18 Mar 2020, 18:34
Tainted Bouquets
@Jack Burnett @Jo Morgan @Persephone Barret
[font=Segoe Print]Rafael had known with a fiery certainty that the vial was to make its mark. However, what he hadn’t anticipated, was the reaction of the victim.
Jack, he had learned earlier than most, was a pure preservationist, and one of the finest of his age, surely, as his amount of creativeness knew no bounds. Perhaps that was why the young Gryffindor loathed him so, in part – any true man could smell the cowardice off of a snake any given time of day. And Jack reeked of the stench. Therefore, it came as no surprise that the boy had anticipated the projectile as a hostile object, and had quickly reacted in his own, cowardly manner. It was quite hilarious, actually, the split-second in which the snake not-so-gracefully flailed about – much like a chicken – the very likes of which tempted Rafael’s twisted sense of humor. Though, before the thunderbird could laugh, or even smile in spite of the vile boy, his adversary, embarrassingly enough, had caught his leg on a nearby table, losing his balance.
Jack’s chicken dance ended abruptly on the ground, the boy laying limp as unconsciousness took control of his figure.
For a moment, Rafael stared at the figure of the boy, unmoving on the dirty tiles of the Potions Classroom floor. A mix of emotions hit his eleven-year-old brain like a sack of bricks about then – confusion came first, then alleviation, and at the end…. nothing at all. Why did he feel nothing? He should have been smug, triumphant, even, finally having gotten away with putting his adversary in his place, at the very feet of the one he had sorely disrespected. However, no satisfaction came to the boy in that moment – no, on the contrary, he felt as if he had sorely failed, the nagging feeling digging into the back of his head like a hungry maggot. Jack was supposed to stay awake, he thought venomously as his hands slowly curled into tight balls, his gaze only intensifying on the hated boy. You should have anticipated his weakness. What were you thinking, mate, going for the head? His revenge was to have been long and slow. And now, it was all for nothing. The scowl on Rafael’s face was now ever-present, his eyes boring into the carcass of the deceiving little shit. He should be –
Suffering.
There was no other way to describe – GAH – the very agony cut into the narration of the very story, it was so strong. Pain, in its purest form, blossomed from the boy’s male organ, spreading quickly to his stomach, and then….. it was everywhere. Surrounding the Gryffindor like a wall of pain, piercing everything in his being with a sharp, twisting, positively horrifying feeling, surely worse than the Cruciatus Curse, if he allowed his imagination to wonder. The boy’s vision was white with agony, his teeth clenched as a small, barely stifled groan sounding into the air. It was… the worst thing he’d ever felt during his existence on the Earth. He hated it, he wanted it to stop…
[It went unsaid that he’d felt it a few times over the course of his life. Women were evil.]
“Learn some manners. I do believe your business here is concluded, the house points are probably out of the question for you, my dear prodigy.”
Though her tone was blunt, the girl’s words were sharp – yet no blade could have cut through the tough interior of the young Gryffindor. Rather, a small laugh escaped his lips at the idea she had called him a ‘prodigy’, in spite of the immense pain still rocking his body. As if he were smart. Yet, the last thing Rafael was to do at such a moment was to put up with such blatant offenses. No, he held himself higher than that. He nearly sneered back at her right then, but his ideas were smothered by the weight of her next words.
“A word of advice, be confusing. You, my friend, are clear as day.”
At that, he did laugh out loud – a harsh, bitter, grating noise, in complete contrast to what a laugh was to sound like. He couldn’t be sure of why those words meant something to him. It wasn’t like he actually cared much for the art of stealth, as there would have been much better options in which he could have expressed his revenge. However, no matter how hard he tried to remove the girl’s voice from his head, they kept latching on, digging into his train of thought in a nasty, twisted sort of way, putting every single one of his emotions on edge, a dangerous mixture of hormones brewing in the stomach of the young boy. Strangely, Perse’s were sharper than any ordinary blade. But she should have known better than to poke a bear. Because, when a bear was angry, the tended to destroy everything that was in their path, a perfect depiction of what was to come to the poor Potions room, the very anger bubbling up out of his being in a dangerous, explosive sort of way...
His eyes flitted upwards immediately at such a ridiculous thought, his sharp gaze digging into the Slytherin girl like knives. She was pretty, he absently noticed, her blonde hair, falling perfectly in front of her features, her blue eyes stark and pristine. Beauty was a tool, a dangerous weapon, just as much as she was a dangerous girl. The boy bared his teeth in spite of her, a perfect sneer, almost predatory in a way. What made it to where she could harm him, eh? No, there wasn’t a girl at the school, nor on the planet, that could say such things about him. He wouldn’t allow it.
It wasn’t until his hand was raised, his anger boiling over in hot, messy waves, that he realized what exactly he had been planning on doing. He wasn’t supposed to hit girls, now, was he? Perhaps the mysterious girl had actually made the first move – yes, she certainly had – but how did that give him the right to hurt her? He’d made an oath, he wasn’t to hurt a girl. Even if they sorely deserved it. The very indication of letting her get away with such an offense weighed down on his being, only further irritating the fire in his stomach – but he wouldn’t allow it. He’d made a promise. And he was a man of his honor.
His hand, held up, ready to smack, hung awkwardly for a moment as he tried to channel his anger elsewhere, – it slowly transformed into to a pointer finger, and an ominous one at that, his face red as his eyes bored into her dangerously. “Fair,” he growled, his voice thick with all the intensity a person could possibly muster. “You want to protect your boyfriend? Fine. Honorable enough. But you just remember – “ and the ferocity piqued, a perfect song of death and destruction, if anyone had ever heard such a terrible noise, “If you ever, ever try to pull something like that again? Fuck oaths, I’ll rip your leg off.”
There was no further reason to stay, he decided, as his revenge was far from being wrought in present company. Without giving so much as a second look at Perse, nor to Jo, he stepped over the body of the boy on the ground – making sure to tousle the boy up with his feet – before disappearing out the door, as his anger did with him. [/font]
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[font=Segoe Print]Rafael had known with a fiery certainty that the vial was to make its mark. However, what he hadn’t anticipated, was the reaction of the victim.
Jack, he had learned earlier than most, was a pure preservationist, and one of the finest of his age, surely, as his amount of creativeness knew no bounds. Perhaps that was why the young Gryffindor loathed him so, in part – any true man could smell the cowardice off of a snake any given time of day. And Jack reeked of the stench. Therefore, it came as no surprise that the boy had anticipated the projectile as a hostile object, and had quickly reacted in his own, cowardly manner. It was quite hilarious, actually, the split-second in which the snake not-so-gracefully flailed about – much like a chicken – the very likes of which tempted Rafael’s twisted sense of humor. Though, before the thunderbird could laugh, or even smile in spite of the vile boy, his adversary, embarrassingly enough, had caught his leg on a nearby table, losing his balance.
Jack’s chicken dance ended abruptly on the ground, the boy laying limp as unconsciousness took control of his figure.
For a moment, Rafael stared at the figure of the boy, unmoving on the dirty tiles of the Potions Classroom floor. A mix of emotions hit his eleven-year-old brain like a sack of bricks about then – confusion came first, then alleviation, and at the end…. nothing at all. Why did he feel nothing? He should have been smug, triumphant, even, finally having gotten away with putting his adversary in his place, at the very feet of the one he had sorely disrespected. However, no satisfaction came to the boy in that moment – no, on the contrary, he felt as if he had sorely failed, the nagging feeling digging into the back of his head like a hungry maggot. Jack was supposed to stay awake, he thought venomously as his hands slowly curled into tight balls, his gaze only intensifying on the hated boy. You should have anticipated his weakness. What were you thinking, mate, going for the head? His revenge was to have been long and slow. And now, it was all for nothing. The scowl on Rafael’s face was now ever-present, his eyes boring into the carcass of the deceiving little shit. He should be –
Suffering.
