“Aren’t most of the shitty things that happen in this town your fault?”

“If only I could take credit for them. Besides, if I had done something, you wouldn’t have had to ask.”

“Maybe I’ll escape eternal damnation yet.” Hilarious, to be quite truthful. She was as twisted as the man standing in such close proximity, never one to bow her head in pious resolve and drop to her knees for any reason other than a sinful one. At his comment, a light scoff passed through parted lips as she drew brows together in a near plea that he not play this game with her. Eleanor never attempted to make amends with anyone, but she extended that olive branch to Damien because of their impossibly close relationship before the fight which set them so far apart. “Nothing’s different about me. I haven’t changed, whether that’s a good or bad thing is up to your perception.”

“Us,” she confirmed with the bare bones of a nod, testing the waters with all the trepidation of a woman who had never dared to swim before. “Yes? I don’t know… We’re not— you and I, we’ve never been something as simple as an us.” For once, Eleanor Dubois couldn’t articulate the irrational thoughts darting around her mind and any charm evaded an otherwise silver tongue. A singular palm ran haphazardly through her perfectly sculpted curls to leave them slightly disheveled, a clear sign that something was warring within her though not even she could place a name to it. “What is it that you want from me, Damien? What are you looking for here?”

The corners of his lips quirked upwards despite himself at her comment. Whether this was hell or otherwise, he would never avoid whatever fate he was destined for. It would catch up to him no matter how much he tried to run. Did he deserve it? Each day that came would merit a different answer. The days where he was angry, fists clenched and aching for contact with flesh, the days where his mouth tasted of rust and iron, those were the days he would say yes. But the days where his eyes widened at noises too loud, where he flinched at movement from the corner of his eyes, the days where he was no more than a cornered animal? Was he deserving of becoming the monster life made him into? His head was rushing and he shut his eyes, a deep breath escaping from his lips. “Something’s changed.” There was no specifying of what had changed -- a deliberate act on Damien’s part. Maybe it was an attempt at diffusing the tension, maybe it was him hinting at perhaps taking a responsibility. Maybe it was an excuse. 

“You and I.” He reached up to run a shaky hand through his hair, mirroring her. He had never been a part of -- even in his thoughts he found himself hesitant to label them -- of something that he wanted to be included in. Still, he knew for certain that he did not want to lose Eleanor. He did not want to lose whatever they had, no matter how toxic they were, no matter the terrible things they would do and say to each other. “I want you.” There was a hesitation in the word, perhaps trepidation as well, but as he continued to speak his voice lost its waver. “I want you. I want you in all sense of the word.” 

Three weeks was a hell of a long time to spend in the absence of one’s closest confidant, especially when Eleanor considered the note on which their last encounter finished. As the days passed in a hazy blur, both parties found themselves far too stubborn to make the first move towards reconciliation and eventually the blonde had begun hastily avoiding rather than ignoring Damien. Unfortunately distance truly did make the heart grow fonder and their separation hardly stopped the foreign emotion which billowed within her chest as she rounded a corner to nearly collide into the man in question. Fantastic. “Didn’t peg you for the festival type.” @damixns

It had been no hard thing to let the few weeks past slip by with a numb passivity; he had spent years before doing the same, and it was an easy practice to fall back into. Days went by in an automatic fashion, routine and schedule regulating how he lived, and the specific details were lost as each day that came mirrored the one before. The only difference between then and now was a nagging voice in the back of his mind whispering of the woman who had such an effect on him, both body and mind. 

A thought of her would creep into his head, and he would find himself clenching his jaw in annoyance -- she would likely be pleased if he ever spoke of just how much time he spent thinking of her -- she was unforgettable and seemingly a fixture that was coming to be permanent in his life. Still, controlled by his pride, he let his eyes slide past her when they saw each other on the street. He bit back words that wanted to spill from his lips. It was a hard thing to completely avoid someone in Bentley, nearly impossible, but ignoring them was a different story entirely.

