Well Aimed Chaos (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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rainbowfic2013-08-13 01:11 am
whitemage) wrote in rainbowfic2013-08-13 01:11 am
Entry tags:
Fire Opal #14, Angel Cake #2, Fever Red #17
Name: Ardy
Piece/Story: Swept Away/Blood Saint
Colors: Colors: Fire Opal 14 (want it so bad, I can taste it); Angel Cake 2 (messenger); Fever Red 17 (water)
Styles/Supplies: Graffiti (Midsummer Night’s Dream prompt)
Word Count: 895
Ratings/Warnings: PG; None
Notes: Another jump into the future with the storyline and a character I have not introduced: episcopalian priest girlfriend.
I could see them moving aside from my place in the balcony, each of my lost boys with his chosen dinner--fine black suits and white satin dresses, all those ornate masks--a beautiful ball. My heart was moved, swaying in time with our demonic orchestra that gave us airy ballads of young love with tragic hooks that urged blossoming passion with terrors about the shortness of life. My smile was serene and immaculate as always, my facade as demigoddess secure as I reigned over the festivities, my fancy giving to flying as my logic remained steadfast and detached from the scene it had carefully woven with weeks of planning.
I did take a certain pride in the perfection of it. I had the glamour of this life down to an art with which to dazzle these naive creatures. But my internal basking was soon broken as the twirling monochrome pairs parted like waters for a plain cassock making its through with ecclesiastical confidence.
They all glanced to me for orders. Meanwhile, I--a crimson blur--descended with preternatural speed to stand in front of the intruder. One moment of haughty glare before a smile began to spread across my features. “It is you.”
Laura smirked back. “Who else?” She reached for my waist as nearly against their will, the others returned to dancing and the orchestra resumed under my telepathic command.
I let my nails subtly scrape the nape of her neck above that starched collar as we began to move in time with the music. “While I appreciate you rising to the proper level of formality, I might point out it’s meant to be a masquerade tonight.”
Her grip was firm as she pulled me closer. I could smell holy incense on her. “I would say my presence here makes this more of a costume now than anything else I could wear.”
I knew her words were meant in good humor, but they drove a sharpness into my heart worse than a stake. My feeble reply was barely more than a whisper. “Not true--you may be here now, but you’ve resisted each and every temptation that I’ve--”
Her lips were as soft as I’d imagined, dripping with the sweetness of well-practiced sacred words, and warm as a midday sun over a summer field. She was the essence of life itself and it was a brutal cup to drink from, even if far less bitter than my usual draughts. I could feel my fangs straying, putting tantalizing pressure on flesh--I pulled away. She spun me on my heels, catching me as I fell.
“And at some point, resistance is the greater lie when it’s done to hide the heart.”
Gently righted once more, I clung to her, head on her shoulder, breath in her ear. “Then what are we to do? Are you here to join me?”
She paused for a moment, eyes sweeping the room, then brushed aside my bangs. “No. To take you away.”
I chuckled lightly, a gesture incongruent with my troubled tone. “I can’t go.”
She looked upset herself, a flustered flash before her expression turned cool and stern. “You don’t really have a choice.”
I tried to react, but she gripped me tightly. From somewhere there was a signal, and overhead, the sprinkler system came to life with the alarms. But it was not the shower one would expect. “A silver suspension...”
She had thrown a coat over me, dragging me off the dance floor and into an unaffected wing--past the rush of priests that had surrounded the place. I could hear young women screaming as their dashing, monstrous lovers dropped to the floor burning.
I glared up at her. “As I said, you have yet to betray your church, but now you’ve certainly done me in.”
There was well-restrained anger in her voice. “I couldn’t leave you to die--but we couldn’t let the lot of you have all those girls, too. Do you know what I went through getting permission for this?” She threw a simple white teadress at me, and I looked at her in confusion. “Put it on! So you fit in with the other hostages.”
“Guests.” Still, I complied, seething at my core but not wounded enough in the honor to become a martyr in this moment. Had I really become that attached to my own food source? To those I had once elaborately fantasized revenge on?
She snorted. “Interesting hospitality, as always.”
“We’re at least well-mannered--which is more than I can say about you bunch of holy hounds.” I tried to turn my nose up as I was doing the buttons--not terribly effective.
She tugged me closer, doing them herself, the smirk back in its place. “Ah, but we have Grace to cover our faults, my queen.”
At least that tension was settled for the moment. We locked hands, and she cracked open the door, checking to see if it was clear.
“But wait--permission? What did you offer in exchange for my life?”
I couldn’t tell if there was a bit of sheepishness, or if she was really zealous enough to see nothing wrong with what came next. “Your oath to serve God and humanity for the rest of your unnatural days.”
