nestingdevil | ➥ OPEN POST | image, lyrics, prompts, etc

[ She knew better than to be here.

A thousand times and a thousand ways, she knew better than to be here. But no one had forced her to write the letter that arranged -- yet another -- meeting with him.

Here, being the secluded back her gardens. Stone walls and roses set against them. The lantern flickering on the ground and casting the place in a warm, soft light. Though she was never very good blending into shadows. Her red hair left free and her dress pulled up past her knee as she walked idly paced.

In her mind, she composed the words to end this. To force this to be over. Would that she had half the strength to say that in the face of what she wanted. Stupid, all of it, as if he cared half so much.

She wasn't even sure she did either. But she wanted to meet him, to see him again. To feel something other than frustration and contempt and hidden bemusement for those around her. God almighty, spare her her own pathetic need to be herself.

And let her spare some of her own dignity. ]

[ It's not a surprise that Alec can't figure out what Greed is getting from their mutual association, but it is a little bit of a surprise that it bothers him so much. After all, it's clear the other man is possessive to a degree that's ridiculous, and it's only the fact that Alec doesn't think he's worth having that keeps him from chafing under it. ]

[ There's an undertone of danger, as well, that Alec likes, no matter how many times that Greed assures that he's not going to hurt him. There was that with Richard, and Alec imagines Greed as the sort of man who's capable of killing a lover, particularly if the lover spurned him. ]

[ That's not really the point, because Alec's not that sort of manipulative, couldn't manage intimacy if it were only going to be false. It's just part of the appeal, the potential for violence, even if Alec likes to watch it as much or more than he likes to be its recipient. ]

Are you a man used to getting everything you want, or just what you need?

[ As far as openings for flirting go, it's awkward, but this is one arena where Alec isn't confident of his own knowledge, nor capable of acting that way regardless. ]

[ Her greeting to him was some mock formality, hardly so kind, in truth, if anyone knew what smiling eyes could hide. But all the same, with a love and a kindness she kept for only the most naive of children, she pressed a kiss to his cheek, her hand curling to cup his jaw. A lover, a wife, or an old friend. No one was ever bold enough to say what she meant by such an action. But to her, as ever, it was a game of smiles and twisted meaning.

And sweet as the gesture was, it was contrasted, by the blade she pressed into his hand, a gift and a request all at once. The blade was plain, no stones decorated it, though there was a carving engraved alone the pommel. There were a hundred blades like it in the city. It was why she had given it to him. It would be untraceable. ]

I've work for you, if you'd like it.

[ As if he would have no idea what that work was, like this was a meeting done in proud daylight and not in a back alley. Like they were respectable gentlemen. But she turned, trusting him enough to not run her through like a wild animal ( and so many said she was). Her skirts clutched in one hand and held as she navigated the old blood stains on the floor, like she could see them even now. Above it, even if she caused it. ]

"Dust devil swept you away
It's still not real
Ash and urn and silence
Talk to me."
Puscifer - Horizons

Edited 2014-02-17 03:42 (UTC)

Dawn always brought one or two things. It was either the news of the day, highlighted in the next rebellion, the next uproar in a city long away. Or it was a semi-haze of quiet. As shops reopened and vendors poured onto the street to readying their wares. Today, the latter was true. The rustling of early-morning workers took to the cobblestone streets like an act well-rehearsed. Pulling carts from side-alleys, setting up ice from buckets that still smelled of yesterday.

Greed hardly ever got the chance to see it.

But he had plans - big plans.

Covetous fingers snatched an apple as he passed by. A flick of a coin behind him shut any protest that would have followed and he bent and turned. Chasing the flurry of movement with one of his own. To anyone who didn't know, he looked the part of a staggering drunk trying to find his way home. Or one of those others. That had long since lost their mind to the trails and tribulations of the day.

Neither were true.

Greed snapped at the curved side of an apple. Sliced his teeth right in and pulled. He didn't need it, not really. Not like the people around him needed it and it was more a casual luxury at best. His coat tails whipped behind him - hard leather, worn, and he sunk his head forward to peel away from the thick tangle of fur at his collar.

He had been stationed in Reole for about a week now and everything had gone to schedule. The whispers in the streets, the hushed words at the edge of ears that were just itching to pull the trigger. To hold up knives and cry, "Enough!" That hadn't been his doing, though. She had handled that all on her own.

But the bloodshed was becoming boring. The body-toll turning to nothing more than a waste. And the Avaricious felt himself gnawing at the bit more and more each day.

There was a train. One primed and ready to head south. That was his ticket and they'd never see it coming. In all of the commotion, in the fires that would follow - he would be long gone and by then, it'd be far too late for any of them to figure it out.

A grin slid up his face and Greed tossed the apple into the air. Caught it with a quick-snatch of the wrist. He passed by a beggar and dropped the rest into a tin-can.

"Thank you, kind sir. For your charity," he heard in his passing.

Greed tossed his hand over his head without a second glance. His private smile deadly and unseen. "It's not charity friend - I'm just not that good of a guy."

