, and they really couldn’t be late for dinner.  She nodded in answer and let Jude drag her out, laughing a little. “Sure, babe. After all, you know I’d go to hell itself for you.”

Knives & Silverware

[ofproseandmusing]

kiplingwriter‌:

Sunnydale might have been fun to her once. When she was younger and didn’t know better, didn’t know all that hid behind pretty faces and dark shadows when the truth was shoved into her face and she didn’t have a choice. Her gaze fell to her hands, stringing them together when she knew how hard it had been for her when she’d found out what it meant to be the Slayer. Yes, she had her friends. A Watcher too. But there were lies too, even to all of them and the loneliness ate her heart and soul until there was nothing left but the nights of patrolling and the days pretending that she was a normal kid like everyone else.

Even her friends couldn’t guess all that it had taken from her as she glanced back up at the other, watching and seeing herself even with how different they were. “It used to be fun. There were boy and parties, a club too, but now… things are different and it’s hard to remember what it was like to have fun here.” Sure, she could abandon her post especially since there was another Slayer and she’d died for the cause one already. What more did they want from her?

Too much. More than she had to offer and yet, there she was continuing to fight day in and day out until there was nothing left but a safe spot for all the innocents who didn’t see the monsters that walked around them daily. “Lucky you,” she murmured before realizing the slight hint of resentment at how high the standards were that she were kept to when it came to being unable to do anything other than be the Slayer. Jairus didn’t see her as a teenager, or a girl sometimes, and neither did her friends when they knew what she was capable of but there were times when she wished that she could go back just for a moment.

         "So I’m told.“ Adele shrugged. "It’s not in any book that Jairus has found or heard by any Watcher that he’d spoken to that there are more than one Slayer at a time. It’s usually it. One dies, then the next one rises and so on and so forth.” She was meant to be dead, but was alive and didn’t feel like it most of the time. “Maybe you’ll have better luck here than I’ve had at finding the fun.”

Huh. Apparently, she wasn’t the only with problems. Really, Renee shouldn’t have been so surprised, considering she was only a Slayer since Adele had died and the whole dying thing—even if temporary—implied problems of some kind, but the surprise was there all the same; she’d figured Adele had everything going for her on their initial meeting. 

It didn’t smooth over all the problem spots, didn’t even address the fact that there was pretty tremendous potential for Renee to get herself in trouble with Jairus and the Watchers ( and maybe anger or upset Adele in the process? ) with everything she was hiding or that Adele had more than she ever had, but it did something to ease her jealousy at the whole friends thing. Sure, it still struck her as improbable that slaying and friendship could go hand in hand, most of all with how Adele was describing things, but it did take the shine off of the whole thing. 

And no matter her reputation, suddenly Renee couldn’t help but feel bad for Adele. Poor thing, she was supposed to be dead but wasn’t, and it was becoming slowly apparent to Renee that whoever she’d been before, now Adele no longer even knew how to have fun. “Well, shit,” Renee started, pausing in her restlessness, “I know slaying’s not all sunshine and roses, but I figured you for a little more Pollyanna than Debbie Downer.”

This was probably a little blunt and maybe a little cruel, but it was true wasn’t it? The assessment hung in the air for a few moments, before she realized there was probably something she could do about this.

“How about this,” Renee started, “since there’s apparently a ‘we’ thing going on, I’ll split the work with you and do it with a smile, if you promise you’ll let me take you out and that you’ll actually try to have some fun.” It was a spontaneous offer, but Renee was actually rather pleased with it, most of all because she figured there wasn’t exactly a lot of room for Adele to say no, which was pretty much the point. “Forget Jairus. You already died for this job. Time to start living now.” And if that meant getting into a little bit of trouble along the way, well, who said that was a problem?

our line of work: slaying and the want, take, have

[ofproseandmusing]

inopheliasdreams‌:

She, Evangeline, apologized a lot. Sage almost commented on the fact out loud, but it occurred to him mere seconds ahead of his big mouth that telling someone that rarely resulted in their feeling better. Instead, he shook her hand and leaned into her honesty. “I’m nervous, too. Tests have never really been my thing.” He had a tendency to be staunchly outspoken when he was an idealistic teenager - the wrath had faded into an existential dread the older he got. He could have used some of that energy now, with the responsibilities of nature on his shoulders. 

That exhaustion made him dubious about his chances on a test of character. Hearing her response, though, he nodded anyway. “They probably have to teach us magic. I can feel it, sometimes.” When he ran as far as he could from civilization and buried his palms in the dirt. Or waded out up to his neck in a river that threatened to wash him away. “It’s like… promise. And water. Rushing up into you and making you feel like you’ll burst with the possibilities of things.” He chuckled, shrugging his shoulders. “Doesn’t mean I know what to do with it all, though.”

As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t promise her she was ready for whatever laid on the other side of their waiting room. He thought she was captivating, was easily charmed by her, but he couldn’t claim to know anything else. Still, she seemed almost scared… So he had to try. “Chivalry, huh? That’s… Well, you wouldn’t be here if you weren’t a serious candidate. Right? So maybe you don’t need an answer.”

“Maybe all you need is to get people to ask the question for themselves.” It felt just as impossible as his task, getting the entire world to be better to one another. He raised his hands in mock surrender, his expression cheeky, but genuine. “Not that I’m trying to tell you how to do your job. Maybe we’re just in this whole saving the world thing together.” His smile softened. “I wouldn’t mind that. First impression only, but you seem pretty cool, Evangeline.”

He wanted her to pass her test. He wasn’t sure where the feeling came from, but it was there in his gut, a warmth toward her he really couldn’t explain. It didn’t really matter so much if he didn’t - not to him, anyway. The environment probably had a different opinion. Unless he was the representative of its opinions now? Did that make any sense? Either way, he had an unshakable feeling that this woman beside him had big things in her future.

“Hey, if we end up gods together-”

He didn’t get to finish his semi-humorous idea. One of the waiting room doors opened, revealing a very ordinary-looking man in a suit. He looked down at his clipboard and called a name. Sage was so caught up in the absurdity of it all that it took him several beats to realize it had been his.

Rising, he offered Evangeline one last here-goes-nothing smile. “Guess I’m about to find out what all the fuss is for. If I can, I’ll warn you about it. I think you’ve got this, though.”

Evangeline eyed him curiously as he described his experience with magic. She yet had a similar experience, but she had to wonder whether that was owing to the differences in their domains. If nature was to be Sage’s then perhaps it followed that he found magic as he interacted with what he was meant to aid and watch after. If that was the case, if that was how magic worked. “I wonder if it’s tied to what we’re supposed to do? Because I haven’t had that experience. And if it is then where is the magic in chivalry?” 

More questions neither of them had answers to, but it didn’t stop her from asking them or wondering anyway.

Maybe it was as he said. Maybe the magic was in getting people to consider how they treated others and the rest of it. The suggestion seemed manageable, actually, so she gave him a smile, appreciative of the effort. “Maybe that’s the case and if it is, that’s actually kind of manageable. Maybe that’s where my magic is too.”

The smile widened slightly as the unsolicited compliments, and she didn’t hesitate to return them. “You seem pretty cool yourself, Sage. I’d be happy to have you as a saving the world partner, assuming this all goes well and everything.”

But neither of them got much farther because Sage was summoned.

For a moment, she wanted to ask if she could go with him or tell him not to leave her, but she quieted the impulses and offered him the encouraging smile his own seemed to demand. He’d been waiting for who knew how long before she’d gotten here. He deserved to go, and she hoped he aced whatever assessment was demanded of him because she liked him. She wasn’t sure how godhood would work out for him, but she suspected the world would be a better place if he had the powers to try and better it.

“Good luck,” she murmured and lapsed first into a watchful sort of silence as he left and then a tense sort once left alone.

The only thing she could do now was wait and hope that he’d come back with success, a smile and maybe some reassurance. Otherwise, she was on her own. 

[ofproseandmusing]

treasure-writings‌:

Politics. That was one efficient way to sum up the affairs between Seelies and Unseelies. They were practically two different countries, both with different intentions ( and a thirst to advance, to win ). Elise assumed the Fidchell was a weird way to achieve that, to settle this ongoing score which appeared to be bouncing back and forth — like a ping pong match. Of course, it would’ve made a little more sense if the queen hadn’t proceeded to explain that the Fidchell was a death match. Literally. Win or die. She blinked, hoping her expression hadn’t screamed: what the fuck? 

“Makes sense … ” her voice trailed off, unsure how to respond. “I mean, human sports are soo different. And feys have all sorts of magic and hidden powers. I’m sure the match isn’t a cake walk or anything. Kind of like the gladiator games. Which were violent, and bloody, and gruesome.” 

Elise seemed to grasping for all the wrong words, her brain too busy processing these sudden truth bombs. How was she supposed to ever joke with Ivy when feys watched weaklings like her die for some fanatical dream? She really didn’t have a clue what she had stepped into … the Unseelies might’ve liked music, but they also enjoyed watching humans sacrifice themselves in order to keep a truce between two drastically different parties. The pianist felt like she had been teleported into a fantasy novel, fictional, with little to no romance. Not that it mattered, since the queen was pretty — and now she was really getting out of hand, huh? Good thing no one could read her thoughts ( especially when they were rushing faster than a racecar ). 

