wildfire

Glassy blue eyes study Emilio’s face, and once again, the woman finds a way to get into her head. There have been plenty of times that Emilio provided enlightening commentary, fitting things into place for the blonde in a way that hadn’t been done before. And although her argument has merit, although Belva knows firsthand how manipulative her father was and the power that he had, she is still unable to accept this as a justified reason. Vidal got his claws in his children when they were just that, children, with no one and nothing in the world to their name. They were powerless for so much of their time in that house, the alternative to Vidal’s influence a world they weren’t ready for. Harley came from a good home, a loving family   she was beautiful and kind and smart. (All things that did not exempt Harley from Belva’s father’s manipulation, his control, and yet the hurt does not allow her to see this).

“I wanted it to be,” is what she says instead, feeling much like a deflated balloon, empty and useless. I wanted her love for me to be enough. But it wasn’t, and instead Belva is left with the knowledge that she is unable to give her sister anything more, unable to forgive Harley for her part in it all. She glances over at Emilio, sees what she thinks is amusement on the woman’s fine features. “I never really expected anything different.” They’d grown up with their father’s name plastered everywhere, his allies spread out across the world. If Vidal Athanas was to be known for anything, it was his ability to create a legacy that would outlive him. “He was always good at making sure people couldn’t forget him.”

.

"And this is his last hurrah,” she says after a rather wistful pause, some vague interest in her voice. She feels in that moment she understands her Father’s ultimate ploy of control, that he should be so important that even in his death he should never be forgotten. A long lasting impression like the memories trapped inside her brain of the crime scene and the flowers impressed in Florence’s books tucked away for nobody to see. He was gone but his memory was preserved in everything he had done for the rest of their eternities. How strange it would be if only she could feel anything but annoyance at her Father’s untimely death. 

“Don’t you think it ODD that everything he did was for a reason besides Harley? What was the reason for her? That is all that bothers me. Our Father was not a man who made mistakes. Harley, Azra, his heir... he must of had a purpose,” Emilio points out. It’s true, if nothing else, that she thinks the man a great thrilling enigma, a person whom did everything for a reason and she is still hot on the tracks of the ghost he has become. “Our Mother is a suspect in his murder but what was her motive? She couldn’t of cared less about that man even when he was alive and well ruling the roost.”

“You sound sure of yourself.” Nursing a headache — when wasn’t he? — December pressed two fingers against his temple and chased Tylenol down with whiskey. He remembered, briefly, how he used to wince at straight drinks. Now it was second nature as much as anything, and he hardly noticed the burn. Placing his glass down in front of him, his gaze didn’t move from the reflection. Staring at himself. Not quite knowing who was staring back anymore.

“To tell the truth, Emilio,” he spoke again after a moment, “I don’t think it makes much of a difference if it does or doesn’t. Once a certain amount of damage is done, there’s no going back, and there’s sure as Hell no fixing it.”

.

She turns to him, a drip of disdain instead of alcohol on her lips which she wipes away with a quick lick. She looks at the dark haired man through her dark brown eyes with ever changing secrets and mood swings, where the wind blew she would surely follow but what of him? There has been no retribution in the end for December Athanas, had there? “And do you mean the damage was already done a long time ago, perhaps years ago even? Does it make no difference what happens now, December?”

Sometimes when she talks she feels as though she is staring aimlessly into the darkness, a void into the souls of those around her that she can tear open and flick shut just as easily. It should make her feel sad or engaged but she does nothing but feed the parts of them that need to be fed and pester the ever growing hunger inside herself, “You think yourself that important that you’re too damaged to go back?”

.

The crude comment brushes right over her, her prim nature subdued by the frustration and hurt that are at the forefront. Initially, with Azra at least, it had been the concern of the affair. Their mother had given Vidal Athanas everything, lived her life for him and the children that he had brought into their home, and hearing that he had been unfaithful had stirred ugly emotions in her. But then she had time to think about it, to wonder if their mother would have even cared. This time, however, it wasn’t that her father was unfaithful, it was that he had willingly started something with someone who meant so much to her. That Harley had known what that man had done, and fallen in love with him anyway. Kept it a dirty secret for the entire duration of their friendship, dried Belva’s tears when she’d been lead to leave her home and then slipped back in to share a bed with the man who had iced her out.