“You have the oddest tastes in clothing.” Came her voice from the bathroom. It’s a teasing tone, one she’s grown more than comfortable using with him over the months. He, strangely enough, had become her comfort and a stability in her life that she had never expected. They were such opposites on so many levels that everything somehow managed to balance, and after a while, Velma simply ceased attempting to find the logic in them.

Not when she was having such a damn good time of herself.

Normally, she wouldn’t have had the confidence to indulge such attire, but that was before, when her self confidence in that arena left much to be desired. Now, her confidence was no longer an issue. Greed had personally seen to that with surprising patience. Greed was also the reason she was slipping on that particular dress and boots, and despite the fact that she wore them entirely for his benefit, to indulge his tastes, Velma felt a flushed thrill roll through her. He had the tendency to bring out this sexier side of her more and more as of late, but she never even thought to complain.

The door to the bathroom creaked open and she stepped out, arm holding the front of the dress in place as she turned around. The zipper was open, exposing the bare skin of her back in a coy sort of triangle, pointing south toward the curve of her rear. With a sultry look she had long since perfected on him, Velma glanced over her shoulder to him, eyes slightly lidded to play into the part.

“Can you help with my zipper?” The question was soft, almost innocent sounding at how she asked it. Who knew she could still do innocent after all this time?

[Unknown, 1804.]

[The sea licked up the shoreline. Rolling softly across the edge, caressing it with fingers foamed in white as it trailed back out again. The tide was starting to drain; with the moon overhead as its signal and the waves slowly rocked away. Leaving behind trails to where the water had been, soaking the sand black in the wee-hours of morning.]

[Bottles rolled across the edge, making the sand shift where it still stayed dry. Greed often found himself at the shoreline. After a few deals down at the docks; trading intel and whatever-else came off the murky-bows of the ships lined there. Some knew his name, knew his face. Knew that if they were wise, the business was good. Others were naive to the fact and the charm was easy to put on. With a flip of the hand and a devil's smile: "Do we have a deal?".]

[But business was over, which left the Sin in question to walk out the remaining hours. He had already his fill, though even that was an impossibility. The fur-lining of his long-leather coat smelled of it - of women, of men. Of smoke and liquor and everything else that was damned by law and creed.]

[Not that he followed those rules, anyway.]

[Greed picked at the threads of his jacket. The sleeves had been ripped off, a novice effort that left strands behind. He turned his head, dipped himself low as he followed the tide-line with each roll of his ankle. Like this, he looked the part of a shadow. A ghoulish sort of creature; with a Cheshire's grin to rival the moon hanging above as he pocketed his hands and fingered the gold and coin that bounced back.]

[He saw it first; the outline of something - someone - pooled out in the dark. A hand stretched to the beckoning land and the rest of the body left for the tide to rock it. He made a noise in his throat, pulling his lip back just so.] What a waste. [The Sin came close, shuffling through the bleach-white sand as he rounded the body.]

[With his knees splayed out, the Sin crouched down and stretched out his hand. His nails touched gnarled hair, winding it around as sea-salt dripped across his palm.]

Fuck Yeah Give It To Me

[In order to keep alive and stay alive, he knew he needed someone above himself. Someone who could take care of anything that came his way. Let's be real, there weren't a whole lot of people who Grit knew were above him in the rankings. This was a place that a human should not be and in order to, you know, not die, he had to find a way to actually be here.

Enter a seedy ass bar that he heard took in misfits. Okay so a human wasn't really a misfit, but it had to be worth something, right? At least he was trying to live.

The place was empty, and all that he could see was one man with slicked hair and a vest that made him look way too creepy for his own good. He walked right over and placed his hand on the table.]

Howdy. Are you hirin' for anything?

[Might as well make himself useful before he dropped the 'oh yeah please house me']

➥ How it works |
Prompts are the usual: lyrics, music, photo, whatever. Canon, AU. Because sometimes violence is the answer.

They always met at the same time. When the sun gave up its light; when the moon returned the favor. Time seemed to still at this hour. Doors were locked, flames were lit. Windows were latched, though that never ended up being much a problem.

Not for him, not for the other. And certainly, she always made sure to keep the handle just a little bit loose.

The window to the balcony swayed open. A light breeze took it the rest of the way, making it bang and flap uselessly against the adorning frame. The air was a chill-cool. Wafting in from a far-off shore that smelt of salt still thick from the day; with the undertone of sticky oil holding. And like the very substance, he came. Birthed from a blackness that he seemed to adore. It crept into his everything - the leather on his legs, the bend of his boots. To the shivering-sharp spikes of his hair.

A criminal to most, a monster to some, and the devil in this would-be meeting of unlikely bed-mates.

Greed ran his fingers down his chest, raising his head to take a look inside. He chased the furthest reaches of the wall. Following where moonlight touched him, turning him an ashy gray. This was the way it had to be; the way she silently demanded it to be. A place of solitude and scheming.

