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tampered2006-07-12 04:33 am
ex-croak401.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2006-07-12 04:33 am
Log; Ongoing
When; Yesterday evening; ongoing
Rating; PG, for now.
Characters; Daemon Sadi, Jaenelle Angelline, Zack (Cloud?)
Summary; Jaenelle seeks out Daemon and then takes him to Zack's house. Because he is stinky.
Log; The winds had changed, shifted so drastically against the brush of power that should have had her heart doing summersaults, but instead filled her with a painful sense of loathing. It was him; Sadi, Prince, ultimately the liar.
The stride she took wasn't one that carried any sort of urgency; she had no desire to see him but something beckoned her, a trick maybe. It was all tricks with Daemon Sadi, and the last one had left quite an impression on her. Thus, after sending out a thread to, in a sense, tap into his location, she was off.
And there.
They were edible, the flowers and the sweet nectar they produced, and yet there the Sadist was looking nothing short of pitiable. It should have been a sight for sore eyes, something to bring a smile onto her pretty little face -- but it didn't. No, she didn't look pleased in the slightest.
"You've looked better, Prince," came a voice dipped in midnight as the girl, whose frame barely reflected that of a teen, slipped through the candy-kissed blossoms towards him. His lounging frame was bypassed, however, in favor of a lily that had begun to cry tears of sugary life, whose petals she gingerly began to caress with the tips of her fingers.
The scent was what woke him first.
Oh, in the sea of sweets that mocked the form of flowers, it was impossible to smell anything but the sugar crystals and nectar. But the scent... Her psychic scent was one he had waited centuries for, after all, and he would never mistake it. It was a sensual overload.
Then, it was the voice that made his eyes open, one second too late, just as she had brushed by. His breath was trapped, and it took a great deal of force to exhale after a moment, and then all his physical exhaustion of wandering the city for a full day seemed to evaporate as he stood and spun around.
Oh, he really shouldn't have stood. He really shouldn't have.
The midnight voice did not escape him; nor had the formal title. His swallow was dry, and he dared not step forward.
And despite his weakened state, his voice was a low thrum as he whispered out, "Lady..."
"Why did you come here, Prince?" She began, her voice eerily calm as she plucked the blossom free of its perch and turned to deposit it into his palm. It was unsightly she told herself, unsightly to see someone so great reduced to something like that -- because of her. Her fingers caught his palm only briefly and then she was on her way again, to settle atop of the bench he was sprawled across previously.
"Choose them carefully, your words, I trusted them once but I'll never make that mistake again." You silky, court-trained liar, she inwardly hissed as she adverted her stare elsewhere. "The flower is edible," she finished, and that was all. He could eat it, or he could abandon it to the ground; though she knew the latter of the two was impractical. It could very well have been poison and he would have accepted it.
Because it was from Jaenelle's hand.
If Jaenelle had truly wanted to poison him, Daemon never could have denied her. What was his life worth if she deemed it worthless?
The words that tumbled from her lips seemed elegant and wounded all at once. Through the piercing midnight, he could almost taste the bitter pool of memories, and was quick to lift the flower to his lips, drawing a petal into his mouth to let the sweetness overcome them for just a moment.
He would hardly call this a proper meal, but it seemed like it was better for him than nothing, and there was certainly no way he was going to ignore it when Jaenelle had gone through the displeasure of having to touch him to deposit it in his hand.
It was hard to breathe. Hard to stand. Hard to gaze at her without being blinded. His bright Darkness. But still, he forced himself to do all of these, though his calm demeanor was certainly shattering before her.
"Lady, I..." His hand lowered, and the rest of him followed, sinking down to kneel before her. "What reason would I have to return to a world without you?"
Oh, her body was healing, but her self was quite blatantly not in it.
"You lied to me." Short, sweet and most definitely to the point. When he kneeled her eyes followed him only to make sure that he wasn't attempting to make a fool of her again. "I didn't trust them, but I trusted you. I thought, maybe, that you would be the one to understand."
She caught him beneath the chin with the tips of her fingers and tilted his face up, letting him meet not a scowl, but lips that quivered as if she was soon to be brought to tears. "If you were my friend, you wouldn't have lied to me." But he did, and it stung. After releasing his face she rose to her feet and proceeded to retrace her steps, towards Xanadu's exit.
You lied.
What reason would I have to return to a world without you?
Doubt, maybe that was what stopped her in her tracks then, what had her turning her head to gaze down upon the man who knelt and almost seemed to wordlessly plea.
His breath caught when he felt the touch of those dainty fingers, and no dagger in his heart could have hurt worse than the pain and sense of betrayal in her eyes and psychic scent humming through him.
So stricken by it, he could only watch as she began to move away. His mind screamed for him to follow, but he couldn't make a move until their gazes met again. That was when he stood and found his breath again, the flower in a grip that still managed to be delicate despite his tense stature.
