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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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.

She remains in place and crosses her arms, ignoring the ribbon for the moment so that it hangs down like a slumbering serpent. She won't hold his gaze, though Mel does look at him in between looking all around the apartment, like she hasn't committed it to memory by now.

"I meant what I said."

"Not to sound contrary -- " Because he really doesn't, right now. Again with the part where the weight of the last however long is catching up to him. He's just so fucking Tired. " -- but which part, exactly?"

Fidgeting and absolutely not looking at Damien as her arms tighten and her nails are practically digging half-moons into them, she explains herself in an almost neutral tone. "That I love you." Melinoë chews on her lip for a moment, then adds a little more heatedly, possibly more desperately, "And it wasn't deliberate. I'm not Aphrodite, I don't fuck with hearts like that. I've been used to my way of things, in my world. But this isn't that place and I should have realized...well, I can't change that, it happened, but I can stop it from happening again if that's what it takes."

He shifts, trying (a little futilely, all things considered) to turn on the couch to face her. She doesn't want to look at him; he absolutely wants to look at her, studies her, frowning.

"Please -- " fucking " -- please do," he insists. He's not yelling again, not vicious, violent if only verbally, but there's a rise in something his tone. A ghost of them shouting in the hallway. "You want to be with me, then be with me."

He pauses, shifting a little more or trying to, straightening, and then adds, "You asked for my devotion, once, and I gave it. I want it back." He wants her devotion.

That gets her to look at him, though, and her arms even drop. Regardless of them having moved into his room, she clearly wasn't expecting things to go in that direction. Mel was expecting more vitriol, and if not an end, then a 'break'.

So she somewhat stupidly asks with eyes blinking a little too much, "You still want me?"

Like she's questioning his choices or capability of thinking. And it's not an insult, but in her shock, Melinoë is...just that. Shocked. Trying to catch up.

"Should I not?" he wonders coolly, eyebrows arching. It would be easier not to, more in line with his usual behavior, second chances not usually something he deals in, but well. He's not going to say he's in love, and maybe blinded by it as much as he's hurt, but maybe he's in love.

"It's not my place to say what you should and should not do, but you were rather vehement about...everything." Mel pulls on her fingers one at a time before slowly crossing over to sit on the small table before him. With a deep intake and purple gaze on Damien, she wishes to speak Italian to him, but realizes that'd be pointless. "I'm sorry for assuming."

"I meant everything."

Maybe. Sort of. Again, he's having trouble remembering what, exactly, he said, in his upset. He is, at least, sure that he's not thrilled by the idea of her sleeping around, regardless of whether or not it was just force of habit. It can't happen again.

He also still pretty sure he needs a drink, but -- later.

She's nodding, albeit slowly, clearly having an inner conversation or weighing things, this being a rather drastic agreement for a deity. Only it doesn't last nearly as long as Melinoë would have thought. She expected the decision to be more difficult, and yet the words are almost bubbling up of their own accord when she looks at Damien intently, fiercely, and agrees, "Then I'm yours."

Because at some point, the Goddess fell in love with the mortal.

If she hadn't been so vehement about it, Damien might make her swear on -- something. He's not sure what he would have asked her to hold up against a vow, but he supposes it doesn't matter. Still, after a beat to manage his shattered expectations, he reminds her, "And only mine. Wholly."

Her stomach drops, like it's experiencing negative g-force, like the drop of a steep incline, and it makes her breath catch. Whereas in some other time it might make her balk at his audacity to claim her, Melinoë only feels wanton and somehow special to have enraptured someone so. Her eyes are filled with nothing but liquid lust and she very nearly pounces, even presses down on the balls of her feet in preparation, but just barely manages to rein herself in. Just because Damien still, apparently, wants her doesn't mean he wants her in this moment.

"I didn't necessarily mean right this second," he tells her on the heel of a bark of a laugh. There's still not much humor in the sound. Regardless, after a beat, he shifts a little in his seat, making room for her on the couch. "Just -- come and sit."

If they do end up having sex, here, in the near future, it will be a slower thing, lessfrenetic than usual -- or at very least less so than the look on her face implies.

Tongue clucks and arms come up to complete the childish pout and tone. "I can't help it that you made me wet," she grumbles, though Mel's already huffily curling up beside him. She doesn't quite make contact, managing to display a slight weariness for all that occurred previously. Melinoë may certainly be carrying out a mental fantasy involving spanking by way of 'punishment', but she's also letting Damien break the physical silence. Or at least trying to.

Still a little bitter, Damien finds he has to bite back a comment on how Melinoë's wetness may not be because of him but the fucking incubus, considering, as far as he's aware, they just fucked. At least his own emotional exhaustion makes it easier to swallow. At least he doesn't hesitate much, in shifting to put an arm around her and pull her close. At least he can write it off, if she notices, calls him on it.

Whatever rigidity was being exercised melts away at his touch and she's quick to fold and fit against and slightly atop him. Mel reaches for one of Damien's hands and links their fingers, concentrating on the motions as if they require much thought.

"His visit today wasn't carnal." It has to be plaguing him and it's a rational enough conclusion to draw. "In case you needed to hear that." Another beat passes. "I help him with his garden every so often, especially since I work with Aerith and her flowers now." The latter of which she's merely reminding him about, having come over the day her employment began in a whirlwind of jubilance at now having something else to occupy time with.

Time To Roll The Dice ;

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