“Do you recommend trying any elixirs? I mean, are humans allowed to try them?” 

Maybe there’d be an elixir that would teach her how to calm down and behave poised. Or maybe she should’ve listened to her parents more often, always ignoring the way they wanted her to interact at fancy parties and social gatherings. Frankly, Elise thought that watching upper class society interact was almost similar to watching paint dry ; except the paint was actually colorful and soothing in comparison. Part of her felt compelled to ask Lacha about her powers … except she held back, pushing down the thought. It didn’t seem wise, in fact, there was probably no proper way to ask such a thing. After all, would it make any sense to question the queen and her magic? No, no way. 

Hence she proceeded to reassure, “ — ah, sorry! I can’t help myself around the piano, I didn’t mean to bother you. You play really well and I’m glad that music is so meaningful to you! If you have any pieces that you’ve composed and wish to share, I could — maybe — play them? It won’t be as good as you, but maybe the other Unseelies might like it, there’s no reason they wouldn’t.” She was literally their queen, they could sit through Lacha blowing bubbles if they had too. 

Elise focused her attention back to the piano, taking a seat. She clenched and unclenched her fists, trying to loosen up the muscles in her hand. With all this chatting, it was time to showcase that she wasn’t just a running mouth full of questions and silly commentary. Her fingers touched the piano, her mind quickly shifting gears ; no matter who attended her rehearsals or performances, she wanted them to enjoy it. Whether that be the queen or the humans who didn’t know of the magic that laced this place ( this world ). 

Nocturne No.2 in E flat, Op.9 No.2 started to fill the silence of the room.

Belatedly, Lacha regretted saying anything at all. Fidchell was complicated for outsiders who weren’t blinded by the desperation of wanting to understand and she should have remembered that sooner. Only, it had been quite a while since Lacha had found herself discussing the game with anyone who was both human and uncontracted. 

“Think of it like gladiator games,” Lacha agreed, taking the words from Elise’s mouth and repeating them for the sake of settling the concept. It wasn’t right, it lacked a great deal of the nuance as to purpose, but without explaining the fact that she and Adare made a wager every year on the game’s outcome or that it started after they’d both killed their own daughters for the sake of peace in their realms and the human one, it seemed sort of pointless to correct further. 

Apparently, Fidchell was not the only thing Elise was struggling to understand. Her eyes widened just a little at the query regarding her personal recommendation, wondering just what Elise expected her to say, but any sort of dissatisfaction faded with the follow-up question; it was easier to answer honestly. “Of course you’re allowed. Anyone who can pay for them is welcome to them, Unseelie, Seelie or human.” Still, there was the first question to answer. “As for my recommendation, I’d say. . . be careful. Using something embued with magic tends to be rather addictive, particularly for humans like you and some of the elixirs are not free of consequence. That said, if you ever feel so drawn, you might like seventy-five. It increases creativity for several hours.” She paused and canted her head slightly as she acknowledged the caveat, “Though it does decrease focus.”

She could go a step further, could give Elise instructions on who to talk to or where to find them, but it had never been her way to sell the elixirs. In an old school way, she thought it beneath her.

And perhaps it was her station too that had her wave a hand at Elise’s apology. Being queen meant it was always at her leisure to dismiss apologies or demand them and despite her frank irritation at the interruption, she’d never expected Elise to apologize. She was too human and unaware for her to come down with the full of her temper. Following the casual dismissal, she shook her head and demurred with, “Not that it isn’t a nice offer, but giving you my music to play would defeat the purpose of me making it in the first place. It stops being mine under such a condition.”

It was as good a last sentiment as any, she figured, before abandoning the piano altogether. As Elise started to play, she smiled slightly, recognizing the music—how could she not when Elise was playing what amounted to a classic?—and settled into the very same booth as Rowan for the interim, speaking softly to her as Elise continued.  

When Elise finished, Lacha volunteered, “You do that well enough,” as a compliment and an interruption of her own to what she assumed was likely going to be the beginning of a long practice for Elise. 

As Lacha spoke, Rowan traced a seven-pointed star in the air with her finger and a portal opened, which Rowan stepped through without hesitance, leaving behind a faintly perceptible gold ring that nearly blended into the floor’s pattern but didn’t quite. Lacha turned toward it herself, but she glanced back at the piano and Elise before she actually stepped through. “Do make sure you lock up when you leave.” Without giving Elise a chance to reply, she stepped into the circle herself, leaving Elise alone to practice, that was unless she got curious enough to follow after them. 

melodies & measures

[ofproseandmusing]

inopheliasdreams‌:

when i was a child, i’d sit for hours / staring into open flame @ofproseandmusing

Freedom was all well and good, but apparently it also came with long stretches of boredom. Of course, long stretches, in Andras’ case, meant anything that exceeded five minutes. 

Hunting down the old gods who had stolen… whatever it was that they had stolen from him should have been easy. The first two had certainly been easy. The look of angry panic on Kratos’ face still made Andras smile to himself, a dark little expression of perfect contentment. That memory alone would fuel him for a couple decades. 

Peitho proved more wily. She kept losing him in hazy, crowded placed full of humans moving to music he didn’t care for. Every time he found her somewhere, he ran out of patience trying to track her down. Then he found himself wandering around this odd world, trying its strange delights like ice cream and amusing himself torturing its beings.

But even that got dull eventually. It was only fun to trip passersby so many times. No one looked at him twice, with his floppy curls and his drab clothing, even when he was purposefully visible. He found himself wondering, with no comprehension of why, what the young god who had unintentionally freed him was doing at any given moment.

Evangeline. Peculiar. She seemed hardly more than human, yet… Perhaps that was exactly what intrigued him. Or maybe it was everything else about her.

Bored of today’s haunting, he wound Earth’s space around his fingers and pulled himself to Evangeline’s location with nothing more than a flicker of light. Misjudging slightly, he ended up several feet behind her, so on silent feet he came up behind her, his monotone deep and somehow curious. 

“What are you doing?”

Evangeline had never meant to free a. . . well, whatever she’d freed. She’d stumbled across him by accident and let her curiosity get the better of her, something she had subsequently come to regret.

The big gods, the old ones who’d been alive so long they were hardly beholden to time and could not be aged, had made her very aware of her mistake, but as was the way with all of them, they were also all too happy to make the situation hers to clean up. Apparently, he was a threat to the oldest among them, but such a thing didn’t translate to a willingness to confront, recapture or otherwise address him.

It was that last that was most problematic, seeing as this refusal extended so far as a tightlipped reaction and refusal to explain the original story, leaving her to discover the truth on her own the only way she could: searching out scrolls in a library that classified and collected stories of the gods. 

The space was timeless and near-endless and she’d only just found the second on a long list of scrolls she suspected might have a piece of the story, when a voice disrupted her silence and caused her to jump. 

It only processed when she turned around that the voice belonged to the very being she was trying to learn about.

She doubted anyone would be pleased if they knew he’d teleported himself into the library, and that was ignoring the issue that his powers included teleportation into places restricted to gods, but she humored him, if only because he seemed distinctively less deadly to her than any of the old gods he’d thus far hunted and she was not equipped to handle him yet.

“Shh,” she reproved quietly; she didn’t mean for him to be silent, she just wanted him to be quieter. It was the polite thing and the appropriate behavior in a space like this and the manners mattered. Still, she hesitated to answer, because she wasn’t sure what his reaction would be. However, if the bits of history she had obtained thus far were anything to judge by, she didn’t think lying was the right tack. “Truthfully, I’m trying to find information about you. What are you doing here?”

[ofproseandmusing]

wisdomlistening‌:

It was downright fascinating to watch the Queen in her element. Not that Minerva had seen much of her in any other context, but still. It was more than just the pristine clothes and the carefully cultivated atmosphere that built the simulation - and more beyond the sim, too. It was each practiced curve of her lips, every specific point in the room she looked to that altered her expression. The intention behind each syllable as she chided her companion. They were developing an accent all their own, the denizens of the sim, alongside their culture.

She knew exactly how to command respect with just a hint of intimidation, too. The look she shared with Marie Louise was practically electric. Minerva watched, her curiosity only just contained. They flocked to her like hopeful dogs - probably more hopeful than the actual hunting dogs the royal family insisted on breeding - fluttering their fans to hide every frantic current of emotion that crossed their faces. The Queen could make or break their social standings with merely a gesture. That was hardly nothing. It also meant every allowance they got to be outspoken, they leaped at, just in case it put them further in her favor. Minerva didn’t much care that she had been insulted; that was to be expected from these rich types. Their understanding of what it took to be polite was wildly different from hers.

What it took to be rude, not so much. Minerva was not prepared in the slightest for the fingers that gripped her sleeves, nor for having much more skin exposed in an instant. Her mouth dropped open in a silent cry of distress. The sleeves were a small problem to her, as bare shoulders out in the real world hardly mattered, but she was not flush or frivolous enough to own a corset. Unfortunate, because a corset would have at least covered her chest even after her dress was torn. 

The real affront was that this dress had cost her something, even if it was a tiny fraction of what the real thing was worth, and now it was - well, not worthless, but the time it would take her to sew it back together…

As it was she found herself holding the front of her dress together, too stunned to even glare at the retreating silk-and-ostrich-feather tornado. Whether or not she cared about showing a little skin, the court certainly would not accept it. She couldn’t very well wear her lap coat over it, though she had half a mind to do so.

The Queen’s offer, however blatantly two-faced, was nearly as much a surprise. Minerva looked to her, eyes darting over her warily. Accepting aid from someone who would without a doubt hold that debt, however small, over her left her stomach squirming. The alarm bells were a cacophony in her head. But, she wanted to continue her observation of the court, and she doubted she would be given an expensive set of silks to keep.

Some oft-ignored part of her wanted to see what it was like to dress like someone on the other side, too.

So despite the gut feeling telling her to run from the wig pretending to be a woman, she dipped her chin in appreciation. “I imagine no one else would be better suited to tell me what I need in this moment,” she said. God, but she hated how cowed she sounded.

Much to Elodie’s pleasure and to her slight surprise, the confrontation gentled Minerva into something almost tolerable. Elodie was used to a certain obliging demeanor from her ladies and something acquiescent from the rest of the court owing to her position, so she couldn’t help but be pleased that Minerva was now following suit. 

Funny, what it took to teach an outsider what proper behavior ought to be.

Owing to that shift in behavior, Elodie felt another rush of generosity that kept her from continuing to gloat, at least in a fashion audible, though there was no doubt a certain sort of satisfaction radiated from her demeanor. It also led her to dismiss the rest of her ladies. “Excellent. Ladies, your company’s no longer needed. I’m sure this will keep me adequately entertained. Enjoy your evening.”

There was a moment of hesitance, one where her ladies looked at each other rather than simply obeyed, but ultimately her order won out and the entirety of her company melted away, leaving her and Minerva quite alone while somehow also amidst a party. From there, Elodie didn’t hesitate to cant her head towards one of several exits and murmur, “Come.” Without further ado, she started toward it, expecting that Minerva would follow. 

Only, they didn’t get very far before Elodie paused and said, “Actually, I need a moment.” Another woman would ask for permission for an unscheduled pause, for an interruption to this new intent, but Elodie answered to only one person so far as anyone knew and no one in reality. This moment was made to protect the truth of that reality and nothing more.

Her pause brought her to her simulacra husband’s side and she went through the motions of obtaining his attention with a patient bit of waiting and then a low-toned conversation. Make no mistake, she wasn’t seeking his permission, both because it wasn’t real and she didn’t need it to leave, but it was all part of the very well practiced facade she put forth for the court’s eyes.

She told him what she was going to do, and his attention settled on Minerva for a moment, before he returned it to her and pressed a kiss to her hand while telling her she was too good. It was a bit of praise she preened for, even as she knew it was nothing more than a testament to her coding skills that her replica could carry on with such autonomy.

Then she dropped him an easy, but well-executed curtsey, returned to Minerva’s side and then beyond her as she picked up their path with ease, heading toward her chambers.

Once they left the spectacle and cacophony behind, she slowed her pace a touch and glanced curiously at Minerva, letting her gaze linger on the damage done to the other woman’s clothing. “I’m surprised you accepted my offer,” she said, “It’s sorely needed, of course, but I’m rather grateful as there’s something else I wanted to discuss with you and I think this suits better than a summoning.”

Elodie takes another few paces to let this radical shift to a persona slightly less superficial sink in, including clear evidence of non-selfish consideration insofar as being aware Minerva wouldn’t like to be summoned. The silence didn’t last long though, certainly not long enough for Minerva to mount any reasonable attempt at dissembling out of this. “You’ve been coming here long enough now that we”—and yes, this was the royal we, even as it could easily be interpreted to mean her and the king—“were thinking it might be best to replace your guest stamp with something more permanent.” 

There was room for Minerva to say no, should she so desire for some reason, but Elodie could see only one reason she might do that, which she moved to address before Minerva could say anything. “You’d still be free to come and go as you please, though subject to security of course. We just think it might be simpler for you and us if you had an entry in the AI system. Easier to schedule appointments and the like, no?” Of course, what she wasn’t saying—or wasn’t saying yet—was that such a thing came with certain expectations or that an entry would mean Elodie—and the court at large—could track her far more easily when she was here. One step at a time, right?