Years removed from my birth as a child of the night, the feeling of damnation finally began to sink in.
Piece/Story: Swept Away/Blood Saint
Colors: Colors: Fire Opal 14 (want it so bad, I can taste it); Angel Cake 2 (messenger); Fever Red 17 (water)
Styles/Supplies: Graffiti (Midsummer Night’s Dream prompt)
Word Count: 895
Ratings/Warnings: PG; None
Notes: Another jump into the future with the storyline and a character I have not introduced: episcopalian priest girlfriend.
I could see them moving aside from my place in the balcony, each of my lost boys with his chosen dinner--fine black suits and white satin dresses, all those ornate masks--a beautiful ball. My heart was moved, swaying in time with our demonic orchestra that gave us airy ballads of young love with tragic hooks that urged blossoming passion with terrors about the shortness of life. My smile was serene and immaculate as always, my facade as demigoddess secure as I reigned over the festivities, my fancy giving to flying as my logic remained steadfast and detached from the scene it had carefully woven with weeks of planning.
I did take a certain pride in the perfection of it. I had the glamour of this life down to an art with which to dazzle these naive creatures. But my internal basking was soon broken as the twirling monochrome pairs parted like waters for a plain cassock making its through with ecclesiastical confidence.
They all glanced to me for orders. Meanwhile, I--a crimson blur--descended with preternatural speed to stand in front of the intruder. One moment of haughty glare before a smile began to spread across my features. “It is you.”
Laura smirked back. “Who else?” She reached for my waist as nearly against their will, the others returned to dancing and the orchestra resumed under my telepathic command.
I let my nails subtly scrape the nape of her neck above that starched collar as we began to move in time with the music. “While I appreciate you rising to the proper level of formality, I might point out it’s meant to be a masquerade tonight.”
Her grip was firm as she pulled me closer. I could smell holy incense on her. “I would say my presence here makes this more of a costume now than anything else I could wear.”
I knew her words were meant in good humor, but they drove a sharpness into my heart worse than a stake. My feeble reply was barely more than a whisper. “Not true--you may be here now, but you’ve resisted each and every temptation that I’ve--”
Her lips were as soft as I’d imagined, dripping with the sweetness of well-practiced sacred words, and warm as a midday sun over a summer field. She was the essence of life itself and it was a brutal cup to drink from, even if far less bitter than my usual draughts. I could feel my fangs straying, putting tantalizing pressure on flesh--I pulled away. She spun me on my heels, catching me as I fell.
“And at some point, resistance is the greater lie when it’s done to hide the heart.”
Gently righted once more, I clung to her, head on her shoulder, breath in her ear. “Then what are we to do? Are you here to join me?”
She paused for a moment, eyes sweeping the room, then brushed aside my bangs. “No. To take you away.”
I chuckled lightly, a gesture incongruent with my troubled tone. “I can’t go.”
She looked upset herself, a flustered flash before her expression turned cool and stern. “You don’t really have a choice.”
I tried to react, but she gripped me tightly. From somewhere there was a signal, and overhead, the sprinkler system came to life with the alarms. But it was not the shower one would expect. “A silver suspension...”
She had thrown a coat over me, dragging me off the dance floor and into an unaffected wing--past the rush of priests that had surrounded the place. I could hear young women screaming as their dashing, monstrous lovers dropped to the floor burning.
I glared up at her. “As I said, you have yet to betray your church, but now you’ve certainly done me in.”
There was well-restrained anger in her voice. “I couldn’t leave you to die--but we couldn’t let the lot of you have all those girls, too. Do you know what I went through getting permission for this?” She threw a simple white teadress at me, and I looked at her in confusion. “Put it on! So you fit in with the other hostages.”
“Guests.” Still, I complied, seething at my core but not wounded enough in the honor to become a martyr in this moment. Had I really become that attached to my own food source? To those I had once elaborately fantasized revenge on?
She snorted. “Interesting hospitality, as always.”
“We’re at least well-mannered--which is more than I can say about you bunch of holy hounds.” I tried to turn my nose up as I was doing the buttons--not terribly effective.
She tugged me closer, doing them herself, the smirk back in its place. “Ah, but we have Grace to cover our faults, my queen.”
At least that tension was settled for the moment. We locked hands, and she cracked open the door, checking to see if it was clear.
“But wait--permission? What did you offer in exchange for my life?”
I couldn’t tell if there was a bit of sheepishness, or if she was really zealous enough to see nothing wrong with what came next. “Your oath to serve God and humanity for the rest of your unnatural days.”
Years removed from my birth as a child of the night, the feeling of damnation finally began to sink in.
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Yeeeeeeah, it makes more sense in context. Hopefully I'll get my writing caught up to this point? |D