Yet, he hadn’t expected to see her during the time of the festival. Most of Bentley’s population would be centered in one area, an uncommon thing, and he would have bet it more likely to have run across his brother than she. When they were face to face, his first instinct was to step to the side. He made motion to keep walking, but then he froze when he heard her speak to him. It came as a shock, and there was a brief moment when this feeling flashed onto his face before it was replaced with apathy. “I have nowhere else to be until later. Figured it would do well at wasting my time.”

1. A little-known talent of your character?

2. What trait does your character like best about themself? (Eyes, guitar skills, random bird facts, etc)

3. How many pillows does your character sleep with?

4. Is your character good at keeping secrets?

5. Your character's worst habit?

6. Does your character prefer tennis shoes/sneakers or flip flops?

7. What is your character's opinion on body modifications?

8. Your character is given a full-ride scholarship to any college they could want to go to. Where do they go and what do they major in?

9. What chore does your character hate the most?

10. Would your character prefer to live in the city, the suburbs, or the country?

11. Is your character a blanket hog?

12. Would your character play by the rules in a fight or take cheap shots?

13. Does your character have a widow 's peak?

14. Happy birthday! What kind of present would your character want?

15. Something that grosses your character out?

16. Your character is suddenly on an adventure! Where do they go and what do they do?

17. Is there a real person that looks like your character?

18. Something that makes your character laugh without fail?

19. Something that makes your character cry without fail?

20. A obscure/ridiculous fear your character has?

21. Does your character have any type of disability, whether it be mental, physical, etc?

22. Does your character get frustrated when people forget to close the door behind themselves?

23. What is your character's first memory?

24. Something you like that your character would hate?

25. Your character is going into battle/on a mission! What song is their anthem?

26. Does your character have good or bad posture?

27. Most despicable thing your character has ever done?

28. Is your character a conspiracy theorist?

29. Someone does something awful in front of your character. How do they handle it?

30. What is your character's favorite drink?

31. Does your character prefer to sleep in a warm or cool area?

32. Would your character like you if they met you?

33. A song that reminds you of your character?

34. Is your character a nail biter?

35. What is your character's favorite quote?

36. Your character's favorite fashion era? (20's, 70's, etc)

37. Does your character get excited when they get mail?

38. Random thunderstorm! How does your character react?

39. A strange talent of your character?

40. Assuming your character doesn't have them already, what superpower would they want? If they do already, would they change it, keep it, or get rid of it?

41. Does your character like/make puns?

42. What kind of shampoo does your character use?

43. Your character wakes up with a coin super glued to their forehead. How do they react?

44. Can your character sleep if there's any kind of light?

45. What kind of self-esteem does your character have?

46. A word that your character can't stand?

47. Does your character fold their clothes, hang them up, or just leave them in the basket/dryer?

48. Would society call your character a good guy or a bad guy? What would they say they are?

49. Your character's most prized possession?

-- -- -- a damiel playlist

She wondered if he had noticed her pulling on doors of the school hoping to find one that’s open.  She couldn’t be sure since she’d only just noticed him, but explaining yourself at a school at night wasn’t all that easily.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, still trying to recover,” I’m just passing by, that’s all.”

She wanted in the school, if she was honest.  Back in the day she would have just broken her way in, but she wasn’t really that girl anymore and she wasn’t quite desperate enough to do so just now.

“Most people passing by don’t try to open doors, I’ve found.” He looked at her, eyebrows raised, before tilting his head to the side. “There’s a door over here with a broken lock. If you jimmy it enough, it opens.” He didn’t mention that he was the person who had broken the door. “I’m headed there now.” With a shrug of his shoulders, he said, “Tag along with me, if getting in there is that important to you.”

“Then, I guess…” Joel started, though his voice died down due to the lack of an answer. There had to be peace, he was convinced of it. In a story woven by himself, a loose thread (as the impossibility of peace would most definitely be) would unravel the world Joel walked upon. “Then death seems to be no difference to being alive,” he finally said, frowning at the idea. The guy answering with a counter question was enough to let Joel assume he was right — he had either met another dead person or at the very least someone who knew of one who has supposed to be dead and yet walking the earth. Joel smiled over the new addition to his madness, however it vanished quickly and was soon to be replaced by nervously shaking hands. Had he offended? Shit, shit shit. “S-Sorry, I-I-I didn’t mean to… I just am–” No! Wrong. Very wrong! “That was… heartless.”