Of which it was a private party of three.

A sliver of gold was pulled from his pocket: his calling card. The coin was small, smooth. Rough at the edges. He placed it on the corner of a desk in plain sight.

It was only a waiting game now.

Years. He had been here for years. Watching as mankind changed; as wars he had no interest in came and went. Progress marched on and he watched it go. As villages turned to cities, as cities expanded to stretch high, high, high. People came, people went.

Yet he was still there. Without a hitch of change on his face, without a single scar of time to his name.

He didn't forget, either. The memories of a life long-since passed, the last moments still lingering. But as the years slipped away, old wounds healed and eventually, it was like old times. In a bar settled deep within the heart of an old city, the neon lights buzzed on. The old, familiar crowd followed. Creatures that lost themselves to myth and legend, humans who could find no where to belong. Some came in passing, others stayed. Telling stories of heaven and hell; of hunters that would soon follow.

Not that he particularly cared.

2015 came in the same whirlwind of celebration as the last. New York, with its infamous ball-drop, called more than the usual and the bar had been more crowded in the weeks before. Some drunk away to forget the yester-years, others drank for things to come. And still, he was just there. Taking and spinning them for all they were worth.

A devil by a different name.

Greed casually flicked the bar sign on, listening as the electric hum sounded off through the panes of glass. New York had become his final resting place and he had seen it all; the vast expanse of Europe, the deep south. And in his search, he had swindled them all: of cash, of information. Only to disappear to the next, mapping a trail that led him straight back: New York.

The city that never slept; the city that held enough information to keep his attention.

The Devil's Nest was quiet by late afternoon and the Sin pressed his hand into the back of his skull. He forced his palm to the dip of his neck, making his skull lull to the side with a lazy crack. A groan escaped him; hushing out of his lips as he let his arm sag to the side with a boneless fall.

No, the years didn't matter. The place didn't matter. In the end, it was the same: business. His business. And for a creature who wanted it all?

It was never, ever enough.

[ Lightning silently berated herself as she was led through dark, dimly-lit hallways, the stone walls cold and damp to the touch, completely bare except for the occasional basic iron strut for a wooden torch. She doesn't know how far underground this cellar extends to, or if anyone could find her - if the church would even bother to attempt to rescue her. Had she'd been captured and brought anywhere else, they would had made some sort of attempt of a rescue, even if it was only for show. But here, in the heart of enemy territory, a prisoner in the dungeons of very headquarters? They'd probably written her off for dead and were preparing to send their condolences to her sister.

And it was her fault - a brief moment, where she had let down her guard, where exhaustion seeped into her bones and her focus wavered - only a moment, but that had been all they had needed. Even if she was a demon hunter, she was still only one woman, and she could only hold out for so long. Now she was their prisoner, arms bound behind her and pondering over the command given to her captors by their leader, as he had looked her over as she'd glared up at him, defiant and proud even in defeat, and his lip curled in amusement as he laughed.

Leave her with our other guest. I'm sure they'll enjoy each others company.

Who else was here? Lightning hadn't heard of anyone else being captured - at least, not captured alive. But her question is soon answered, as the knots tying her hands are loosened before she's thrown face first into her cell - which, to her surprise, is surprisingly spacious. Refusing to give them the satisfaction of hearing her cry out, she still can't hold back a sharp grunt as skin scrapes against stone but that's enough to them. She hears them bark a laugh as the door behind her clicks shut, before their footsteps and harsh, barking laughter grow fainter and fainter.

There's someone in here with her, of course, and she tries to figure out who, while she works her hands free as her eyes adjust to the darkness, trying make sense of the shadows. Unlike her, as she slips free, wrists red and raw from the rope rubbing against them, they're still bound - and, it seems, the reason why the cell is so large. A massive crucifix towers in the room, made of either stone or metal; it's hard to tell exactly what, with its surface darkened with age and pitted with runes and inscriptions. And hanging on that stone cross, is a man - arms spread open, pinned to the object with heavy, steel chains, each link covered in painstakingly chiseled runes.

It seems rather overkill for a mere human - but as she pushes herself up from the stone floor, her hand brushes against a carved rune into the floor that flickers at her touch; the letters and shapes light up briefly, revealing the cell completely etched with symbols and letters of binding, disturbed as if she'd thrown a stone into a still pond, before fading back into darkness.

And she recognizes some of these runes and symbols, bits and pieces of inscriptions. She's used them in her work, in hunting her quarry and prey; to bind and trap them before ultimately destroying them. ]

Demon!

[ Lightning spits out the word as if it were a curse, springing to her feet as she reaches for a weapon that's no longer there to strike him down. Too late, she bitterly remembers that of course they'd stripped her of all her weapons; all she can do is crouch against the ground and glare at the bound devil, looking as if she'd love to spit in his face. ]

● her hair was long, her foot was light, and her eyes were wild.

no subject

● ( pray ) 'cause no body ever survives

➥ CLOSED | @tigerscub