There was no other way to describe – GAH – the very agony cut into the narration of the very story, it was so strong. Pain, in its purest form, blossomed from the boy’s male organ, spreading quickly to his stomach, and then….. it was everywhere. Surrounding the Gryffindor like a wall of pain, piercing everything in his being with a sharp, twisting, positively horrifying feeling, surely worse than the Cruciatus Curse, if he allowed his imagination to wonder. The boy’s vision was white with agony, his teeth clenched as a small, barely stifled groan sounding into the air. It was… the worst thing he’d ever felt during his existence on the Earth. He hated it, he wanted it to stop…
[It went unsaid that he’d felt it a few times over the course of his life. Women were evil.]
“Learn some manners. I do believe your business here is concluded, the house points are probably out of the question for you, my dear prodigy.”
Though her tone was blunt, the girl’s words were sharp – yet no blade could have cut through the tough interior of the young Gryffindor. Rather, a small laugh escaped his lips at the idea she had called him a ‘prodigy’, in spite of the immense pain still rocking his body. As if he were smart. Yet, the last thing Rafael was to do at such a moment was to put up with such blatant offenses. No, he held himself higher than that. He nearly sneered back at her right then, but his ideas were smothered by the weight of her next words.
“A word of advice, be confusing. You, my friend, are clear as day.”
At that, he did laugh out loud – a harsh, bitter, grating noise, in complete contrast to what a laugh was to sound like. He couldn’t be sure of why those words meant something to him. It wasn’t like he actually cared much for the art of stealth, as there would have been much better options in which he could have expressed his revenge. However, no matter how hard he tried to remove the girl’s voice from his head, they kept latching on, digging into his train of thought in a nasty, twisted sort of way, putting every single one of his emotions on edge, a dangerous mixture of hormones brewing in the stomach of the young boy. Strangely, Perse’s were sharper than any ordinary blade. But she should have known better than to poke a bear. Because, when a bear was angry, the tended to destroy everything that was in their path, a perfect depiction of what was to come to the poor Potions room, the very anger bubbling up out of his being in a dangerous, explosive sort of way...
His eyes flitted upwards immediately at such a ridiculous thought, his sharp gaze digging into the Slytherin girl like knives. She was pretty, he absently noticed, her blonde hair, falling perfectly in front of her features, her blue eyes stark and pristine. Beauty was a tool, a dangerous weapon, just as much as she was a dangerous girl. The boy bared his teeth in spite of her, a perfect sneer, almost predatory in a way. What made it to where she could harm him, eh? No, there wasn’t a girl at the school, nor on the planet, that could say such things about him. He wouldn’t allow it.
It wasn’t until his hand was raised, his anger boiling over in hot, messy waves, that he realized what exactly he had been planning on doing. He wasn’t supposed to hit girls, now, was he? Perhaps the mysterious girl had actually made the first move – yes, she certainly had – but how did that give him the right to hurt her? He’d made an oath, he wasn’t to hurt a girl. Even if they sorely deserved it. The very indication of letting her get away with such an offense weighed down on his being, only further irritating the fire in his stomach – but he wouldn’t allow it. He’d made a promise. And he was a man of his honor.
His hand, held up, ready to smack, hung awkwardly for a moment as he tried to channel his anger elsewhere, – it slowly transformed into to a pointer finger, and an ominous one at that, his face red as his eyes bored into her dangerously. “Fair,” he growled, his voice thick with all the intensity a person could possibly muster. “You want to protect your boyfriend? Fine. Honorable enough. But you just remember – “ and the ferocity piqued, a perfect song of death and destruction, if anyone had ever heard such a terrible noise, “If you ever, ever try to pull something like that again? Fuck oaths, I’ll rip your leg off.”
There was no further reason to stay, he decided, as his revenge was far from being wrought in present company. Without giving so much as a second look at Perse, nor to Jo, he stepped over the body of the boy on the ground – making sure to tousle the boy up with his feet – before disappearing out the door, as his anger did with him. [/font]
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[/font]Rafael leaves the thread.
