No Devil

...but wait!

Or ur devil...

Someone like you.

Those are the words that confused her a bit. Was he calling her good? Was he calling her determined? Either way…she could tell he meant it as some type of compliment and that much makes her feel a little soft. Did she believe herself to be those things? Maybe she would have any other day, but right now she was super in her feels to thing CLEARLY that’s for sure.

That is, until she listens to all he has to say. He’s absolutely right, she knows this, but there’s something she can’t quite figure out.

“We were friends for a good while before…..whatever it was we had. And I’d like to say I knew him but…..I feel it’s more like I knew the parts of him he only wanted to show me. I….THOUGHT I knew him at those times….but I’m starting to realize a lot of things now that the rose colored glasses are off.”

“Romance and love are…..complicated for me. I know no love is truly perfect and that both parties have to make their own sacrifices and efforts for things to work the best they can. I think what I was in love with….was the person I knew him to be, but not the person he was completely. Seeing just how many hardships he had that he was keeping from me and refused to let me truly understand….I would never TRULY know who he was. He’d rather have pretended his trauma didn’t exist and then when he had episodes I didn’t know what to do….he refused to acknowledge it and just told me ‘just leave me alone and I’ll get over it. That’s how it’s always been’. Looking back on it now…..I was foolishly hopeful. Hopeful that one day he’d be ready to open up and talk to me and acknowledge everything and finding a way that worked best for him to move past it…..but he just wanted to keep on that mask.”

She sighs, sitting her chin in the palm of her hand. She was equal parts upset, sad, and frustrated. “But what you’re saying does make a hell of a lot of sense. Thanks. I think what I want most in a person is someone who tries to understand me and lets me try to understand them, too. Communication is both something very important to me and something I need to work on at the same time….I often wait until something’s eating at me to speak up and I know that’s not good. Maybe someday I’ll meet someone who can help me get better at that. Thanks for talkin with me though…”

And only then does she realize who she was talking to this whole time. Funny enough, it was the cleaver that gave it away.

“Guess I can’t call ya ‘home in a hazmat’ in this case now can I?”

“Ohhh. So he saw how good you are and figured he’d rather not show you his bad side, even though you clearly knew you it was there. Damn obvious, something like that... but see, now that’s somethin’ I understand. Relate to a little bit... even if... it’s not exactly the kinda foundation a good relationship is built on.” He gives her a sidelong stare and a grin, the intensity and dilation of his eye shifting from moment to moment. Lex is the kind of person you really only have to look at hard enough to notice that he’s got a few screws loose, even if you can manage to ignore the fatal injuries and accompanying bloodstains.

“Smart too.” He mutters, placing his thermos, which smells faintly of cinnamon vanilla coffee that sweetens his own sickly decay, back into his pack in favor of a toothpick from the pocket of his grimy grey overshirt. “Sounds like you’re gonna shoot for the right thing this time. Now that the glasses are off, I mean. Good communication really is a terribly underrated thing, isn’t it? In fact I’d say that most connections that go sour are due to poor communication skills.”

He looks taken aback briefly, likely due to her mention of that same phrase that won him over near completely the first time she said it. Of course, his flattery is all the more obvious without the hazmat suit in the way. “Well, you could just call me “home”, although I’d question your judgment a little bit. Surely wouldn’t be the first time a pretty girl got comfortable around me, but it might be the first time I wasn’t inclined to show ‘er why that’s a real bad idea. See, I don’t get the impression that you’re any blinder to my flaws than to were to that boys, nor do you strike me as entitled, and I don’t think you’re so big a coward that you’ll ignite anything in me that I can’t shrug off.”

Lex: The Revenant

At some point in recent years, you suffered what felt to you like a 'death', whether creative, social, emotional, spiritual or even literal, and you've been reborn. This reincarnation didn't come easy, and you're not entirely the person you were, but you sloughed yourself out of your figurative grave with the kind of vigour only a phoenix could have. When you sleep, you dream strange and vivid dreams, and your gaze now holds a certain intensity. When something takes your attention, it doesn't let go. Your kindness is endless, as is your love for vast things like the sea, the sky and the stars. You have a certain unshakable fixation with religion or higher powers, and the prospect of death doesn't scare you. In fact, you feel less fear than you should, and you've never felt more alive than you do now. As a deity, you're the god of life and death, of moving on, of growth and of courage. 