“Nothing?” The word is sharp, carefully manicured fingernails clutching the stem of the champagne glass. Emilio’s final comment causes her painted lips to fall open, and the emotions rise within her like the bubbles in the expensive alcohol. “But it did touch us  touched me. Harley was one of my best friends, she was   she was the first person I ever talked about all of the messed up shit that he did with. She was there for all of it, saw everything, and still loved him. Still chose to be with him.” It’s these thoughts that drove her out of the house on the hill, that nearly drove her mad pacing her empty London apartment. Emilio speaks of her understanding of compassion, and she wonders if this is why her sister doesn’t seem to see the reason that this betrayal is tearing her apart. The news of their new sibling hadn’t reached her yet, but it isn’t enough to fully pull her from her hurt. “It’s a baby. I was upset at first, but…can’t blame a baby for who their shitty father is. They’re not so different from us, really.” Except she hopes that they will be, that they’ll make it out of Vertmoor without all of the scars that the other Athanas children have. Belva finishes the glass, the burn not nearly as unpleasant as the stinging in her eyes and the reason behind it. “They’ll be better off without him here, at least.”

*

"Did she choose?” Emilio asks, it is not really a question. It seems to her very obvious that nobody but their Father really had any power over the comings and goings of the house on the hill. Perhaps it set alight a flame in her own heart that in a sense even when in chaos, her Father had tried his best to keep the dog collar and reigns close by. She has seen her siblings become who they were meant to be, not by destiny but by the choice. When she looks around she still sees the strings and it amuses her but also bemuses her that it is not clear to all that his powers were deeper than their own concept of free will -- had they ever believed themselves to. have any at all? “It seems to me at least that you all believe that our Father took away all our choices, he made it so his way was the only way. He controlled you all like puppets for your entire lives and yet your imagination does not comprehend his ability to manipulate just one single misplaced woman because the power of friendship is meant to be stronger?”

She leans back in the bar chair and refills her glass with little interest, a small chuckle sliding from her made up lips. Oh, how funny it is that even now the penultimate card is always their father. “Even in his grave he can be the most important man in the room, does that not humour you as it humours me?” she pauses, dark eyes flittering as she leans her head back and presses her lips back together to create as short silence, “There are so many version of the man left behind that it is quite a talent.”

𝐈𝐓  𝐖𝐀𝐒  𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐁𝐋𝐄  𝐓𝐎  𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐘  𝐆𝐎𝐍𝐄  𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑  ,  how  vivid  and  arduous his  emotions  were  within  the  perimeter  of  the  house  on  the  hill    —    it  was  a  drug  ,  a  temptress  ,  the  eye  of  the  storm    —    a  place  where  entropy ruled  and  his  desires  were  replaced  by  a  need  to  breed  fortune  out  of  chaos  .  and  he  missed his  favorite  investment too  ,  half-woman and  half-wolf  ,  a  fascinating creature  that  he  knew  could  survive  and  fight  out  of  any  cage  she’d  be  thrown in  .  there  was  no  point  in  protecting  an  investment  that  would  always be  impossibly  and  violently  autonomous .  he  could  never  love  her  ,  but  he  could  worship  her  violence  .  and  maybe  ,  he  was  a  bit  of  a  masochist to  come  back  after  all  these  time  while  fully  aware  of  how  she  could  easily dismember  him  with  her  bare  hands      —   but  what  could  he  say  ,  he  liked  it  a  little rough  sometimes  .  