I probably haven't collected my allowance yet.
26 Mar 2020, 11:47
Tainted Bouquets
@Rafael D'Spacito @Persephone Barret @Jack Burnett
It didn't even occur to Jo to check to see if Jack was okay. All that mattered was those flowers - those damned flowers. They fell to the ground as she tore through them, wishing she could rip each individual flower apart. There was some sort of commotion behind her - probably Jack and Rafa fighting. No? Rafa and the girl fighting, then. But of course, she had been the naive one. To think that a boy and a girl could ever just be friends or partners. To think that ripped-up bits of dying nature could ever be cute or sweet. Leaves and thorns, stems and petals. They ripped into her hand and scratched under her nails as if Mother Nature herself was protesting, fighting back against the violence done to her fragrant blossoming children.
"What could have been?" she murmured in disbelief. It hadn't occurred to the witch that from a third-person perspective, she might look like one who over-reacted to a helpful and sweet matchmaking statement. But the girl knew better, right? Even if she didn't before, she ought to know better now. Rafa's rage should have been enough to tell her that the two were no perfect pair. "Rafa and I weren't...aren't like that." Of course, the blonde was probably just taunting her. Her Gryffindor frenemy had seemed full of rage as he stomped off and it was likely thanks to this girl.
"And my name... " She took a breath, turning around to face the girl. "... is Jo."
Not that it mattered, of course. The girl probably knew her name from the board, which now read "afa". And... was Jack on the ground? He certainly was. Perhaps it was best for her to get out of the room as soon as she could, following Rafa's example. It had been a little too late for Rafa to stay out of trouble, but she wasn't prone to rashness, was she? She knew when to keep her head low. Right? Well, it was weird to keep any of the letters on the board now. It wouldn't do to invite any rumours about them - the evidence just had to go. Rafa had enough trouble with his boyfriend already thanks to Jack. She probably ought to clean up the vial as well. It might help Rafa escape detention, if only for a while. Of course, that was assuming that one of the Slytherins told a prefect or teacher about the whole affair. It seemed unlikely Jack would try to play the victim, but to a girl who knew too well that burning sensation of vengeance not yet served, it would be best not to take any chances.
The blonde had a quill in her hand - dipped in ink and pointed in the direction of the boy. It was all very Slytherin of her - Jo had no doubt that the two must have worked together at some point in time. All this backstabbing and these horrid "pranks". Stupid, useless, juvenile. Stupid, useless, juvenile. It was as if the anger of Jack's prank had finally reached her. The shock had worn off at just the wrong timing.
"I don't have a quill.." the witch said, but there was something in her voice that suggested her mind was on other things. She meandered slowly towards the Slytherin pair, lost in a world of thoughts. She kneeled on the floor as she got close, pushing the ground with her knees to scoot closer to him. A quill, hmm? They were going to draw on his face with a quill. A lovely little feather with a golden tip. How romantic and beautiful. How sweet. How disgusting.
Something touched against her knee, rolling once or twice across the floor with a clinking sound.
She picked it up as her mind worked in slow motion, her limbs moving slowly as if immersed in a massive pool of honey. A massive pool of honey...what a queer thought. An odd one, to be sure. Perhaps it was the gleam of the dim Potions room lighting on the shard of glass that had made her think of the shiny golden substance. Perhaps it was the shape it used to take - a vial. A vial of honey, huh? Wasn't that a bit ostentatious for spicing up one's breakfast?
She held it up to the light as if it were a star she had captured in her fingers or a shimmering jewel of the Orient that some servant had brought before her on a silver platter. She held it as one would hold a dream, and in a lightning flash it was close to her enemy's face. I know something better to draw with... the thought swam around sleepily in a Nile of dormant hatred, probably passing by the dreaming boy somewhere in his subconscious - and by draw, I mean draw...