Clarke: The Mirror Shard

You would describe yourself as laid-back, pleasant, casual and above all funny. In fact, you pride yourself on the ease with which you move through life, your affability, the way you come across to others. You know you see the world in a unique way, and that few know what it truly feels like to be you. However, your childhood wasn't easy, and that's a fact you don't broadcast. People didn't love you the way they should have, and put their own wants and needs above your own. You were left out or burdened with too much responsibility for the child you were. Because of this, your friends are the most important thing in your life. Don't allow yourself to lose hope in people because of your past, because cynicism will only get you so far. Protective walls are safe, but they inhibit the growth you know you're capable of. As a deity, you're the god of friendship, of water, of rain, of forgiveness, of self-image, of wisdom and cleverness, of writing and of pain, and you are the god most commonly named when groups of friends come together.

Tagged by: @kaicentious

She surely hadn’t recognized him, wondering why this guy who decided to talk to her kept such a distance. There was a strange energy about him, an energy that was so frustratingly unique that she couldn’t quite put her finger on why it was also so familiar.

But moving past that also moves a light hint of blush to her cheeks. She must have been so frustrated she said her thoughts out loud and definitely loud enough for someone else to hear. She couldn’t even answer that question properly because honestly…she was unsure.

“He…..did keep complaining I was trying to change him. I thought I wasn’t, thought I was just trying to help him get better, but maybe he was right. Maybe I WAS trying to change him and just didn’t see it then. I don’t even know anymore……I don’t know what he really thought of me. He claims he loved me and that I didn’t take any bullshit from him but….how can I believe that anymore? I’m stuck between knowing what love is but having no idea what it is for ME.”

Did she absolutely continue rambling on to this familiar stranger despite not recognizing him? Yes. It would have been rude not to after he was being nice about it all!

“It’s possible to wanna change someone for the better. Doesn’t mean you did anything wrong. It’s just... you can’t help somebody who doesn’t want help, ya know? He obviously wasn’t ready for change if he didn’t wanna try even with the help of... someone like you.” It’s unclear what he means by that, although his voice does drop about  an octave quieter, already as low as low gets.

“So I don’t uhh...” He continues. “Really do “love” the way most people do it. That passionate, red romance thing. It just doesn’t click. So my suggestions might or might not be useful to a fine young lady such as yourself, but do you think it’s possible that maybe you’ve been reaching for an idealized version of love that works out a whole lot better in fantasy than it does in practice? Because... I’m just sayin’? Divorce rates sure are high. And you see a lotta married folks actin’ like it’s some kinda burden rather than a genuinely enjoyable experience they chose for themselves. Doesn’t sit quite right. Suggests to me that somethin’s wrong with that whole system.”

This kind of talk always feels a little awkward for the undead fellow, so he quells his tension with a bit of something from the thermos he’d been carrying along with a small bag of survival gear and a nasty looking cleaver. “Way I see it, the only way “love” is ever gonna work out long-term, and I presume that’s what you were hopin’ for with this fella, is if you get real lucky, or, and this is the important part, if you make an effort to befriend someone and get to know um real well first. That way, if you fall in love who with they are, without the need to change anything about ‘um, you’ll know exactly what you’re gettin’ yourself into.” His remaining, left eye turns to focus on her more intensely. “Instead of realizin’ down the line that what you actually fell in love with was your own idealized version of that person. Am I makin’ any kinda sense, honey?”

He stiffened, watching as the blond sat beside him. Mila forced a smile and raised a hand out of his pocket to rub the back of his neck nervously. This guy seemed too friendly for his liking, though he didn’t say that. He didn’t know why this meeting was so unnerving. “You do have a nice face, but nah.” 

Mila’s head tilted slightly, eyes starting to narrow. “Yeah, you’re right. Guess it’s kinda difficult to forget a face as handsome as mine.” The joke didn’t ease his nerves like he thought it would and he sighed. 

“I don’t mind answering, it’s not like you’re interrogating me for a crime. My name’s Mila.” Oh, that’s what he was afraid of. Did Clarke know Mila was a hunter? Could he sense it…? Why in the world was he drawn to Mila? He wished he could find out. “Drawn to me, huh? Should I be flattered?”

“Flattered? Well, that’s up to you. It probably isn’t a bad thing, though..” A half-truth. While Clarke can’t sense that Mila is a hunter, he does tend to be drawn towards people who have carried out false justice. Thankfully for one or both of them, though, he’s not one to assume that a dark past implies an immoral present. His interest, while cautious and curious, is not yet bound to ill intentions.