"I had to. Jaenelle... The Priest helped me lie." In the back of his mind, he felt like perhaps he shouldn't be using Saetan as a tool to defend himself, but he was attempting to speak the truth that she deserved to hear.
"Sometimes friends must lie to save each other. I could not let your body merely bleed to death while you stayed lost there in your misty place. The body is not you... But it needs you. We need you. ...I need you." In that confession, his voice cracked, and it took all of his willpower to keep looking into those sapphire eyes.
He was an open book, then, tendrils of his desperation longing to caress her mind, but staying at bay for fear of crossing that line she had etched.
"Stop it," Jaenelle hissed before she knew it, taking a step or two away from him with each and every word he so truthfully spoke. She didn't want to hear it, didn't want to know that she had hated him for nothing, that she swore to herself that there would never be another day where he saw her smile.
And there it was, betraying her.
"You can need me all you want, Prince, but it won't mean a thing if you don't keep up with your health." She murmured, stretching her hands up to cup the sides of his face and tug him down a bit so that they were momentarily level.
"The Priest or not, Daemon," came the purr, the silken caress of a name that she had first denied him in favor of teasing formalities. "I won't forgive you if you lie to me again." And just like that, she retracted her hands and twirled on a heel to show him her back. The air, it almost seemed a little lighter then, a bit more like a candied garden and less like a storm.
It wasn't until Jaenelle had turned her back on him that Daemon realized he was trembling.
Her touch, her eyes, her lilting coo of a voice. Say it again, say my name again! Say it whisper it scream it call i-- "I understand."
Oh, he understood. Quite well. He wasn't afraid of being punished. He was much more terrified of ever seeing that horrible gleam in her eyes again. Disappointment.
Two golden eyes looked once more to the flower in his hand, and he lifted it to began plucking at it, eating it with as much decency as one could eat a flower while prowling behind a young girl like a stalker.
He had many questions. Where were they? Was she willing to return yet? How long had she been here? Could he hold her hand? Oh, Mother Night, could he?
No, no. He kept his lips clamped shut except for when a candied petal passed through them.
"The City," Jaenelle spoke up after a second or two, her hands daintily linked back behind her at the small of her back. "It doesn't have a name, or at least not one that I've heard. The carousel in the center of the city seems to be one of the reasons the dead walk here," she paused and shot Daemon a playful, yet reassuring sort of smile. "I'm not dead, and neither are you."
Then it was back to explaining. She explained everything she could remember and then some; from Xanadu and its colorful blossoms to the Underworld and its vicious monsters. It might have seemed like a fairytale gone bad, crafted by the boundless imagination that a child was capable of having, had it not been from Jaenelle's own mouth.
"Is that the only thing you've eaten since you got here?" Her eyes drifted from the petals he clutched to his face, and then back to the petals again. It was then and only then that she extended a hand out to him and used the other to point to a black blossom. "They're all edible, but not all of them are good. That one will make you sick."
A pause, and then..
"Daemon, you're stinky."
Throughout her explanation, Daemon could only stare mutely down at her golden hair while he trailed behind her. Carousel? Dead? Well, true he had wondered for a moment if they were, but that wouldn't have made sense. The cildru dyathe walked in Hell. If this was Hell, the Priest would have been here.
This didn't seem to be any sort of Court at all.
It was her painfully blunt comment that startled him out of his daze, and a familiar air settled about him, playing along with her impish commentary. Haughty, and certainly full of pride, his tone was as dry as a dessert as he drawled out, "Well I must admit, finding a decent shower and a change of clothes was not the first thing on my mind, but I can certainly make it my top priority if my Lady is willing to supply said shower and clothes. But I must warn you... I will wear no dress."
Not even for Jaenelle.
Jaenelle shot him a grin at the dress comment and little more after. While the mental image was something to cherish, she didn't really think she wanted to see Daemon in a dress, let alone in one of hers. He was too big and her passion for said dresses was dwindling.
"You and Zack are about the same height, I'm sure he can lend you some clothes until I can wash yours." The fountain, she thought, wasn't exactly a place that she wanted Daemon going to, especially considering the circumstances for his arrival. "Maybe even his shower, too."
She hummed to herself, as if in thought, then she gave his hand a little squeeze. A reassurance, a brush of affection, or a reflex -- he could take it as he wished, she certainly looked content now, at least.
It was a good thing Jaenelle was looking away when she mentioned Zack's name, because for that split second his eyes glittered dangerously, and he felt a surge of jealousy.
Who was Zack? How close were they? Had she used his shower? Was he some kind of sick pervert?
Almost as soon as her hand brushed his, Daemon's thoughts dissolved into something resembling a puddle of goo, right along with his heart. He dared to offer a light squeeze back, but nothing more. Careful. Always, always careful.
