are we damned

starter for:

tigrestal ebvnlee cybxrnxtic

replies for: 

noooooBODYyyy

plotting:

A wanted man on his knees, bloodied and beaten. She’d heard his name (Jiyong, Jiyong) , just whispers she could get if she concentrated enough but now he was here at her feet, begging. Begging like a fool to a an unmerciful queen with a blade between her fingers poised to strike.

A fool with white wings she itches to clip, and stamp on them until they are black like hers. Rage is not unfamiliar to a warrior, but this rage is like a void. A blackness in her chest that threatens to consume her, and move her hand to slit his throat. She itches to drag the blade of the holy across his skin and watch how pretty the red makes him.

Mercy.

She drops the blade.

"I care nothing for the bounties of the damned or the graced. I won’t do that. I won’t paint myself in red to satisfy you. If you want to die, then kill yourself. You’re a coward, anyways." She stated simply, almost airily as if the words carried no weight, but the disgust was clearly written on her face. Lips lifted into a sneer, wrinkles creased in the middle of her brows, and eyes flashing with fire.

“More?"

For the first time in all the years she’d spent in the mundane world amongst all the temptations it was riddled with, she wanted a drink. It was stupid to want something that would most likely have little affect on her. But, oh how she longed. She’d swore never to resort to such a thing but things didn’t seem to be getting any better. If it was the last thing she’d consume before she was done for, she wanted a drink. Something thick and bitter, that would bring the feeling that others called heaven. Defeat settled into the tops of her shoulders making her slump down into the cushions of the leather coach.

"I thought I told you only to bring back the good."

Another holy being where the milk of the divine had finally run dry, eyes sunken in like a skeleton and bruises punched underneath her eyelids like fashion statements. In religion, they liked to say that the kingdom of god was within you because you lifted his name and practiced well but it was all a lie. The kingdom of god would only be within you because you ate it, drank the divine power right from the fountain until it ran dry. No kingdom without a source.

It was a joke amongst God’s little fairies, and now it seemed to be more like a slap to the face. There was a void waiting for them, ready to swallow them all whole. The only person who could stop it would be God.

“Yes.”

Her eyebrows drew together, a pinched looked passing over the normally blank canvas, at his accusatory tone of voice. Her reasons were glaringly obvious. The morning was cool despite the sunlight filtering in through the wooden shutter, and she couldn’t locate her robe .It was only logical to borrow something of his, a thick burgundy crewneck over the satin gown. She would admit it was an atrocious combination, but practical for her purposes.

"Yes, I know. But you know that flattery will get you nowhere, don’t you? Hm— Boy.”

The world is a masquerade, mundane and confusing. Actors, all of them. Lying so beautifully that it became a celebrated profession (with shiny trophies and all). Pathetic. There were so many types of people, but they all seem to act the same.

Same routine, constantly hustling and bustling running on impulse and adrenaline day in and out. Carving personalities out of fake personas and cloaking their real selves in order to finally be seen.

Boys were exceptionally unoriginal. Little boys in big pants, dancing in big arenas as they hid behind cruel smiles and smirks, but still thinking with little boy minds. Never choosing to elevate themselves, be something more. And bad boys with there collars popped and Lucifer nipping at their heels looking for another solider.

This boy was neither.

He was just an asshole, as she’d heard others day oh so eloquently.

But she wouldn’t indulge him, or feed his rage.

If she could tear through the skies like one of those god awful monstrosity of a machine they called a bulldozer, then she could certainly dance amongst the cloaked sacks of flesh.

"Are you angry? Does the little nickname upset you? I’m sorry.” 

She wasn’t.

A traitor is never just a traitor, standing plainly in a crowd of the holy covered in poisonous red made up of their destruction and ruin.

                                      "I'm not concerned with

                                      your self esteem or bad  

                                   childhood. I'll take you apart

                                              just the same."

                                  ADRIANNE HO, M.D., F.A.C.S

"No."

Eun's words always seemed open to her, honest somehow like her large bay window where'd she'd sit and peek through to watch the sun play tag with the clouds. They were never riddled with tedious run ons and long winded explanations.

Words, terrible woes they produced. Languid pillow talk full of empty promises, fire starting speeches, expressions of love. There was always of finding destroyers in diction, and artistry in syntax. A few choices phrases acted liked leashes made of metal chains wrapped 'round the necks of the population leading them on like common house pets. There were clouded pictures of moments in her head--memories from observations, perhaps--where they were misused. Those always ended in turmoil, turning over lives and households alike.

Terribly tedious. Actions would suffice for her.

Her gaze softened into something like fondness, a snapshot of calm in a woman who was a walking storm, "Tools, is what they are. Valuable or meaningless shat they are used is up to the person wielding them. But whether hammer or stone, of course, everything can be misused and skewed. Have sympathy, Eun, don't condemn the ignorant."

Hypocritical, to condemn them when they were alike in so many ways. They were foreigners in this world, aliens to be frank. A few centuries walking on uncertain feet could not undo the however many millennia they spent soaring in grace. So they were strangers, to everything but each other, in a world they'd only seen in flashes.

She would gladly swear to spend a lifetime at his side, as a push rather than a crutch, if it meant solace. And in turn, he would be her cradle, her guide, her wings.

In her allegiance, she gave him her trust.