“What do you do, Mila? I’m a priest. I’m accustomed to missionary work, but I’ve recently bought and fixed up a little country church not far from here. I’d love it if you’d come and see it sometime. Services aren’t set to begin until after Halloween, so I’ve got it all to myself until then.”

Send “I’ve seen the way you look at me” to get my muse’s response!

Oh shit, he’s been caught. Mila scratched his chin, eyebrows raised before his gaze drifts down to the ground. He cleared his throat, slipping his hands deep inside the pockets of his duster.

“Didn’t mean to stare, it’s just…”

There was something… strange about the other man, though Mila couldn’t figure out what. He should have been at ease due to the friendly and soft appearance, but his stomach was in knots. An alarm went off in his head, demanding that he run, but his feet were glued to the spot. Besides, he wasn’t a coward. And maybe he was just being a bit paranoid.

“You… seem familiar.” A lie.

“Oh? And here I thought maybe you just liked my face.” Oh shit again, the lie doesn’t seem to have thrown the priest off Mila’s trail at all. If anything, it’s drawn him in closer, literally and figuratively, and caused him to sit right next to the duster-clad hunter. He crosses one leg over the other with his chin in his hand and his eyes half-lidded with a soft, potentially disarming sort of interest - at least, it disarms most kinds of people.

“Let’s see... I don’t recognize you and you definitely have a unique look about you. I think I’d remember if we’d met before. I’m sure of it. Everything from your face to your choice in clothing says that you make yourself impossible to forget when you make the choice to step forward. Am I right about that?”

Morning, something Blu see’s a little more often than he generally likes to admit. Though it’s less due to being an early riser, and more the inevitable march of ‘too late’ into ‘too early’ into ‘welp, here we go again-.’. Still, if he’s going to be up regardless? There sure are worse ways he could be spending the time than wandering slowly through the pews, admiring the strange yet vaguely familiar architecture. Even if he can’t seem quite to begin to place wherefrom that familiarity arises..

Nor is he about to bother thinking about it too hard, coming to a leisurely halt in front of the priest. Wide, friendly smile as fixed in place as ever, though it certainly seems to perk up at the proffered hand, accompanied by a small, impressed seeming raise of his boney brow. “see ya know how to greet a new friend, ain’t that a welcome change’a pace..” Barely a split second of consideration before his right hand comes out to clasp the fleshier one in firm handshake, rather more confident than his anxious outward appearance might lead one to expect. “nice to meet ya, clarke. name’s blu. least it is most’a the time” A shrug and the ghost of a chuckle, as he glances around for a moment, before perching on one of the pews, slumping into place with boney arms draped over the back and one fluffy pink slippered foot tucked up under the other leg. Maybe not the most graceful position, given the location, but he’s certainly making himself comfortable. “an’ what can i say? ya came pretty highly recommended, least as far as ‘m concerned”

“though uh. observant as i might be, doubt that’s gonna help much, here. never done anythin’ like this before. never really thought to, not uh. what ya’d call the real religious type as a rule, nothin’ against it, mind just. monster’a science, as a rule” Another chuckle, a little louder this time, soft and warm and only very slightly nervous at the edges., Eyelights still gently wandering around the room as the skeleton speaks, in obvious curiosity. “course, the key part there’s monster, i s’pose. kind’a hard to dismiss much’a anythin’, when ‘m the stuff ‘a myths to most folks myself. heh heh..” Those bright pinpricks floating back to fix on Clarke, with an equally curious glint. “‘sides, can’t see a chat exactly doin’ much harm”

“Oh? Do people not usually greet you politely? That’s a shame.” He notices Blu admiring the architecture and takes a moment to take an approving look around himself. Small, old churches like this are his favorite places in the world. Sure, huge, elaborate chapels can be beautiful, but they never feel like home, to him. Too much space usually means too many people, and a good priest should have a personal relationship with every member of his congregation. When that becomes an impossibility, that priest is no longer able to do his job. He becomes a celebrity rather than a father. A sham.

“Oh, right. Lex of all people. That does tell you a lot about me, doesn’t it?” What kind of priest would come recommended by a woodsy murder-zombie? Either a very questionable one, or one with a uniquely open mind and not a single judgmental bone in his body. The second one is the image Clarke hopes to project. He lets out a soft “hmhm” of vague, muted amusement.