❛        and  the  sharks come  circling  in  at  the  smell  of  blood  ,        ❜    was  he  talking about  himself  ?  he  didn’t  care  much  for  mundane greetings  ,  presence announced  with  a  wolfish  smile  and  his  gaze  fixated on  her  .      ❛    you  know  ,  i  never  really  thought you  killed  your  father  .  but  i  do  think  erebus  mistook graciela’s  father for  vidal  that  night  and  killed  him  .  you  know  what  he  did  but  i’m  not  so  sure  whether you’re  protecting  him  or  letting him  suffer  with  all  that  guilt  ,    ❜  he  almost  laughed at  the  idea  ,  not  that  he  actually  believed his  own  words  ,  simply thinking  out  loud  as  he  attempted  to  pick  her  brain  to  elaborate  on  details  he  might  have  missed  when  he  was  gone  .    ❛    whatever ,  he  can  kill  whoever he  wants  . i  don’t  care  as  long  as  it’s  not  you  and  me    ,    ❜    he  had  never  been  gentle  with  his  words  ,  almost sounding  as  if  desperately  and  achingly  in  love    —    a  you  and  me  against the  world  of  sorts   —  albeit  so  far  off  the  truth  .  

AND  SO  HE  LIVES  AND  BREATHES  although admittedly she wished it was not so, she was also relieved she may have a chance to torture him further herself (as he deserved). when she turns she almost expects to see the walking dead or the remains of a fly infested carcass standing on two pitch forks. “and you think yourself a shark?” the words are sharp, all glints of teeth and dancing malice in dark eyes. all are promises that he is not the beast that he believes himself to be although he must think himself mighty since he should be the one who decided to set her up months ago before disappearing. she steps towards him only slightly, the glass in her fingertips as it tilts to each side threatening to spill, “i have been longing for your return,” she speaks thirstily and honestly for she is not a liar, she has been waiting for him and thinking of all the ways in which she can exact her vengeance.

his theories of erebus are lost on her for she knows this not to be the truth, her eyes flash dangerously as she glass tilts once more and champagne spills thoughtlessly to the ground until the glass is an empty vessel. “you and me,” she repeats, staring at him with a harsh and menacing look, “am i not the nightmare you longed to write about? have you not got your riches? do you return to spin more tales about it all?” it was not that she cared, his story meant nothing to her, his book a mere joke in her eyes. her mind was too quick for these matters, she as too hungry for such things as hurt feelings but she did not like to be deceived. a serpent was a serpent but it needed to be beheaded when it believed itself as something more. “where is july?”

—

some people would call it “poorly coping” but he thought it was “dealing perfectly” with the fact that his best friend had tried to take his mom out, his sister dropped off the face of the earth, his other two siblings weren’t communicating with him, and his favorite sister still only remembered him maybe twice a year. nathaniel set down his empty shot glass on the counter, wrapping his arms around emilio as she poured another glass of champagne. he holds onto her loosely, allowing her access to step away whenever she was tired of the contact, though he nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck. “we should just unravel this bitch, find out who else of our friends is secretly planning to unalive the one remaining parent out of the thirty of us.” he sighs dejectedly, “give me a shot of champagne.” 

*

“it does not matter what they plan, the execution has been poor so far,” she points out, raising the glass to painted red lips and taking a long sip. she turns her head only momentarily to look at him but does not mention that she sees no point in a shot of champagne when you could have a glass. she tilted the bottle to fill the tiny cup and slides it across to him. she does not understand his sadness or resignation although she does recognise it, she imagines how it might feel but these emotions never quite fit her right. he is the one person she deems as truly loyal and reasonable. she shifts away from him but tilts his chin upwards, “haven’t i told you that nothing bad will become of you or me? you can BELIEVE in that.”

The words send a chill down her spine, and despite the expensive knit sweater that she wears, there’s a cold there that refuses to budge. “There’s so much I can’t remember. Not him, not a sick kid. It makes my skin crawl, but I guess for you, maybe remembering was even worse.” She looks at Emilio then, tries to imagine being a child and holding onto such a secret, to the guilt of trying to save someone and not being able to. Was it any wonder Emilio was the way that she was, with a father so bent on making her that way? That prickling feeling remains, but the anger surfaces too, the way that Emilio’s statement is so aligned with what their father was like. “God, he really was evil, wasn’t he? And so many of us still did everything to try and win his…his approval, whatever that was.” A sharp exhale passes her painted lips, and she wonders how long it will take before thinking of the man doesn’t make her want to explode.

It’s an odd moment, the two of them sitting together, Emilio offering her a drink and Belva only hesitating for a moment before she tilts her chin in agreement. Changes, big and small. As unpredictable as the rest of Vertmoor and its odd occupants. “What about the ones you just weren’t supposed to find out about?” she asks, and the memories that the question stems from cause her to reach out for the bottle and pour herself a glass. The little bubbles rise to the surface, and she thinks of the little doll in its tiny bathrobe, of Harley’s voice as she said, I just…was there. It’s this that prompts her to grab the glass, unladylike as she sips at the drink and pulls back with a look of distaste. Still, it doesn’t stop her from going back for another sip. “Did you know he was having an affair? With her, of all people?”

“No,” she says easily, the word familiar to her as it enters the world. She looks at Belva and wonders why this is so important to her. She does not understand these trivial matters, in fact it is more apparent to her than anyone that the real question should be why should someone want to sleep with their Father. “Was it really an affair when he and our Mother were never together as one at all? It’s more so that he liked to stick his wick wherever it would fit,” she remarks simply. What a strange world they live in where these sexual relationships are so meaningful to people who were not even involved. She was shocked to hear of all the affairs but only because she had not noticed a considerable amount of them taking place.

“Is it not that I’m meant to be the one that doesn’t understand compassion, not the rest of you?” she ponders, “And yet you seem to lack the understanding that for some reason your friend was IN LOVE with our Father so much so that she was willing to give up everything else in the world for him -- even you. You and I both know he never loved her back. I’m the last person who understands these apparent matters of the heart but I believe in this case your misguided little friend is the one who has been left with nothing. Why is our family the one who is crying about an affair that never touched us at all? Azra already has the heir.”

.

Blue eyes watch Emilio’s movements, drift from the bubbling champagne that she just knows would taste bitter on her tongue, to the strange look that her sister wears. What would they do? Who were they all outside of their father, outside of the disturbing legacy that he had left them with? “Try to move on, I guess. Leave that asshole in the past,” Belva replies, tone sharper than she’s ever used with Emilio. Well, not with Emilio, but in her presence; the acid that falls from her tongue isn’t directed at her sister, but at the man who had made them family. A feeling of exhilaration runs through her, at the curse and the prospect of a world where Vidal Athanas was just a distant memory. 

The blonde focuses in on what Emilio is saying, preventing herself from getting lost in her thoughts and her tiny rebellions. Emilio was someone she needed to focus on when speaking with, her sister always there with hidden clues and meanings and, perhaps even more than that, someone who wasn’t happy with just mindless agreement and vacant smiles. It takes a moment for the pieces to shift together, but when they do, Belva’s lips purse together. “I want to know why he was different. Why we’ve been able to find him, but none of the others,” she admits, forearms resting on the bar top, the muscles of her shoulders rather tense. It isn’t good to fall down this rabbit hole again, a voice warns her, but there’s an even louder voice that has brought her back here. “Wait, he what?” she asks all of a sudden, something about Emilio’s statement causing confusion to pass over her face.

.

She hasn’t been trying to lose time within these memories, little holes that seem to open, appear and absorb days, weeks, months, even years each time. These little tears in their lifetime are better forgotten, her Father had told her to soothe her but she has held onto them. She holds on tightly to the forgotten. She sews her own tales and in most cases she has been ignored, as if she is the one who has never made any sense and not the fraudulent family and memories that were made before their eyes, “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you how I tried to save him. How I was the only one,” she points out, this much was true. She doesn’t need to spell out the tale of his trauma or the way his eyes looked as he drained away, she thinks onoly of her Father’s throne of lies and how it still sits behind his desk awaiting it’s hidden legacy. “Dolls are made to be perfect, Belva. In their own way. You return the fauly ones to the manufacturer,” she suggests as if it were unwanted Christmas gifts she spoke of and not human beings.

“Do you want some champagne? Perhaps it will absolve some of your questions,” she decides, pointing the rim of the bottle towards her. Her interest in Max itself is selfish, he is no use to her as he is no longer the boy that she left behind. He is nobody at all. “It’s not good to get tangled up in details we were supposed to forget.”

.

Summer had been filled with ugly family secrets, autumn with situations she found herself dragged into and desperate to escape. And so, when things at the house upon the hill seemed to calm down and Belva couldn’t walk down a hallway without bumping into ghosts and unpleasant memories, she’d quietly packed her bags and retreated to London. Taken the first job that got her out of the country and out of her mind for long enough to feel as if she could actually breathe again. And when that had ended and the holidays crept in, she found herself back where it all began, wondering why there was still something calling her back to a house that left its occupants so haunted.

So many things had changed since their father’s death. She had changed, even if some days she still looked in the mirror and could only see the reflection he’d crafted. Still, there was a certain thrill to sitting in a crowded bar in her hometown, sitting beside a sister he’d wanted her to fear, to reject. “Good. I’m kind of sick of all the unraveling, if I’m bein’ honest,” the blonde replies, the sentiment so different to the months previous when she’d been desperate to unravel it all and find out the answers. Now, she’s just so tired, so afraid that more unraveling will just unravel her too. 

.

"And what will we do if we don’t unravel?” she ponders the thought aloud as it tumbles from her lips, champagne bubbles fizzing and popping against the edge of her chin from the edge of the glass. She had not the luxury of many others, there was no other place to go, no other thing to satisfy her mind besides this puzzle. Desperately, in the hopes of some sense of feeling she clung to the ghost of a home caring little but so much all at once in a way that should not have been.  “I thought that things would change when I saw that ghost boy,” she admits, in a way that almost seems human. Perhaps in some ways she has always been human, just built differently. She wishes so much that the rediscovery of Max, his brittle little bones and under inflated lungs in the form of a man that walked amongst them would have inspired some feeling between her rib cage and her organs but he was simply underwhelming. In ill health she had cared for him more, back then as a child she remembered some form of care at least but now she stared emptily at blue eyes who longed after a girl who would never care for him and felt uninspired. “I was the one who watched him die... And yet here he stands and survives and lives and procreates and I could’t care any less about his survival or existence.”

Bluebell had dug herself far too deep into the Athanas existence. She was not a sibling, but with her frequenting the house, reporters might think she was. The way she walked with arms linked with Belva all the time certainly set her up for this life, one she had not meant to get involved in. Blue loved the limelight, but not like this. She sighed, leaning against the bar, looking at Emilio, who always seemed just a little… Off.

“If we’re going to start talking murder and blood you’re going to need to pour me one of those.” She couldn’t imagine how all of them were not exhausted. At this point, she’d be okay with none of it unraveling. She could get back to normal.

.

She looked over at the other who was by far one of the more attractive serpents that slithered their way into the dollhouse. She still didn’t understand how all these people slotted into her Father’s narrative but slowly it became clear that he was a great puppet master and everyone in their lives served him some purpose. Vidal never let go of his dolls, even when he wanted to, even when he made it seem that he did... except for Emilio. He didn’t know how to hold onto her so she held onto him instead.

“I’ll talk about something else for you,” she speaks in a way that is probably quite unnerving, popping a cherry from her pot on the bar into her mouth. “Have you given up on getting back together with Ace?”

“You can basically smell the blood in the air these days, everybody’s waiting for it to all unravel. But, it never will,” she proceeds, bottle uncorked as it spills into a champagne glass with a splash, dangerously filling to the edges. 

—

how  does  one  begin  to  describe  the  enigma  that  is  emilio  athanas?  she  was  erratic,  explosive,  uncontrollable.  people  were  scared  of  her  and  the  things  she  was  capable  of.  but  nathaniel  can’t  ever  think  of  a  time  he  was  afraid.  she  left  him  exasperated  in  the  moments  she  was  determined  to  do  her  own  thing,  but  he  would  never  let  her  do  them  alone.  she  didn’t  need  anyone  to  be  soft  towards  her,  she  didn’t  need  or  expect  the  kindness  and  affection  that  nathan  gave,  but  he  found  it  so  painfully  easy.  there  was  an  ease  in  the  way  he  could  wrap  his  arms  around  her  and  an  ease  in  the  way  he  could  press  a  kiss  to  her  temple  the  same  way  he  could  blanket  her  hand  with  his  jacket  before  she  punches  a  glass  wall.  beyond  that,  he  trusts  her,  which  is  why  he  knows  she’s  right  about  nino’s  motives  being  his  father.  