“An accurate description.” Damien had let his front fall -- no longer bothering to pretend he was alive. The man in front of him existed as a conundrum to him. He couldn’t be sure whether he was one of the returned, or if he just knew too much about Bentley. “The only advantage I’ve found is that no one knows who I was when I was alive. I’m a brand new man.” There was a transparency being revealed as he opened up. Though he told no significant detail about himself, this was a complete stranger he was speaking to. His forwardness was likely a shock not just to the man but to himself as well. While Damien knew he could make people tremble or upset by just a few words, that had not been his attention with the man in front of him. “Take a breath,” he spoke, rolling his eyes as he did. “I’m not upset. I just can’t help be curious as to why you’re speaking so openly.”

Kian was reminded with an unpleasant jolt of a former friend who smiled like that. One who had turned out to be about the furthest thing from a friend. It made him slightly bolder than he would have been otherwise. “With your c-conscience, maybe,” he muttered, his brows pulling together. Then, of course, he felt kind of bad. Maybe Damien actually needed the things he was stealing. There had been a point where Kian had to as well, when he was first adjusting to being dead. “Do you really n-need that?” he ventured, trying–in spite of his very Corey-ish expression–to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Damien laughed, hearing the words the other man spoke under his breath. His conscience had long since become defunct, replaced with whispers of hurt them and don’t be sorry that only fueled his rage. “Need it?” He glanced down at the object in his hands before shrugging his shoulders. The line between needs and wants had become blurred since his return. Anything that caught his eye was something that he had to have ( this was not limited to just things; he wanted people and power -- things that would not be as easily taken ). “Yeah, I actually think I do.”

@damixns @losing-litha

Eleanor’s nails fluttered against the granite countertop as she observed the company in her kitchen, impatience worming its way further around her spine with every passing second. Boredom was not something she could stomach for long intervals and her limited tolerance had begun running on empty about ten minutes prior. Not to mention the proximity of Litha to Damien left a distinctly bitter taste in her mouth, one that she couldn’t identify. “Are you two going to stand there all afternoon or can we get this show on the road before I age another twenty years?”

Damien moved his gaze from Litha to Eleanor, a smile playing on his lips. There was tension in the air around them -- perhaps due to Eleanor’s restlessness, or even the seeming contention between the two women -- but he was nothing but relaxed. He didn’t mind the slowness of the day ( but then again, he would never not wish for something to be more engaging, more thrilling or memorable ). He brought his hand and arm back towards him; his hand had been resting on Litha’s shoulder ( a gesture more possessive than he had right to be ). He chuckled at El’s statement of her impatience, then saying, “Twenty years would do nothing to you.” He stepped away from Litha, letting himself lean his back against the counter. “So, what do we do now? Make waves, ruin lives?” The way he spoke sounded as if he were joking; it would be up to the women in front of him to interpret their meaning.

“If you were looking for someone perfect you should have bought yourself a blow up doll.” Under any other circumstances, Eleanor might have laughed at his violent suggestion and countered it her own in relation to him, but tonight had been one disastrous discussion after another and they were both far too wound up to entertain that jest. “I’ll pass, but maybe we can try tomorrow when you’re being less of an asshole.” Almost immediately after the thoughtless comment about his past pierced the air between them, that queasy sensation akin to guilt began to creep into her gut once more. “I–” His gaze finally diverted from her own and she witnessed the quivering in his limbs as he attempted to regain some control over himself. This was precisely why they had never approached these subjects with one another before, why they had remained safely behind the invisible line in the sand where they could insult surface imperfections without delving into the more vulnerable aspects. The image of his façade disintegrating before her very eyes spurred regret to eat at her larynx, closing it off in unfamiliar ways so that she could barely whisper out, “You’re not ruined.” No, she didn’t want nothing. How did Eleanor tell him that she craved everything, but the very concept of relying on someone else to support her would inevitably shatter her fragile self image when they were gone? Weakness wasn’t something she could afford, the very concept shook her to the core and yet… Damien made her question if it was a risk worth undertaking. “You know that’s not what I want. You know you’re my best friend and that’s crazy. You’re not being fair.” Her breath caught in an already tight throat as he pressed their foreheads together, an intimate gesture which otherwise might have elicited a grin now only twisted a forgotten organ within her ribcage into something painful. This ached like a gaping wound and he had barely even touched her. Perhaps that in itself was the problem. 

I think I might be tired of you. Bored might even be the right word.

“What?” The word was choked from utter shock, her eyes widened at the implications of his statement. Whatever remnants of her composure that she had stitched together to endure the whiplash from this argument suddenly dropped like curtains at the conclusion of a play. “Don’t say that. Please don’t say that.” Her own fingers had interlaced with the ones still knotted in her hair, breaking the hold so that she might pull back and examine his features for sincerity. “I’m serious.” And truth be told, she was. For once the panicked creature trembling before him had become utterly genuine; it seemed the untouchable goddess of Bentley happened to be mortal after all. “I don’t want to play games anymore.”

"I already have plans for tomorrow.” The words came easy from his lips, cold and unfeeling, though they were a blatant lie. Right then, he was wondering if it would be worth it to go find Grayson once more and send another punch his way. Wasn’t it that man who sent this night’s events into motion? What he did know was, even if he did go after Grayson, that the idea of avoiding Eleanor was seeming more and more appealing. “I -- I --” He mocked her, echoing the fragment of a sentence she said. “You what?” He looked at her, his brows raised. Damien wasn’t certain of whether or not she would answer him, but he was determined to have the last word. “Let me help you. ‘I’m sorry’ might be the phrase you’re looking for, but I doubt you’ll say it. You’re too proud.” He shook his head once more, and he could feel his face growing hot. “Pride comes before the fall, I hope you realize.” He shook his head again, wanting to deny the words she said. He wanted her to accept that. What sort of image must she have of him in her head -- what wool had he been able to pull over her eyes? “You know nothing about me. I am ruined, I am ruinous."

“Fair?” These earned a laugh, and it took a moment to compose himself. “Fair is foul, and foul is fair.” The words were said as a hiss. While the pair of them had regarded each other as partners, they had always looked for the upper hand. There were no ties, there was no equality -- one came up on top, even if they never held that position long.”And friends,” he spat, “I bet you say the same thing to your little toy, Grayson. How he manages to keep your attention, I’ll never understand.”

“Don’t say what? That you’re not who I thought you were?” He pulled his hand out from hers so that he could move backwards. He didn’t want to be near her ( he never thought he would say that -- not about her -- but he had never thought he would be having this conversation ) yet there was no where else to go; Damien didn’t think he could leave without her following him ( and he couldn’t bring himself to push her away. he didn’t want to touch her ). His arms fell to his sides, hands clenched into tight fists, nails digging into the fleshy part of his palms. “Should I not say that you’ve disappointed me?” There were too many teeth showing when he smiled. “You don’t think you can just quit now, Eleanor? Let me just say that you were the one who rolled the dice first. You set the tone.” He folded his arms cross his chest. “I came here to talk. You were the one who didn’t want that.”

Grayson managed to dodge the next punch, but he stumbled backwards a few steps when Damien shoved him. The mixture of alcohol and the first punch had thrown him off a little, but he’d fought scarier people under worse conditions. Granted, those were the bouts he usually lost, but the fight was the fun part, in any case. “It’s so nice how you always manage to make time for me,” he crooned sarcastically, not sparing the quickly approaching and increasingly desperate bartender a glance as he threw another punch. “I’ll hit you anywhere, anytime, Norrell. Just say the word.” 

His teeth were bared when he realized his punch wasn’t going to land, and the momentum from the swing sent him forward, leaving his footing unsteady. Damien was seeing red. He wanted to land punch after punch on the other man; he wanted to see that smile wiped off of his face. “I’d give all of my time away if it means I get the chance to beat you into a pulp.”  He felt like he was all loose limbs as he sent more punches towards Grayson. Right then, he didn’t care who was watching, or if he was only going to end up in trouble. “Let’s go then.” He turned towards the bartender with a tight smile. “I can’t promise we won’t get blood on your pavements.” He took a step backwards, knowing the bar’s door was behind him. He didn’t want to turn his back on Grayson.