Blood. The shard clattered to the floor, splintering even further as the girl jolted herself awake. What the hell was she doing? She could have hurt him terribly! Jo wasn't a violent girl. No. No she was not. It was something in the room, perhaps, maybe the same malevolent energy that had caused Rafa to throw the vial that had influenced her. Maybe it was the atmosphere of that blonde girl. Maybe it was the sight of Jack's face. But it wasn't... it couldn't be her. She would never do such a thing. Only hours before she was picking flowers! There was nothing more innocent than that! Right?
Tilting her head downwards in a grimace as she finally pulled her hand back from the boy's face, she jumped to her feet and walked backwards a few steps, almost tripping on her cape as she turned and sprinted to the door.
She stopped suddenly and turned to face the blonde girl.
"What just happened..." she looked at the female Snake, her countenance cold but with a hint of what only the observant would realize was fear. "...stays between us." It wasn't a question. It wasn't to be answered. It was the growl of a lioness, quiet but final. She'd be back for her prey some other time.
It didn't even occur to Jo to check to see if Jack was okay. All that mattered was those flowers - those damned flowers. They fell to the ground as she tore through them, wishing she could rip each individual flower apart. There was some sort of commotion behind her - probably Jack and Rafa fighting. No? Rafa and the girl fighting, then. But of course, she had been the naive one. To think that a boy and a girl could ever just be friends or partners. To think that ripped-up bits of dying nature could ever be cute or sweet. Leaves and thorns, stems and petals. They ripped into her hand and scratched under her nails as if Mother Nature herself was protesting, fighting back against the violence done to her fragrant blossoming children.
She froze, the remnants of an "r" lingering in her hands before dropping, dusting the floor with a fresh layer of color.“Maybe you should leave them there, Morgan? They make a good memorial for what could have been.”
"What could have been?" she murmured in disbelief. It hadn't occurred to the witch that from a third-person perspective, she might look like one who over-reacted to a helpful and sweet matchmaking statement. But the girl knew better, right? Even if she didn't before, she ought to know better now. Rafa's rage should have been enough to tell her that the two were no perfect pair. "Rafa and I weren't...aren't like that." Of course, the blonde was probably just taunting her. Her Gryffindor frenemy had seemed full of rage as he stomped off and it was likely thanks to this girl.
"And my name... " She took a breath, turning around to face the girl. "... is Jo."
Not that it mattered, of course. The girl probably knew her name from the board, which now read "afa". And... was Jack on the ground? He certainly was. Perhaps it was best for her to get out of the room as soon as she could, following Rafa's example. It had been a little too late for Rafa to stay out of trouble, but she wasn't prone to rashness, was she? She knew when to keep her head low. Right? Well, it was weird to keep any of the letters on the board now. It wouldn't do to invite any rumours about them - the evidence just had to go. Rafa had enough trouble with his boyfriend already thanks to Jack. She probably ought to clean up the vial as well. It might help Rafa escape detention, if only for a while. Of course, that was assuming that one of the Slytherins told a prefect or teacher about the whole affair. It seemed unlikely Jack would try to play the victim, but to a girl who knew too well that burning sensation of vengeance not yet served, it would be best not to take any chances.
The Slytherin girl seemed caught up in her musings, and the last of the flowers had just fallen from the board. Clever boy Jack's nefarious efforts finally undone. They hadn't been, of course. There was something between the two Gryffindors that Jack had taken away possibly forever, and a little bonk to the head just wouldn't do it. She stepped across the horizontal line of petals next to the board that she had unwittingly made, as a soldier crossing through to enemy territory. The colorful petals seemed festive, almost like confetti.“Who knew Jack Burnett versus empty vial would end like this?"
The blonde had a quill in her hand - dipped in ink and pointed in the direction of the boy. It was all very Slytherin of her - Jo had no doubt that the two must have worked together at some point in time. All this backstabbing and these horrid "pranks". Stupid, useless, juvenile. Stupid, useless, juvenile. It was as if the anger of Jack's prank had finally reached her. The shock had worn off at just the wrong timing.
