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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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.

"It doesn't hurt," he allows. Now, though, he finds he has to try and keep himself from thinking about the two of them fucking in the flowers at the church. Never mind the fact that Aerith would probably have a fit, if they did. It's going to take time before he stops seeing phantoms of their flings everywhere. It's going to take time for him to really trust her again.

"Though, I'd rather not -- " He starts, stops, tries again. "Can we talk about something that's not -- " The fucking incubus. Or her fucking the incubus. He needs to get away from this, mentally, for a bit.

There were never any trysts at the church, sir. But unless Damien insists on knowing where on threat of death, she'll never tell him that tended to keep things outdoors, because that helps no one.

With his distress mounting once more, Melinoë tries to change the subject and latches onto the first, albeit random, thing that crosses her mind.

"If I ever am able to communicate with the dead again, would you want ghost Snoopy around?"

He appreciates both the lack of specifics and the subject change -- not to mention the moment he has to take, after the latter, to think about that. It's nice to have something on his mind other than where she may not have been having sex and who with.

"Wouldn't that be a strain? Having him around, constantly?" he asks after a moment.

"Depends on how much this place gives back. If I'm fully powered, it'll be the equivalent of blinking or breathing. So...I guess we would have to try it out and see what happens." Though Mel's been worrying at her lower lip, it's not driven by uncertainty over the ghost-cat situation but because she's still not fully relaxed. She's more so than earlier, obviously, but there's still a minor moat that needs crossing.

If she knows how to get over that last, little speedbump, Damien would be willing to hear it. Otherwise -- well, he's still a little tense, himself, which is why they're discussing the superpowered version of the weather. He recognizes it as such, but he's not really sure what to do here, either, to fix them.

"Maybe you could try teaching it that you should have power, somehow," he offers, instead, after a minute. "This place seems -- like a toddler, almost." Still learning, kind of stupid. Kaiba managed to teach it how concrete should work, though, and that seems to have stuck. Maybe she can convince it that talking to the dead is a perfectly normal thing for her to be able to do.

"Speaking of, there's...I wanted to show you something. If you're willing. A temple showed up recently; it's not one dedicated to me, those haven't been discovered in the modern world as of yet, but it's Greek and I'll take it." She lifts a hand with the intentions of playfully poking him, but changes her mind and lets the hand drop unceremoniously. "I was coming over to get you to see if you would accompany me. I was waiting to fully explore it."

Stupid mortal making her sound stupid.

Damien isn't sure he wants to go anywhere, right now (save for maybe Heavenly Blanc for those drinks, plural, he mentioned earlier), emotionally exhausted as he is. He's also not sure he wants to endure another round of arguing, however, assuming his refusal somehow manages to give her a second wind on that front. He's too mentally bloodied for that, too. Maybe later, he'll change his mind, find his own heart or temper or whatever you want to call it, but right now? Well, maybe it's better to go along, to get along. Maybe, if nothing else, actually getting up will help, somehow -- maybe an intellectual pursuit will.

He shifts a little under her, that in mind, a preamble to getting up. "Why not?" A beat. "Which god?"

If not hers, then who?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Time To Roll The Dice ;

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject