UNDER CO.

s p a c e II // a mix for crossing galaxies and the vast physics of the cosmos, the beginning of universes, the silent death of stars, and the infinite great black distance we flicker in. (part I)

               Infinity crackles within him, && each step closer to the stranger is like slowly increasing the proximity of two opposing resonance frequencies; until an echoing sound loop rakes a razor through his thoughts. Anakin winces, heaving a tar-black breath through his nose. The car’s face opens to greet him with more smoke && a few hot sparks. 

     ❝ From the way its smoking I’d say you have an oil leak; it looks like the head gasket got damaged, but I’ll need to take it back to my shop to make sure. We should let it cool off before hooking it up to my truck. ❞ He yanks a thumb in the direction of his tow, dark eyes burning like brands under the sweltering gaze of the desert sun. 

       ❛ ---- It’s damaged that badly? ❜

To her, the idea of infinity is a beautiful grace the heavens bestow upon their kingdoms ---- that is, if those kingdoms are not preventing her from entering their gates by screaming at her. It’s sudden, she doesn’t intend to show any sign of weakness ---- but when he winces, so does she. It’s an evanescing thing to behold, but his energy has a way of making her essence vibrate angrily against her vessel’s skull. The headaches start, and in less than a fleeting moment, she lets a sigh pass her lips as she moves to the other side of her vehicle as a show of silent solidarity. 

She’s doing what she thinks is best for the both of them. Rather poorly, to say the least.  

❛ ---- Something like that. I’m always on the road. Be it here or overseas. Now, I’m stopping by Oregon for a couple of days. Business and whatnot. I don’t mind a little detour getting there. How long have you had this shop? All the reviews I read on Yelp absolutely loved you. ❜

Following his thumb pointed in the direction of his truck, the press of her mouth grows. She rolls her shoulders, fingers pinching the bridge of her nose for a moment or two ----  

{ drifted sensations of something FOUND ( poised along a hardened ribcage coated with ancient DUST )   ——— & blemishes whisper FATED tales of HISTORY’S deranged obsessions beneath her bloodstream.   MADNESS has become rotten pleas. crowding her throat, TANGLING within unstable organs of FIRE.   hissing pores dissolve with corrupted EMPATHY & tainted ETCHINGS cross sheltered breasts of life.   slaughtered poetry CREEPS within fated arteries & embittered BONES. lungs virulent & POSSESSED. such weighted sorrows have charmed their way into the beds of her terrors ( she is claimed by ONE ) & monsters are famished for each GILDED snarl of EMPATHY that purifies snapping jaws & UGLY fangs. HELL wants HIS demons back ( they have deserted HOMES to gaze at golden flesh & SLEEPING sin ) ripples of wicked KNOWLEDGE: she is on FATE’S begging puppet string, bloody & damaged. a QUEEN. she stills, fingers trained against a glass bottle of beer at the Grill & CRIMSON lips pursed in THOUGHT. youth has left HER scratches upon the curvatures of her spine ( survival’s scarred tears WEEP & WAIL. ) beware ! kingdoms have CRUMBLED for scorched skin & a MOISTENED smirk ( manipulations birthed )     greed for HUMANITY’S suffering clinging to a GILDED collarbone like TAR. poisoned minds SCREAM.  shudders of arched backs & hollow MOANS shall release the dirt & RUBBLE she is built from.CURSED.  a moment of familiarity breeds a defining FLUTTER of rich lashes. chest paused with exhalations. ———-  slender fingers gently tap at the female’s SHOULDER, a touch caresses with poetic KISSES. }

❝ ———-  ( this is gonna’ sound crazy )         but, do we KNOW each other ?      ——— …your perfume ; it’s familiar.                  it’s just.. been awhile since i first smelled that. ❞

In jagged and broken hymnals, the concept of familiarity is benign underneath the waves accustomed to the graces of Troy’s fallen graveyard. Here she stands ---- no longer hidden underneath cloaks of feral gold ---- in ragged glory of silver dawns and crystalline seas that have waged their wars across the sands for centuries. She is not copper like her sisters, a little less bloodied than her brothers ---- and yet, she is true in her presence between the worlds as a specter navigating the veils when the rest of humanity has switched off their inhibitions. And heavens forbid, Empathy is a prideful darling ---- 

A monarch who has left her own impression in the fragmentations of eons to light years. Her bare feet have dragged themselves across hallowed ground, her lungs have inhaled the smoldering temples being desecrated at the calloused hands of soldiers who believed in their cause ---- a medium she is, but the repeated paths of history have left her with little desire to keep the oceans calm and clear. Death’s daughter is wild as she is tethered; a goldfinch to wired cages set before open windows. Prideful as she is, harsh as she can be ---- there is still a ragged longing for experiences she can seldomly bring a voice to. 

Does she miss home ---- ? 

A radio frequency borne of galactic interface who found its refuge in the decaying ribcages of cosmic rose gardens. What a little prominent thing she was ---- the conduit and witness to the death of every star and the birth of every sun. Not even solar flares burned as bright as her. Her essence is the very embodiment which black holes relay the expanding information to. She was ---- is ---- the unknown enigma with a hand clasped delicately over her mouth as she whispered secrets to the GODS. Yet, Earth has made her Atlas ---- the weight resting on her shoulders without giving her any resolve to collapse. 

When the latter touches her, the archaic fire of crumbling civilizations burns through her bloodstream. It’s as if the doors to abandoned monasteries have been opened ---- the missing child of old finally remembering what ash tastes like against her tongue. She envisions forests, rivers, bridges ---- a child running through a plethora of carnations while Empathy watches from afar. 

Mystic Falls will keep harboring her footsteps in the echoes of Time and Space. 

Her shoulders roll like jagged currents as she finally brings herself down to reality: the coffee shop with the long line, olden history beneath the sidewalks, and the hub for the supernatural when other cities become too bland. Long eyelashes flutter, and as she lets the coffee cup warm in gentle and delicate hands ( T͏HAT ͠H̨A͠V̢E L̷EVEL͟ED̸ NA͞T́I̕ONS )̛, she finally glances over her shoulder with a subtle gesture akin to a smile curving at her mouth. 

her natural scent is violets on open moors. the fallen snow on the first night of winter. she is the storms blowing across the mountains, the taste of ice clinging to the trees ----  

       ❛ Fifty-two blue ---- ? ❜ 

She hears nearly everything: the spaces between decaying whispers, energy itching to curl underneath her palms ---- every subtle breath escaping from open throats praising the concurrence of holy fire in the form of echoed voices.  A medium she is, but a live wire to sound will keep her tethered between vacuums of anything human and celestial; scathing in all of its glory with a golden chain around her ankle.

 In but a moment, her footsteps have hesitated against the sidewalk ---- precarious ---- in attempt to find a quick and evanescing reading. Her shoulders are low, leaving a rosen mouth to press into a finer line against the steady hum of consistent feedback:  

❝                          color me surprised, toots.  ya got a funny bone in ya after all  !   somethin’  was tellin’ me ya might be into a little riot now  &  then.      ❞

❛ ---- depends on the riot. If the FBI or the middlemen are keeping too many tabs on you, you’re doing everything wrong. ❜ 

A yearning for amber-colored windows in an old monastery is what keeps her returning beyond the raven gatekeepers. A hub of activity, an aristocratic form of being the epitome of a neutral party ---- this is what gives her the allure of a guard dog between the criminal underground. And this little monarch of a Constantine may have just found a friend.  

“so the tourist experience, huh? must be fun. what’s oregon got for you, though?”

          he seems to be keeping his sentences pretty short and clipped overall. gabriel stares down at his glass for a moment, debating the merits of ordering another drink. maybe not yet. soon, though. with the way the night’s begun to turn. it’s been a while. years. enough years where he wasn’t sure that he recognized her, with the way his memory is a little warped. but he seems to have remembered correctly. and now he’s trying to figure out how to react to all this. 

          so he had a hunch, and he relied on feeling more than visuals, and it worked. good to know he’s not losing his touch. gabriel traces some lines in the thin layer of dust gathering on the bar. dust is everywhere in vegas - blows in through every crack and every surface. negative aspects to a desert. he’s off work, and him and kyara are planning to take the day off tomorrow and do something fun in the evening. but for now he’s here, and he’s planning to keep drinking.

          this has put him in some kind of mood. but he’s good at pretending to be perfectly calm, and charming, and warm, and all of the things he really shouldn’t be. 

          instead, they banter. and he’ll keep up with that.

“i’m doing okay. the usual. working. not scraping the bottom of the barrel for cash like i was before, but nothing insanely special.”

          a pause. his smile flattens into no particular expression at all. he doesn’t seem hurt. doesn’t seem to be anything at all.

❛ ---- Was I ever friendly? I mean, really. Say what you need to say, but I did what I had to do. I find no fault in that; I never will. ❜ 

In retrospect, there were very little sentiments she wished to speak in the dimming rooms of underground bars. His words are subtle; the empty graveyards to resting grounds of discordant sensibility. The outward hostility of the other is neither brazen or reciprocated ---- an evanescing queen of silver tongues and holy fire tucked away in debauchery shielded by desert and sands. Grit underneath her fingertips cling to her silken skin; a kiss of remembrance as she uses her thumb to wipe the finite crystals away. Moments tick away, leaving the desecrated shot glass to rock between her nimble hands. Alcohol’s burn is no longer a welcoming sentiment as much as she yearned for it to be.  

❛ As adoring and endearing you can be, you are still an awful liar. Don’t take this as any kind of criticism. This is just a subtle observation. ❜ 

Old vices are extremely difficult to break below the context of anything tense and familiar. Underneath the strike of billiard balls and darts hitting the wall, a delicate sigh leaves her mouth as she raises two fingers to signal for another round. Nonetheless, it’s all the same to her ---- for better or for worse. 

Truly, this would not be a defining moment in history for her. 

The very seconds she spends in Vegas pales in comparison to the GLITTERING GREEN lights of New York during the Roaring 20′s: the hushed secret of prohibition behind the shadowed alleyways, the lavish parties thrown in some of the most extravagant venues, the corruption that followed after ---- 

                          her corruption that she spends so little time pondering about. 

In glorious refractions, the drinking glasses are pushed to both of them at the perfect angle. In a blink, before a reply could be uttered ---- she has the shot curled in her hand; and here is a smile so sharp and flitting. It may as well have never been there at all.  

      “ i believe i asked you a question first, “

she is NOT the only one who can bring destruction with just her voice. tone so chilling it could have iced the floor they stood upon ; smooth veined marble that would have made incessant noises if not for the soundless rune will had applied on his throat earlier. he was a figure shrouded in shadow & silence, mystery, S E C R E T S !

      THE STATIC GROWS LOUDER STILL.

        adrenaline && angel blood pumping through his VEINS at         her words : it was instinct for a shadowhunter. limbs ready         to sprint into action, hand hovering above seraph blades –         he would tell himself he was not afraid, not afraid, but the         slight TREMOR in his hands, the thumping of his heart,         betrayed him. as they always did when he lied about how         he truly felt.

her question was a sliver of ice in his heart. it had been years, so many years, since it had happened & it was still too soon. forcing his hands to remain at his sides, a deeper breath was taken. something about her mere presence suggested that she was something BIGGER than she was. larger than the gaps between the galaxies or even more than that. she knew more than he : that was a given. but he knew nothing about her. a combination of stubbornness & curiosity smoothed out the edges to his voice when he spoke.

      “ but, to answer yours, no. —– “ not necessarily       afraid of death, not himself, he had given those       thoughts too much room in his mind – but of       inflicting death upon those he loved. “ we’re       nephilim ; we fight demons for a living. many       of us die young, & even then it is considered       HONOURABLE. “ they were mere sacrifices for       a larger cause, to end the bloodbath that was       the war between ANGELS && DEMONS.

She is motionless where she sits. An almost eerie stillness to the twilight monarch born of both shadow and gold. Silver flecks in an archaic mouth, ivory in her teeth ---- a broken down television painting the walls an infernal gray with the lights flickered off and curtains ripped off their hooks. Her mouth presses into a gentle line, a softer sign of trepidation in the cadences of silence, static, and sound. And here she wavers; a child of darkness that lingers between the altars when the candles of the monasteries are lit and burning.  

❛ ---- Admittedly, I do not know as much as I should. Nephilim ---- shadowhunters, specifically ---- are creative in keeping themselves hidden. I’ve met very few; some encounters are very similar to this one. From a scuffle in an alley to a shared drink in a London bar nearly a century ago, I’m genuinely surprised I’m communicating with one now. Furthermore, unless you can translate the mother tongue of Latin almost perfectly, you will have very little luck finding me ---- or my kind ---- in any sort of translatable document. ❜ 

Her inquiry hit a nerve. 

The air almost decompresses. 

Any slight movement does not go unnoticed in the simmering seconds of filtered light and dancing onyx. She sees the slightest tremor to his hands, could nearly hear the heartbeat in chest while the static arching around her throat seldom exhales. He is right; she is bigger than what she actually presumes to be. Yet, she is oddly gentle; a juxtaposition to a demeanor normally cold and distant.

❛ You were not apprehensive around me before. Do not be now. You know me as Emily, but ---- Empathy is the most familiar name I have. Created by Death himself. A nice little family we have; dinners can be a little strange when both Balance and Time are at the table. Balance insists on cannibalism sometimes, but ---- she is older than I, my dearly beloved sister. ❜ 

                     ❛ the oldest living thing? ❜ dracula’s brows knit toward one another in seemingly deep contemplation. the answer to her question is known to him, for he is the most ancient creature that treads the earth, but he feels her ethereal essence about him and wonders, perhaps, if he has been mistaken all along. is his own ruse futile to maintain, then? does she sense his archaic aura as well? he takes no risk — his kindly, albeit pensive, composure endures.

Sometimes ---- in the heart and purity of silence ---- she can still taste the salt on her tongue. The morning tides are still a remembrance underneath her skin: rolling, chilling, and caressing a vessel not originally crafted by the olden fingers of Earth. There is no more questioning, or pondering ---- she just is, as she will always be.   

❛  The California Redwoods are a magnificent example. Certainly not the oldest creation to happen on this soil, but by far one of the strongest. ❜

She can hear the rolling tides in the distance, feel the spray of water drop on any exposed skin ---- a hymnal to the freshly fallen snow on the moors to the rolling storms billowing on the horizon. And in hushed admittance, it is a curious encounter she finds on the docks of a nearly empty fishing village. Her vessels are young, but her energy is ancient ---- sometimes, even with very little words and cadences being spoken in the grand orchestrations of Life and Death, it is always a subtle comfort to find another companion in similar schemes of Time’s happenstances. 

The frequencies running through her bloodstream hitch and coil. The snakes of the universe always find a way to weave around her fingers like cigarette and altar smoke. She senses it, feels the power of his essence like a glitch in radio static ---- a sensation that leaves a rosen mouth pulling at the corners in a gesture of a small and evanescing smile.  

She is a force of storms and waves, a stubborn enigma who has the graces to handle happenstances on her own accord ---- at least, she thinks she has those graces. Oil-slick with kisses of onyx, her nimble fingers weave their way from the smoke billowing from her engine; somewhere through her ears ---- hissing like snakes ---- the static of her essence jumps and skips at the frequencies emitting from the other. 

A sign of recognition; a universal excitement in gossiping undertones that has her clenching her teeth on more than one occasion.

Her essence twists in the presence of all things abysmal and slight. 

It’s a fondness, a registration ---- a slight quirk she never expected to click with in all her years spent between the galaxies. Yet, she is both gold and shadow ---- a juxtaposition that twists between her fingers when the presence of humanity is all but dim and evanescing. She knows better; repetition is merely a conduit that nips at her heels.

❛ Right ---- I promised I would walk you home. I’m sorry for lingering a little too long. ❜ 

Eclipsing shadows are drawn to the hellfire daughter with silver on her tongue and copper in her lungs.