"It sounds like a good idea. Where is he at?"
Rating; PG, for now.
Characters; Daemon Sadi, Jaenelle Angelline, Zack (Cloud?)
Summary; Jaenelle seeks out Daemon and then takes him to Zack's house. Because he is stinky.
Log; The winds had changed, shifted so drastically against the brush of power that should have had her heart doing summersaults, but instead filled her with a painful sense of loathing. It was him; Sadi, Prince, ultimately the liar.
The stride she took wasn't one that carried any sort of urgency; she had no desire to see him but something beckoned her, a trick maybe. It was all tricks with Daemon Sadi, and the last one had left quite an impression on her. Thus, after sending out a thread to, in a sense, tap into his location, she was off.
And there.
They were edible, the flowers and the sweet nectar they produced, and yet there the Sadist was looking nothing short of pitiable. It should have been a sight for sore eyes, something to bring a smile onto her pretty little face -- but it didn't. No, she didn't look pleased in the slightest.
"You've looked better, Prince," came a voice dipped in midnight as the girl, whose frame barely reflected that of a teen, slipped through the candy-kissed blossoms towards him. His lounging frame was bypassed, however, in favor of a lily that had begun to cry tears of sugary life, whose petals she gingerly began to caress with the tips of her fingers.
The scent was what woke him first.
Oh, in the sea of sweets that mocked the form of flowers, it was impossible to smell anything but the sugar crystals and nectar. But the scent... Her psychic scent was one he had waited centuries for, after all, and he would never mistake it. It was a sensual overload.
Then, it was the voice that made his eyes open, one second too late, just as she had brushed by. His breath was trapped, and it took a great deal of force to exhale after a moment, and then all his physical exhaustion of wandering the city for a full day seemed to evaporate as he stood and spun around.
Oh, he really shouldn't have stood. He really shouldn't have.
The midnight voice did not escape him; nor had the formal title. His swallow was dry, and he dared not step forward.
And despite his weakened state, his voice was a low thrum as he whispered out, "Lady..."
"Why did you come here, Prince?" She began, her voice eerily calm as she plucked the blossom free of its perch and turned to deposit it into his palm. It was unsightly she told herself, unsightly to see someone so great reduced to something like that -- because of her. Her fingers caught his palm only briefly and then she was on her way again, to settle atop of the bench he was sprawled across previously.
"Choose them carefully, your words, I trusted them once but I'll never make that mistake again." You silky, court-trained liar, she inwardly hissed as she adverted her stare elsewhere. "The flower is edible," she finished, and that was all. He could eat it, or he could abandon it to the ground; though she knew the latter of the two was impractical. It could very well have been poison and he would have accepted it.
Because it was from Jaenelle's hand.
If Jaenelle had truly wanted to poison him, Daemon never could have denied her. What was his life worth if she deemed it worthless?
The words that tumbled from her lips seemed elegant and wounded all at once. Through the piercing midnight, he could almost taste the bitter pool of memories, and was quick to lift the flower to his lips, drawing a petal into his mouth to let the sweetness overcome them for just a moment.
He would hardly call this a proper meal, but it seemed like it was better for him than nothing, and there was certainly no way he was going to ignore it when Jaenelle had gone through the displeasure of having to touch him to deposit it in his hand.
It was hard to breathe. Hard to stand. Hard to gaze at her without being blinded. His bright Darkness. But still, he forced himself to do all of these, though his calm demeanor was certainly shattering before her.
"Lady, I..." His hand lowered, and the rest of him followed, sinking down to kneel before her. "What reason would I have to return to a world without you?"
Oh, her body was healing, but her self was quite blatantly not in it.
"You lied to me." Short, sweet and most definitely to the point. When he kneeled her eyes followed him only to make sure that he wasn't attempting to make a fool of her again. "I didn't trust them, but I trusted you. I thought, maybe, that you would be the one to understand."
She caught him beneath the chin with the tips of her fingers and tilted his face up, letting him meet not a scowl, but lips that quivered as if she was soon to be brought to tears. "If you were my friend, you wouldn't have lied to me." But he did, and it stung. After releasing his face she rose to her feet and proceeded to retrace her steps, towards Xanadu's exit.
You lied.
What reason would I have to return to a world without you?
Doubt, maybe that was what stopped her in her tracks then, what had her turning her head to gaze down upon the man who knelt and almost seemed to wordlessly plea.
His breath caught when he felt the touch of those dainty fingers, and no dagger in his heart could have hurt worse than the pain and sense of betrayal in her eyes and psychic scent humming through him.
So stricken by it, he could only watch as she began to move away. His mind screamed for him to follow, but he couldn't make a move until their gazes met again. That was when he stood and found his breath again, the flower in a grip that still managed to be delicate despite his tense stature.
