tabularasa_rp | Time To Roll The Dice ;

Current Mood: gloomy
Current Location: Room 108 & Beach
Current Music: Villain - K/DA

Entry tags:

Time To Roll The Dice ;

Who: Damien Brenks & Melinoë (featuring a mention of Merlin).    // + Viridi & Mel
What: An overdue argument post-Dream World.    // Lamenting being de-powered again.
Where: Merlaut Apartments; Room 108/-9     // Takoba Beach
When: Within a few days of Awakening and returning to the Void.
Content Warnings: Language, sexual references, arguing (for the Dae/Mel portion).

Without her ghosts and abilities, life after the spell of sleeping has returned to being rather dull for the Goddess. Though there are the flower shoppe and garden to occupy time (and how strangely relieving it is to have such a concept returned, even as oddly kept as it is), it compares not to the gifts of divinity. For that, Melinoë has entered a slump of sorts, hardly venturing out and resorting to staring out the window forlornly or filling apartment 108 with things collected from the beach or gathered in the woods. Some materials have been used to recreate the adventures enjoyed within the dreamworld, one section of wall turned scrapbook. There are 2D ghosts, a cello, and the floating fortress from Merlin’s world.

The mage himself has recently departed and she’s simply hovering in the doorway with a vacant expression, debating leaving for fresh air or something, or returning to moping within her home.

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He doesn't move, doesn't flinch. He likes to think that he wouldn't, even if she had some power to back up that invasion of space, fueled as he is by his own anger, that his balls are made of brass. It's hard to tell if he could really maintain his indignity, his righteous anger if she had a real means of threatening him. It's a moot point, anyway.

"Does this look like your goddamn academy?"

He scoffs, takes a half-step backwards, then, though still without giving up space, and reaches to pinch at the bridge of his nose. When he drops his hand again, he starts, "My God! I don't -- "

He doesn't know where he's going with that, but he should have known better. Women are nothing but trouble, people are nothing but trouble, and he has a storied history of being hurt by others. He never should have gotten involved with her -- him and his fucking ego. He never should have gotten involved with anyone here, romantically or otherwise. It makes you fragile ...

Apologies to anyone who hears their argument escalate.

Because now, now Melinoë screams at him, "Non, it doesn't look like my academy, because if it had, if it was, then I WOULDN'T BE SO FUCKING USELESS!"

She's panting from the effort, teeth gritted and the hand not waving madly for emphasis clenched so tightly that the nails are biting pale skin, skin that wouldn't break as easily 'at the goddamn academy', skin that was worshiped and relished.

It's remembering who was at the school that begins to get Mel seeing things from Damien's perspective. Discussions of exclusivity in relationships wasn't a given there. And neither were mortals with their limited ways and hearts.

"Welcome to my world, sweetheart!" he snaps back. His phone still does nothing, ultimately, even if works now. He's still outclassed by everyone here -- or would be, if they had their powers back, even if he had his. He couldn't stop Akechi from getting killed, even if the boy's apparently fine, now. He hasn't ben able to do anything about Hornet. He still gets shot in the fucking head, if and when he ever goes home. Oh, and his girlfriend is apparently fucking around on him.

She thinks she has it bad? At least she fucking matters in some way to someone, somewhere. He apparently doesn't.

Her quick laugh is devoid of any mirth or joy as she grabs at her hair while shaking her head. Mumbling 'Jesus fucking Christ' in Italian, Melinoë groans, "What are you even talking about, Damien? Is this...is this the fucking leg? Or that you can't hack the world yet? Things that have actual solutions if you'd be patient or stop hating yourself for two fucking seconds??!"

"Pot, kettle."

Maybe if she'd just ~be patient for two fucking seconds~, maybe she'd get her powers back. Maybe she'd stop feeling completely useless.

"But no," he continues after a beat, "this isn't a 'fucking leg thing'." It might admittedly be a self-loathing thing (or maybe more a misanthropy thing, right now) but he'd never cop to it. He's not feeling particularly open in his upset. He tried that and look where it's gotten him.

Though eyes glower and she wants to growl like a feline or canine would, Melinoë just swallows hard and draws in a much need breath, slowly.

"Then kindly explain what you meant by that, Signore Brenks." Her tone is almost robotic in its attempt at calm and serious.

Damien glares back, eyebrows raising at the question, at the feigned formality, unimpressed. Does she really need to fucking ask? Is she really that fucking naïve or stupid or -- whatever label you want to put on it? He blows out a breath, a scoff, before he shakes his head.

"Well, clearly, I don't matter to you." Clearly, he's not 'useful' to her, or she wouldn't be whoring around on him.

Tongue clicks in irritation, in mild disgust that he feels that way, but she refrains from rolling her eyes. Mel tightly crosses arms across herself as she gets into Damien's space, careful to not touch him.

She stares daggers while spitting verbal ones, "You are so fucking stupid if you truly believe that."

The cruel parts that reside in all beings struggles to not say things meant to hurt, things that are always regretted afterwards. It's cheap and only fleetingly satisfying. And it won't accomplish anything. So Mel struggles to withhold that level of poison.

Despite the fact that there are, apparently, worse poisons Mel could use against him, the insult to his intelligence still stings. He straightens, making his physicality, his height over hers very obvious, and glowers down at her.

"Why else would you be sleeping around?" Why, if he mattered, if he was enough for her? "Why else would you demand I 'devote myself' to you, then refuse to show me the same fucking courtesy?" Yes, this really is that big a deal to him. His ego demands she be faithful to him and only him, if she really cares at all.

Edited 2020-11-29 19:14 (UTC)

Silly, little mortal thinking his height over her, a fucking Goddess, matters. She could tear his stubborn mind to shreds, could deal him a fate worse than death. Instead, Melinoë grinds her teeth before speaking further.

"You're behaving as though I'm fucking half the population. He's half-incubus; it was only and ever just.sex." Her foot stomps on those words, harder the second time. "And I don't love him!" Mel half-smacks, half-shoves Damien's shoulder, filling the space with outrage and passion, trying to accommodate for her spindly self. He won't intimate her.

Later, knowing that, Damien may hold Merlin accountable for all of this, him obviously the seducer, here. Maybe he'll add him to his to-main list, along with Hornet and Aiden, should the latter ever show up here. Maybe, but right now, his blind rage is still focused on her, and doubly so as she swats at him. He takes a half-step back, then rocks back into the space he vacated, she made him vacate, all but sneering, now.

"If you love me so goddamn much -- " He grasps the implication there, even if, at the moment, he doesn't believe it. She may not be fucking half the population, she may be for all he knows and for how casual she is about sex, but either way it doesn't matter. Either way, one or one hundred, it's a betrayal, and he's never suffered those well. " -- then why are you so fucking keen on hurting me?"

She refuses to back down, hands back into white-knuckled fists, and Mel speaks so swiftly that it almost comes out as one gargantuan word. "Because-it's-never-been-an-issue-before!!" She deflates somewhat, as things begin to catch up and sort themselves. As some logic peaks through the rush of emotions. "I didn't know, because I didn't think."

Didn't consider Damien's mortality and what all that entails, didn't think about the implications. Ignorance is not a pretty accessory and Melinoë isn't comfortable with the feeling.

Shit.

It isn't that she's fooled herself into thinking this is at all similar to the academy, but with there being a majority of non-mortals, it had held some semblance of familiarity, enough to continue behaving as she had previously.

"You didn't think," he repeats, some of his fire giving way to frost. That's the root of the problem here, now isn't it? She didn't think. "Wonder if my ex-wife thought, before she served me our divorce papers."

Probably not. Seems like no one fucking thinks about him, and that's the problem, isn't it? That's why he's so damn bitter, why he ended up, if Aiden is to be believed, the bad guy. Because not one person in his entire fucking life has thought about him and how their actions might make him feel.

Her jaw drops and she gasps loudly. In the same moment, Mel raises a hand and slaps Damien across the face. "How d-- don't you -- I am not that woman. Her divorcing you had nothing to do with you, which I'll keep trying to drill into that stupidio head of yours." Even if he leaves her, if this is over.

Though Melinoë hadn't been able to relate to being married, she had been able to empathise; it was damn difficult not taking things of that nature personally, and as irrational as it had been when Ryūō disappeared, Mel had also gone through a period of assuming it'd been something she had done. Been too forward, or not helpful enough, or just plain not enough. But then reason won out. The dragon needed to return to Japan. It in no way involved his teaching assistant.

Edited 2020-12-01 20:09 (UTC)

Head cocked to one side under the force of the impact, Damien sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, and as he does, it's like all the air gets sucked out of the room right along with it. He stands there for a moment, watching her from the corners of her eyes, a sneer tugging at his lips, and then --

"Touch me again."

It's not an invitation, but a warning.

She weighs 125 pounds and harbors little doubt that, despite her rather tall height, Damien could easily dominate her. Melinoë - no, Dulcinea, is all spider-thin limbs and even with the leg-brace Damien is more grounded. So, there's a moment wherein three separate scenarios speedily race about her mind until two crash and burn, leaving Mel with what is likely the least hostile reaction.

The Goddess's features twitch from the tension of how fiercely she's scowling as she slides forward and appears to throw air at the mortal. She has absolutely no idea if it'll register some sort of physical or mental effect, as she herself is unable to receive blessings, but she also doesn't.give.a fuck.

Damien turns his attentions back to her in full as she slips up to him, the muscles in his back tensing, as he expects her to hit him again. For all that he does outclass her in height, in weight, he doesn't want to get knocked over, unprepared, he doesn't want to give her that satisfaction. Thankfully, her getting in his face isn't to slap him again, and he relaxes at once, scoffing.

"How mature."

Because he mistakes the 'blessing', for all that it does nothing, as a show of not touching him, like a child might do. He supposes that's what he gets, too, for dating a child. For all her supposed centuries, he's almost twice her fucking age, physically. He supposes that's what he gets for dating one of the crazy ones, as he marked her, when they first fucking met.

"So says the boy who - " Mouth screws up and trembles from the effort of swallowing the venom she meant to spew. Teeth gritted so hard they're sure to crack, break, Melinoë explains what the fuck she just did. "I gave you my blessing, Damien Brenks. I can't very well do any-fucking-thing else, so you can take that and fucking choke on it for all that I care. You want me all to yourself? Fine."

Mel stomps back into her own room and rummages through her clothes until she finds something that will work. Stalking back out into the hall, she's tying a length of ribbon about her wrist with the crazed intentions of affixing herself to him or his door or something in his room, because it's just emotions and id running wild now. This was why deities avoided attaching themselves to mortals.

He softens a little at that, then, caught off guard. Considering the tenor of the conversation, the fact that she fucking slapped him, he wasn't expecting a blessing. That seems too nice, too kind. Maybe he's wrong, maybe there's still something sinister here, to match the tone of the argument, but --

-- but then she returns with the ribbon, and he shakes his head, more of his temper giving way to confusion. Is this some kind of red thread of fate thing? He has no idea, and so, after a beat, he demands, "What are you doing?"

Looking as crazy as he keeps thinking she is, and upon reflection later, Melinoë may feel embarrassed, but she's too far gone in the rollercoaster argument that this has become.

Damien drawing attention to her latest escapade does manage to get a pause, one wherein she's staring at the ribbon and not moving, frozen with the tied arm up in front of her and the other in mid-final wrap. And it's suddenly not worth it, because his door will be locked and she'll have to demand that he opens it, and the spiral will just continue its insanity.

Both limbs drop, the black ribbon hanging like a discarded leash and in a contrast to the volume and vitriol previously, the Goddess rather dully answers, "Clearly, I'm locking myself up in your room."

At first, she was gazing at a spot on the floor but aubergine eyes raise enough to catch Damien's.

He studies her for a moment, more and more of his upset giving way to confusion. This is insane. She's sending mixed signals, between slapping him and now this. He's not sure if they're still fighting or not. Should he still be fighting? If a display of insanity in her play, here, for all that it's one of her domains, it's clearly working at least enough to catch him off guard.

After a moment more, he shakes his head. "Just -- get in the room."

Minus the part where she ties herself up. Maybe they should be having this argument behind closed doors, if nothing else. Maybe they should both grow the fuck up and talk rather than argue.

They most certainly should have from the start, because there is very little chance Merlin (in the least) didn't hear some of their heated exchanges. But it's done, and either they keep rudely and savagely occupying the space or they escalate things to the next phase.

She stares back for a moment before reaching over to close her own door, adding, "Isn't your door locked?" He didn't specify which apartment, so she'll be stubborn out of spite. Or something. There's no toxicity in her tone, it's still tired and quiet. If anything, the anger and offense if giving way to the sadder side of things.

Did he tell her his door was locked? Is his door locked? Did he even remember to lock it? In the heat of the moment, the argument, in the confusion that's followed, he's not sure, in either case. The door probably is locked, given that he doesn't want just anyone walking into his room, without his permission, and it's still force of habit to lock it without thinking, but --

-- but he shakes his head, dismissing the train of thought, and a touch of anger (or at least frustration) resurfacing, he levels a frown at her before moving to get his door, himself. He gestures for her to lead the way, before he repeats, "Just get inside."

Not fully recovered from her own ragmatic feelings, the temptation to use a mocking tone and repeat his own words is high, but Melinoë is able to tamp it down and just give Damien a very minor glare on her way past him instead.

She moves inside enough to give him room to follow, but she doesn't go any further.

Following her inside, he closes the door behind him, then scoots around her, heading for the couch he's had dragged up from the beach -- the centerpiece of his makeshift living room. Flopping down on it, he reaches up to scrub a hand over his face before turning his attentions back to her, a frown on his lips. In this moment, he's not sure he wants to argue anymore. He's just so fucking tired, now.

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