"Now, who said anything about that?" Toying with prey was a lion's game. The girl's prank was juvenile. It needed something more. A little flower drawn on his face just wouldn't be enough. That was something a bit of soap and one of his signature laughs could fix all to easily. Jack needed something else. Something to make him suffer, she thought. Something he won't forget.“What, I’m gonna do this alone?”
"I don't have a quill.." the witch said, but there was something in her voice that suggested her mind was on other things. She meandered slowly towards the Slytherin pair, lost in a world of thoughts. She kneeled on the floor as she got close, pushing the ground with her knees to scoot closer to him. A quill, hmm? They were going to draw on his face with a quill. A lovely little feather with a golden tip. How romantic and beautiful. How sweet. How disgusting.
Something touched against her knee, rolling once or twice across the floor with a clinking sound.
She picked it up as her mind worked in slow motion, her limbs moving slowly as if immersed in a massive pool of honey. A massive pool of honey...what a queer thought. An odd one, to be sure. Perhaps it was the gleam of the dim Potions room lighting on the shard of glass that had made her think of the shiny golden substance. Perhaps it was the shape it used to take - a vial. A vial of honey, huh? Wasn't that a bit ostentatious for spicing up one's breakfast?
She held it up to the light as if it were a star she had captured in her fingers or a shimmering jewel of the Orient that some servant had brought before her on a silver platter. She held it as one would hold a dream, and in a lightning flash it was close to her enemy's face. I know something better to draw with... the thought swam around sleepily in a Nile of dormant hatred, probably passing by the dreaming boy somewhere in his subconscious - and by draw, I mean draw...
Blood. The shard clattered to the floor, splintering even further as the girl jolted herself awake. What the hell was she doing? She could have hurt him terribly! Jo wasn't a violent girl. No. No she was not. It was something in the room, perhaps, maybe the same malevolent energy that had caused Rafa to throw the vial that had influenced her. Maybe it was the atmosphere of that blonde girl. Maybe it was the sight of Jack's face. But it wasn't... it couldn't be her. She would never do such a thing. Only hours before she was picking flowers! There was nothing more innocent than that! Right?
Tilting her head downwards in a grimace as she finally pulled her hand back from the boy's face, she jumped to her feet and walked backwards a few steps, almost tripping on her cape as she turned and sprinted to the door.
She stopped suddenly and turned to face the blonde girl.
"What just happened..." she looked at the female Snake, her countenance cold but with a hint of what only the observant would realize was fear. "...stays between us." It wasn't a question. It wasn't to be answered. It was the growl of a lioness, quiet but final. She'd be back for her prey some other time.
"Out here, the wild ones are taming the fear within me.
Scared to call them my friends and be broken again; Is this hope just a mystical dream?"
1 Apr 2020, 08:54
Tainted Bouquets
Quotes were often the game of a philosopher, one of the many occupations that required minimal efforts and rewarded immense credit to the undeserving. It was Plato who said ‘There are two things a person should never be angry at, what they can help, and what they cannot.’ Persephone couldn’t fathom how this information wasn’t common knowledge, even at a point in time so long ago. Or worse, Heraclitus who wrote ‘The eyes are more exact witnesses than the ears,’ across the timeline of history, a phrase so impactful it lived to this day. All that specific ‘philosophy’ bore was that actions speak louder than words, something terribly overused and nauseating to ponder. The blonde could not be convinced that this revolutionary idea had not been circulating among the world for decades prior. Philosophers played the public like pawns on a chess board, but that was a game reserved for someone like Persy. And although quotes, no matter the sickening cliche they carried, were their weapon, a few remained relevant in modern times.@Jack Burnett, @Rafael D'Spacito, @Jo Morgan
The first one that came to mind at times so dire as this, was ‘Nobody panics when things go according to plan.’ No matter the lips it came from, it carried so much truth upon itself, as Persephone’s heart would not have raced if she’d been able to immediately turn to face the incapacitated demon that lie feet away. Instead of carrying out the plan regardless of how horrifying it may be, her attention had been thoroughly captivated in the following actions of the lion. His groans of pain were graced with beauty, a river of calm in a room of a tidal wave, but their music-like quality wasn’t as entrancing as his pursuing action. The lion’s arm raised, a threat that conveyed so much more than the animalistic desire to inflict pain upon the bringer of destruction, bitter with the image of a common action. Before rushing her, turning that beating heart of adrenaline into one of discomfort and flooding thoughts, the lion swam into a new form, body morphing to fit a different description.
Then, he spoke. Persephone wished he’d hit her instead.
For now, the girl would pretend that desire originated in disappointment. She did nothing more than glare at him for a moment, watch his face reddening like the sun as it set, a small chuckle caught in the back of her throat. “Boyfriend? I would never try to steal your man.” It was a mere taunt, though possibly interpreted as more. Contrary to what her abuser would’ve likely preferred, Persephone could only smile at such elementary accusations and threats, nothing foreign to her ears or nerve-wracking in any manner. “Oaths? Is that what this is about? Upset the established order, lion, and everything melts to chaos. As far as my leg goes…” The Slytherin stretched it to her side, “...feel free. I only need one and some balanced hands to kick you.” A menacing wink accompanied her words, a smirk that spoke better than her melodic voice ever could.
Watching the derogatory victim leave with a burst of red, the plan was able to execute itself. The snake now stood over Jack’s limp figure, studying it but only hearing the arguing voice of the only lively guest that remained. Still pulling away the flowers intended to spell her name along with that of her baleful lover’s, the lioness mumbled quietly, puzzling Persephone. With her lover spreading his rage now throughout the nearby corridors and the only background noise being the subtle and steady breathing from Jack’s unconscious body, she had to be aware her words were audible over the thickness of nothingness.
“Denial is something reserved for the weak. There’s very obviously something there, don’t be naive, Morgan.” Her memory flew back to the taken aura he gave about moments before his uncalled for attack. Unrequited love was a tragedy only read in stories composed of idealism, never a true issue among the living. Every breathing organism wanted love, even if just in its most raw and physical form, any affection being returned with grace. The only being exempt from such an accusation was the accuser herself. “Forgive me then, don’t be naive, Jo.” The blonde corrected.
After she knelt down, quill in hand, the starry-eyed lover answered Persephone’s final request. The blonde had expected such a reaction, one not formed of interest but rather of vengeance executed in a fashion she could possibly support. It didn’t go without personal appreciation that Morgan didn’t rely on the unreal working’s of the universe to do her bidding, an intoxicating belief that consistently flooded the public with its radioactivity. Although working with a partner wasn’t in the snake’s playbook, her eyes dwelled moments longer on the girl who yearned to play the hand so unfairly dealt. The thing about chaos is, it’s fair. That monologue had rang in her head the entire duration of the past few moments that warped themselves into slow motion. Never had something spoken by the doer of evil seemed so true and good in nature. Good was rarely bad, and bad was rarely good, yet the two intertwined into beautiful creations formed at the hands of a god(dess) themselves.
Goddess of spring? Absolutely not. Bringer of destruction.
Her unlikely and strongly opposed accomplice’s mind was thoroughly preoccupied, floating through the emptiness of space grasping desperately on nearby asteroids. Morgan remained the center of Persephone’s vision, as the unconscious body would not be changing its state, but the pure tone of the hypnotized voice brought sickness upon Persy.
“What the fu-?”
What could’ve been playing in a delicate slow motion in the other girl’s mind was multiplied by two from Persephone’s emerald eyes, perspective tainted in a vision of magenta. Reflexes kicked in, but not as quickly as Morgan’s, glass-armed hand retreating almost as suddenly as it approached, a deer in headlights. A soldier contaminated by post traumatic stress disorder, reacting with violence to that which didn’t call for it? Perhaps Morgan and her man’s souls were one intertwined, one with each other, and had a similar make-up that controlled both of their thoughts. Perhaps Persy would’ve been behind it had the situation been altered in a subtle yet extreme way.
Before the blonde witch could interrogate Morgan in a fashion less composed of mere curses, the wounded warrior had retreated to the doorway, only stopping for a fleeting moment. Fear lurked behind her hazel eyes, possibly not of Persephone, but of what she was becoming behind those closed doors. Of herself, more specifically. With that, Persy was abundantly familiar. Her words were not met with a reply, but merely a cruel smile, knowing the statement had been rhetorical. Whether her wishes were upheld depended on the girl’s actions over the course of the remaining months.
Persephone had a lingering feeling she knew how that would end.
The witch’s eyes trailed back to Jack, quill lightly moving across his face, lines that would not only form a smudged exhibit, but scratches from the sharpness of its point. “Stays between us, eh?” Persy whispered, talking to no one except herself, the only one that ever listened beyond the words. “Stays between us… isn’t that funny? Maybe it’s just me. Seems like everything boils down to something so elementary. Nothing stays between anyone. It’s just not how things work.” A breath filled the sudden silence that followed her words, spoken to the abyss that awarded no attention.
Scribbled and smudged across his face, written not only in ink but in small cuts that would easily heal but likely induce pain, were three short lines.
Don't talk like one of them, you're not. Even if you'd like to be. - Heath Ledger
Sta: 9 | Eva: 5 | Str: 7 | Wis: 7 | Arc: 5 | Acc: 7
20 Jul 2020, 00:16
Tainted Bouquets
When Jack finally woke up - he wasn't sure how much longer later - he listened quietly for a bit and heard no voices. Satisfied that there were probably fewer people around than there were when he had gone down, he slowly blinked open his eyes and groaned softly, rubbing the spot on his head where the vial Rafa had thrown had hit him.
Strangely, in addition to the bump from the vial, there was some mild stinging on his face that made him want to scratch at it. When he felt the cuts there, however, and his fingers came away smeared with some strange, reddish, blackish substance, he frowned and sniffed it. Was it...ink? Blood? A combination?
Well, he decided he would have to check a mirror, but first he wanted to see what had become of the message he'd put up on the blackboard. Apparently, only the letters 'afa' remained, but the floor was littered with the blossoms that not only he, but Rafa and Jo had also brought. Among them were the bits of glass shards from what Jack could only assume was the shattered remains of his adversary, the vial.
With a soft sigh, he scratched his head, trying to determine what, exactly, must have happened while he'd been knocked out, before reaching down to collect the trash off the floor.
"Heh...wonder if they found the other hearts I put up elsewhere..." he murmured to himself, wondering if there might have been a broom around to sweep up what he could of the mess without the risk of cutting his fingers.
@Persephone Barret, @Rafael D'Spacito, & @Jo Morgan
Strangely, in addition to the bump from the vial, there was some mild stinging on his face that made him want to scratch at it. When he felt the cuts there, however, and his fingers came away smeared with some strange, reddish, blackish substance, he frowned and sniffed it. Was it...ink? Blood? A combination?
Well, he decided he would have to check a mirror, but first he wanted to see what had become of the message he'd put up on the blackboard. Apparently, only the letters 'afa' remained, but the floor was littered with the blossoms that not only he, but Rafa and Jo had also brought. Among them were the bits of glass shards from what Jack could only assume was the shattered remains of his adversary, the vial.
With a soft sigh, he scratched his head, trying to determine what, exactly, must have happened while he'd been knocked out, before reaching down to collect the trash off the floor.
"Heh...wonder if they found the other hearts I put up elsewhere..." he murmured to himself, wondering if there might have been a broom around to sweep up what he could of the mess without the risk of cutting his fingers.
@Persephone Barret, @Rafael D'Spacito, & @Jo Morgan
PC: Jack Burnett | iNPC: Ginyami Midorimori