"I had to. Jaenelle... The Priest helped me lie." In the back of his mind, he felt like perhaps he shouldn't be using Saetan as a tool to defend himself, but he was attempting to speak the truth that she deserved to hear.
"Sometimes friends must lie to save each other. I could not let your body merely bleed to death while you stayed lost there in your misty place. The body is not you... But it needs you. We need you. ...I need you." In that confession, his voice cracked, and it took all of his willpower to keep looking into those sapphire eyes.
He was an open book, then, tendrils of his desperation longing to caress her mind, but staying at bay for fear of crossing that line she had etched.
"Stop it," Jaenelle hissed before she knew it, taking a step or two away from him with each and every word he so truthfully spoke. She didn't want to hear it, didn't want to know that she had hated him for nothing, that she swore to herself that there would never be another day where he saw her smile.
And there it was, betraying her.
"You can need me all you want, Prince, but it won't mean a thing if you don't keep up with your health." She murmured, stretching her hands up to cup the sides of his face and tug him down a bit so that they were momentarily level.
"The Priest or not, Daemon," came the purr, the silken caress of a name that she had first denied him in favor of teasing formalities. "I won't forgive you if you lie to me again." And just like that, she retracted her hands and twirled on a heel to show him her back. The air, it almost seemed a little lighter then, a bit more like a candied garden and less like a storm.
It wasn't until Jaenelle had turned her back on him that Daemon realized he was trembling.
Her touch, her eyes, her lilting coo of a voice. Say it again, say my name again! Say it whisper it scream it call i-- "I understand."
Oh, he understood. Quite well. He wasn't afraid of being punished. He was much more terrified of ever seeing that horrible gleam in her eyes again. Disappointment.
Two golden eyes looked once more to the flower in his hand, and he lifted it to began plucking at it, eating it with as much decency as one could eat a flower while prowling behind a young girl like a stalker.
He had many questions. Where were they? Was she willing to return yet? How long had she been here? Could he hold her hand? Oh, Mother Night, could he?
No, no. He kept his lips clamped shut except for when a candied petal passed through them.
"The City," Jaenelle spoke up after a second or two, her hands daintily linked back behind her at the small of her back. "It doesn't have a name, or at least not one that I've heard. The carousel in the center of the city seems to be one of the reasons the dead walk here," she paused and shot Daemon a playful, yet reassuring sort of smile. "I'm not dead, and neither are you."
Then it was back to explaining. She explained everything she could remember and then some; from Xanadu and its colorful blossoms to the Underworld and its vicious monsters. It might have seemed like a fairytale gone bad, crafted by the boundless imagination that a child was capable of having, had it not been from Jaenelle's own mouth.
"Is that the only thing you've eaten since you got here?" Her eyes drifted from the petals he clutched to his face, and then back to the petals again. It was then and only then that she extended a hand out to him and used the other to point to a black blossom. "They're all edible, but not all of them are good. That one will make you sick."
A pause, and then..
"Daemon, you're stinky."
Throughout her explanation, Daemon could only stare mutely down at her golden hair while he trailed behind her. Carousel? Dead? Well, true he had wondered for a moment if they were, but that wouldn't have made sense. The cildru dyathe walked in Hell. If this was Hell, the Priest would have been here.
This didn't seem to be any sort of Court at all.
It was her painfully blunt comment that startled him out of his daze, and a familiar air settled about him, playing along with her impish commentary. Haughty, and certainly full of pride, his tone was as dry as a dessert as he drawled out, "Well I must admit, finding a decent shower and a change of clothes was not the first thing on my mind, but I can certainly make it my top priority if my Lady is willing to supply said shower and clothes. But I must warn you... I will wear no dress."
Not even for Jaenelle.
Jaenelle shot him a grin at the dress comment and little more after. While the mental image was something to cherish, she didn't really think she wanted to see Daemon in a dress, let alone in one of hers. He was too big and her passion for said dresses was dwindling.
"You and Zack are about the same height, I'm sure he can lend you some clothes until I can wash yours." The fountain, she thought, wasn't exactly a place that she wanted Daemon going to, especially considering the circumstances for his arrival. "Maybe even his shower, too."
She hummed to herself, as if in thought, then she gave his hand a little squeeze. A reassurance, a brush of affection, or a reflex -- he could take it as he wished, she certainly looked content now, at least.
It was a good thing Jaenelle was looking away when she mentioned Zack's name, because for that split second his eyes glittered dangerously, and he felt a surge of jealousy.
Who was Zack? How close were they? Had she used his shower? Was he some kind of sick pervert?
Almost as soon as her hand brushed his, Daemon's thoughts dissolved into something resembling a puddle of goo, right along with his heart. He dared to offer a light squeeze back, but nothing more. Careful. Always, always careful.
"It sounds like a good idea. Where is he at?"