he’s  sitting  there  looking  at  her  and  the  hard  line  his  mouth  had  formed  softens.  he’s  never  needed  her  like  this  before,  but  in  that  moment  she  was  the  only  person  capable  of  truly  making  him  feel  better.  nathaniel  reaches  a  hand  up  to  grab  her’s  resting  on  his  shoulder,  turning  his  head  just  slightly  to  place  a  light  kiss  to  the  inside  of  her  wrist  before  resting  his  arm  on  the  bar.  “i  guess  it’s  a  good  thing  some  of  us  know  how  to  keep  secrets.”  his  eyes  are  searching  hers,  the  hint  of  mischief  slowly  ebbing  its  way  back  into  his  gaze  as  he  silently  tells  her  thank  you.  “grab  your  bottle  and  let’s  get  out  of  here?”

..

she is senseless in violence and all else that follows, incapable of all that much in the form of sympathy and yet she has understanding of the needs of others. all those things that made her dangerous also made her a DECENT person sometimes. people had lived in their fear so long that they never saw that she could put things back together just as quickly as she could tear them apart. “all secrets fall apart at the seams in the end,” she says gently as if it is not something to be afraid of. her fingers press into her palm at the faint memory of a boy that she knows as maximus arslan but that is not the same. sometimes she is torn between so many versions of history that they can’t all exist at once. she doesn’t understand the thanks that crosses the surface of his pretty eyes but she tilts her head all the same, fingertips grazing over his bare cheek lightly before she slips from between his legs and grabs the bottle he refers to. 

“your wish is my command,” she waves the bottle with glee, the bar stool beside her toppling to the ground with the force of her movement. a few turn but nobody intervenes. sometimes this town bores her, their responses muted and strange lacking any kind of colour. she thinks of lucifer briefly then because he was the only person who really dared to be by her side, now nathaniel. is he doomed the same way? she reaches out and pulls him by his shirt to his feet before he has the chance to get up himself, “what do you want to do? we can do anything you want. just this one time, i’ll let you be in charge,” she spins to walk towards the door.

                          DHTASK // FAVOURITE THINGS

clearliquors:

BOLD what applies to your muse.

PLACE IN SOCIETY

financial: wealthy / moderate / poor / in poverty.

medical: fit / moderate / sickly / disabled / disadvantaged.

class or caste: upper / middle / working / slave / unsure.

education: qualified / unqualified / studying.

criminal record: yes, for major crimes / yes, for minor crimes / no.

FAMILY

married - happily / married - unhappily / engaged or betrothed / partnered / single / divorced / separated.

has a child or children / has no children / wants children.  

close with sibling(s) / not close with sibling(s) / has no siblings / sibling(s) is deceased.

orphaned / adopted / disowned / raised by birth parent(s).

TRAITS + TENDENCIES

extroverted / introverted / in between.

disorganized / organized / in between.

close minded / open-minded  / in between.

calm / anxious / in between.

disagreeable / agreeable / in between.

cautious / reckless / in between.

patient / impatient / in between.

outspoken / reserved / in between.

leader / follower / in between.

empathetic / unemphatic / in between.

SEXUALITY + ROMANTIC INCLINATION

heterosexual / homosexual / bisexual / asexual / pansexual.

sex repulsed / sex neutral / sex favourable.

romance repulsed / romance neutral / romance favourable.

sexually: adventurous / experienced / naive / inexperienced / curious.

potential sexual partners: male / female / agender / other / none / all.

potential romantic partners: male / female / agender / other / none / all.

ABILITIES

combat skills: excellent / good / moderate / poor / none.

literacy skills: excellent / good / moderate / poor / none

artistic skills: excellent / good / moderate / poor / none

technical skills: excellent / good / moderate / poor / none.

HABITS

drinking alcohol: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess.

smoking: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess. 

other narcotics: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess.

medicinal drugs: never / sometimes  / frequently / to excess. 

indulgent food: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess. 

splurge spending: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess.