Blade Dancer

As Luxu allowed the close of their shared dance and offered his own bow in her direction—flourished and sweeping, with all the exaggerated cordiality of a proper gentleman—he considered a possible rebuttal to her panther problem—for how would she know that such specific creatures would exist on this particular island on which they might find themselves stranded? Why not lions or tigers or bears (oh my!)?—when her inquiries struck his intrigue at a peculiar angle. He hadn’t figured her to necessarily be the jealous type given her usually icy and logical demeanor, able to box out such unneeded emotions—though perhaps he was merely reading more into the questions than he should have been.

Standing back up to his full height and resuming his usual relaxed posture, he pursed his lips, as though in thought, then responded, “To be fair, my effort varies from person to person. Some of ‘em tumble right into my lap—some of ‘em need a few overtures before fully welcomin’ the attention. 

“But for you?” he went on before she could possibly interrupt his reply, “I don’t believe I’ve ever openly and eagerly proposed such an adventurous first date—y’know, strictly hypothetically, of course.”

Though, admittedly, the prospect of engaging in such an extensive escapade with this particular lass—as he would affectionately call her during this special little swashbuckling caper—definitely had its appeal. Just the two of them, without the vast array of distractions that could hinder their bonding, and there had always been such an inherent sort of aphrodisiac for Luxu attached to the concept of danger.

And, as evidenced from previous interactions between the two of them, it seemed the same could be said of Neraine herself.

“The only question now is,” and here he extended his clawed hand in her direction, the invitation accompanied by the quirk of his brow, “wouldja wanna give the ol’ two-step another spin, but with music this time?” 

Neraine assumed Luxu had the art of seduction down to a science. An unfathomable amount of time feeding off the lusts and wants of humanity. He was hunter and the feeble mortals were prey. He could make grown women blush, stoic men swoon, and his timing was impeccable. The right moment for the suggestive word, the correct joke to lighten the mood, and the delicious hint to intrigue the curiosity. Like the pathetic prince plucking the flower petal before he presented it to Giselle, to ensure the whims of fate fell in his favor. There wasn’t a trick in the book Luxu didn’t know. Including the ‘only you’ line. No one else has ever received such attentions from Luxu. This enticing story was for her alone.

Yes, and Neraine was born yesterday. 

Her hand settled in his on its accord. Pure magnetism, the forces of the universe driving them together. Sparks on the dry brush, wildfires consuming entire forests in their passion. She’d put duct tape over his mouth if it meant one more dance without admitting her own sway. No idea what she’d agreed to or admitted. This is a distraction, hissed her inner voice, drowned out by her own blood rush. Places to be, things to do, lust demons to not fall for-- or she could have one more dance. Sign her name on the dotted line and forget for a half-second in a one-two-three of a waltz. A lapse in judgement or a crumbling, inevitable fall into weakness?

“What exactly are you planning?” Neraine queried. Eyes narrowed, peering up at him. As if she could peer into his golden iris and find a soul with answers inscribed. “There’s a reason you sought me out. Why you stayed so long. Put so much... thought into my particular seduction.”

Her jaw stiffened, chin lifting with stubborn reservation. Her grin was smug in its confident refusal to comply. In this game of complex cat-and-mouse, she would not yield. He called her special, unique, exciting and dangerous, she was all that and more. She was certain, that at some point, he’d give-up. 

Luxu considered pointing out that he had not at all implied that she was suffering from some lack of experience—that he was actually just merely prompting further conversation—but decided there would be no point in doing so. She had given him the information he’d desired—though, admittedly, it certainly had not been as juicy a slice of gossip as he had hoped it would be.

“Eh, I’ve had my bouts of bad decisions—let’s be real, we all do,” he reflected absently, resting his arms on the railing in front of him and casting his gaze out towards the sprawling landscape, not bothering to look directly at her.

Yes, he mused, no matter how old one grows, no matter how many mistakes one makes, there will always be room for more growth—room for more mistakes.

“But hey, if you know the guy’s still kickin’ around, just hit me up if you ever plan to chase after his loser ass,” he added, and this time around he ended up glancing towards Neraine from the corner of his eye, lip twitching upward, the attempt made to, hopefully, lift her mood. “I’m sure we’d make a great team in teachin’ that asshole a lesson.”

Neraine couldn’t stop herself from laughing. Head tilted back, shoulders racking, her hand slid down her face. The other option was breaking down sobbing, so she chose mania to express her misery. Into her palm she devolved into chuckles. Not a sound of it matched the dark storm brewing in her eyes, a maelstrom of rage, frustration, pain. She turned so her back leaned against the railing. Neraine dug her fingers into the flesh of her bicep.

“What the hell do you think we’re doing?” Neraine scoffed. “All this time you’ve been following me around and yet you never asked what we were looking so desperately for.”

They searched for the end of time. For the grand conclusion of some vague destiny she was supposed to be writing. In another life she was a goddess, the High Priestess said. The destroyer and creator of an entire universe-- so she was told. Instead, Neraine was as pitiful as a hound limping in circles with its paw nailed to the floor. All this struggle, and toil, hopping the boundaries of time-space, trying to answer why. Gelyan turned on them, made the Heart of Time explode, crashed her universe into the next one over and no one else seemed to care or notice. And Gelyan?

Gelyan, for all intents and purposes, just ran. 

“I know how to find him,” Neraine said. The muscle in her jaw stiffened. “I’m just not strong enough to do it yet. When I do catch-up to Gelyan though?”

She hesitated, this was where her plan piddled dry. The culmination of all her uncertainties, but anger was a balm for her fear. 

“Ya think? So what? Gonna get me linin’ up for ya like a black tie event?” the Mad Dog crowed. “Talkin’ yourself up like a real class-A act, ain’tcha?”

He leaned in closely. That was the peculiar, most infuriating thing about him, too: that he was suffocating, like garrote around her airways or societal expectations, but captivating and invigorating like a devilish, twisted thrill. A lonely night with whiskey off marinating in the gutter. An hour with a lover, a wicked femme fatale. A banshee, she’d thought him. Cute. No, he shouldn’t pluck at her nerves, the one-eyed bastard. She was lovely, respectable where all people had ought to be – did he remember the protocols for that, she should wonder? – and despite that well-polished veneer she’d crafted for herself… 

The ice in her glass clinked. That flash of inner-turmoil was here-then-gone again:

No family. Few friends. Alone in the big, bad, sprawling world with her roughed up palms and tattered knees. Bruised. Bleeding, they were, like she’d gone crawling idly through glass and gravel. But not pitiful. Not sad.

Had anyone ever asked if she’d hurt with her achings?

Her expression hardened again, and Majima, familiar himself with those ugly inner-ravings, watched unknowingly, humoring: what the hell was that?

“Tell ya what,” he said, voice stuck on that penduluming sing-song. What ear rot. “I’ll button up for the gal on the stage, but she’ll settle with what she’s gettin’.” Even if he dressed as a migraine, an eye-sore, a living, grating nightmare in the flesh–! “Only gal dressin’ Majima Goro down is the one sittin’ in front of me.” And. Well. Holy shit, someone sputtered in the background. Sangria ballerina, he’d deduced lamely.

What an entendre. Ain’t ‘bout to hear ya gab ‘bout why I’m wantin’ what it is I’m wantin’. (Conflict, of course. She liked it, too.) Ain’t gonna let the damn pot call me black.

But, truly, let them bury that elephant in the room! In a flash, as though a mental switch had been unnervingly toggled, Majima’s giggle rung out dismissively. His eye gleamed bright. The bar tune picked up in a twinkly number, and he backed up again to the shelves with their pricey absinthes. “Oughta warn ya, though, might steal the show if I roll up in one of ‘em monkey suits. Liable to blind ya worse than ‘em spotlights trained on ya. Word is, I’m servin’ a real star! Boys were talkin’ encores.”

Barbed wire, concrete and steel walls, cold demeanor, biting insults, if called for. Neraine kept her careful mask of wit and sarcasm as a warning. She did not tolerate fools. Others might hesitate or play but Neraine kept her eyes on the prize. Move, or she will go through you, hard work and determination dragged her this far. Nothing else would stop her. Despite the open hostility Majima remained in the line of fire. No one put-up with Neraine willingly although with incentive, she could be civil. Yet, here was this knave braving her wrath and she couldn’t puzzle what made the effort worth it. She attempted to write him off as an idiot. Majima was not stupid though, his enemies assume he was nuts, absurd, a moron. A man like him had many antagonists but he did not survive to this age by being dumb. No, Majima was well intentioned and aware, hell, even methodical and intelligent.

She could see it all written out in his eye. 

Her nails bit into the flesh of her palm. He was trying to get under her skin, no, he was already under her skin. Well-situated, like a chigger. He wasn’t propositioning her for shit, that was bait she would not take. No sir, no more biting the hook, line, and sinker. Majima was ensuring that tomorrow morning at rehearsal Neraine’s co-workers would bring him back to mind. He’d live in infamy in her thoughts. She’d torture herself for him. Twist herself into knots over their conversation. He spun a horror story for her. Neraine never had parents to embarrass her at recitals. At twenty-three, she could have Majima in tweed cooing in the audience. Every show from tonight on she’d look out at the crowd and search for Majima. He was damn insidious. Neraine didn’t believe in fate but he was making her wonder about karma. 

“Don’t worry, when I’m on the stage,” Neraine whispered. “No one will care about your outfit. Your boys didn’t lie to you--”

Neraine leaned in, she refused to back down or slip away. Not when Majima posed an open challenge. She was grinning, cocksure, daring, unflinching. For all her complaints, she was playing his game, dancing to his tune. It was like that heart pounding, adrenaline rush when she put her fist to his jaw. He was a thrill, a drug, right in her veins, crazy and wild. 

“I am the best dancer in Tokyo,” Neraine smirked. She met his gaze, jaw strong with her confidence. It wasn’t a boast, Neraine wasn’t cocky, she was honest. “You best believe I’m worth the price of admission alone.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “And when those gals ain’t smashed they’re a pretty good show themselves.”

Neraine chuckled and finished off her half-melted drink. 

@nixniivalis​  ♥️’d

“I’m by your side—

“But are you still with me?”

 BASICS

NAME: Neraine Koh NICKNAME: Nera AGE: 22 SPECIES: Human

 PERSONAL

MORALITY: lawful / NEUTRAL / CHAOTIC / good / GREY / evil. RELIGION:  N/A SINS: greed  /  gluttony  / sloth  / lust / pride  /  envy  /  wrath VIRTUES: chastity  /  charity  /  diligence  /  humility  /  kindness / patience /  justice PRIMARY GOALS IN LIFE: Find her friends and her way home. KNOWN  LANGUAGES:  English, Malay, Chinese

 PHYSICAL

BUILD: scrawny  / bony  / slender /  fit /  athletic  /  curvy  /  herculean  /  pudgy  /  average. HEIGHT: 5′4″ WEIGHT: 115 lb. SCARS  /  BIRTHMARKS: Neraine has numerous scars up her arms from fights and the process of learning her blades ABILITIES  /  POWERS: She is a powerful ice mage capable of channeling her power to increase her speed and physical strength. In her service she has three powerful spirits. Even in verses without her magic, she’s a skilled ballerina and dancer.  RESTRICTIONS: Neraine’s magic skill is unrefined and shallow; she struggles to connect others.

 FAVOURITES

FOOD:   neraine eats a restricted diet with no red meat, no alcohol, limited sugar and carbs, and no caffeine. She’s a fairly good cook and prefers to make her own meals. DRINK:  water PIZZA  TOPPING: vegetarian with white sauce COLOR:  purple and blue MUSIC  GENRE: classical, opera, jazz, and pop BOOK GENRE:  non-fiction, romance, or fantasy; Neraine typically reads the top of the best seller list. MOVIE  GENRE:  mystery SEASON:  winter CURSE  WORD:   bastard SCENTS:  lavender perfume, floral shampoo, citrus 

 FUN STUFF

BOTTOM  OR  TOP SINGS  IN  THE  SHOWER: neraine is a talented singer and has preformed professionally. She will practice her songs in the shower and she’s probably one of the better shower-singers.  LIKES  PUNS: She has a tasteful appreciation

Lex watches the old recording, clearly fascinated even when he flinches and goes hilariously wide-eyed at the massive explosion that is the launch itself.

That is a lot of fire.

“Expensive.” He scoffs. “Are you sure there was just no one left that wanted to go to the moon on a giant ball of fire?”

Despite the tone, his hand hovers over the screen for a moment before scrolling down to the related videos list and tapping on the moon walk footage. One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.

“…Wonder what it’s like…”

Lex was a perpetual five hundred years behind. Everything from the lights, to the fridge, to the TV, to sliced bread, was new to him. The facts of Neraine life that she took for granted were unusual to him. His unique perspective turned things inside out.

“You say that,” Neraine began. “But people who’ve been to space talk different. Imagine you’re on the lunar surface and you’re looking at the Earth. There’s no cities, no borders, no wars, it’s just a hunk of rock floating in the void. I think, an experience like that changes you”

Neraine placed her phone on the coffee table. She crossed her arms as she leaned back into the couch. 

“Look, sweetheart, it’s called a rough outline, and it’s usually a good idea to have one before you get to writin’ your first draft,” Luxu explained himself, gliding with ease into her physically-suggested dance pattern. One did not live as long as Luxu to not at least learn a few basic steps in order to get by. “But if you’re gonna be ridin’ my ass about the particulars, then fine, I guess I can amuse you.”

Following along, mentally counting, one hand settled delicately at her waist while the other clasped her hand in his own, “Might call up a couple’a the boys, then, before we head on out. Y’know, stealin’ a mid-sized boat might take a lil extra effort. And little do you know, I happen to have a history with captainin’ a vessel, so as long as ya follow my lead, we should be well off enough.”

Their steady box-step continued, Luxu breaking up the monotony with a well-placed twirl before going on:

“And if we switch up the undead bit to them just bein’ mutineers, then that’d be more doable. Don’t even gotta pay up a demon for him to betray ya at some point, so all’s we gotta worry about is gettin’ up to the smoochin’ part,” followed by a gruff exhale of laughter. “I mean, if we’re wantin’ to go with some kinda Harlequin cliché, we could end up crashin’ the boat on a quarry of rocks juttin’ up from the ocean durin’ the heat a’ battle and hafta swim to a deserted isle, where, in order to fend off the dangers of the forests and weather the torrential tropical storms, we’d hafta figure out how to work together instead a’ bickerin’ all the time.”

All at once, the rigid box step morphed into something of a swifter, more intimate tango, Luxu’s description continuing, “And as we grow closer and closer to one another, learnin’ how well we actually work together—we realize that we’ve been denyin’ our feelings for one another all this time. And then, when we see the rescue vessel in view, our faces lean in close, and then our… lips… gently…”

His face moved in closer to hers as he uttered those last few words—but then, to punctuate the excitement, he dipped Neraine low to the floor before popping her back up with a grin, “See? This is what you’re here for—to be my editor and help me work out all the lil kinks.”

In their dance Neraine allowed him the flourish. Joined by their fingertips, Neraine arced the curve of her wrist in an elegant sweeping gesture. Then Luxu reeled her back in, hand settling on her waist like it belonged there. Their small shuffle had turned into a proper step. There was an elegant rise and fall on the phantom third beat. Her gaze lifted, meeting his like it should. Neraine straightened into a well-practiced formality. Years of lessons, training, choreographies and competitions coming to the fore. 

Luxu’s story conjured images of high seas and water so blue the sky envied it. She thought, Of swashbuckling pirates chanting rhythmic songs as they put up the sails. The wind in her hair, the taste of salt, that left her skin dry and her lips chapped. The distant horizon nothing but an open question. Dangerous ports, strange locales, and unknown people. She could imagine those nights. Trapped on a hunk of rock and sand jutting out of the ocean by flickering fire light. Dangerous beasts threatening to rend them in ‘twain. The stars passing them by. A circular heaven of planets and moons in a constant dance. They could name the constellations. According to him they weren’t destined to rot there either. There was a happy ending, or whatever came after their rescue. Would the passionate feelings wane once the dangerous of survival passed? Or do experiences like theirs bind two souls together, in unbreakable ways? They’d returned changed, but at least they’d be different together--

He transitioned the dance so quick Neraine almost missed it. Ripped from the story her first step into the new style was hesitant and stumbled. The beat and rhythm ran together as she hurried to catch-up. By the end of the measure she’d closed the final step with him. Then, without waiting, he launched them into the next step of what she now recognized as a tango. Luxu drew her closer, chest-to-chest, voice at the shell of her ear. The split-second, eyes caught, and his face inches from her, it stole her breath. Like she was some grade school ninny. 

“That is if we don’t get eaten by panthers,” Neraine breathed. “Or die of dehydration. Hmm, being ripped to shreds or a slow, thirsty death? Can’t decide, can’t decide--.”

Luxu dipped her, and broke off her thought. Neraine remained loose and malleable in his arms. He righted her and Neraine parted from him but feigned an almost mocking curtesy. Her hands spreading through an imaginary skirt. 

starter for @ghostlyanon​ so Annie Can Learn to Dance

The pianist smashed out a tune in three-four time. Despite his weighted hands and incompetent fingers Neraine recognized the semblance of a waltz. The instrument was out of tune and his rhythm was off, but the song was there. Points for an effort. Rain pelted the roof and streaked the clouded glass windows of the inn. A dozen travelers, all damp, tired, and hungry, sat around the large center hearth, warming themselves beside the fire. Neraine and Annie sat together on a wooden bench along the far wall of the room. It was a secluded, quiet, but warm corner. Two empty bowls of what was once stew stacked between them. Neraine crossed her arms, not quite tired enough for bed but too bored to sit there any longer. She pressed to her feet. Wordless, Neraine reached down and offered her hand to Annie. She didn’t wait, pulling the other girl to her feet.

@nixniivalis​  ❤︎’d

          ‘ I can help you, if you want! ‘

Under typical circumstances, a lovely woman’s hands on him would undoubtedly serve as a prelude to unbinding his lascivious nature. That the night would unfold and spiritually fuel him, provide him not only with personal entertainment, but also with the intangible sustenance that gave infernal entities their livelihood.

Yet here, Neraine’s skin upon his own merely soothed him in a way with which he had not been familiar for quite some time. A divine sort of contact that strangely lacked the sting of such holiness upon his flesh—an angelic softness, sans the burning imprint such a touch usually left behind for his ilk.

He wished he could have relished in her halfhearted pick-up line. That they could have just dropped this tense air and gone back to their normal bouts of back-and-forth teasing. That sort of interaction was so much easier for his nature—took so little effort. Yet it felt like they were finally breaching a barrier not yet vaulted. Feeling somehow as though all of their previous physical encounters would not compare to this… this tender moment was occurring, right now, between them.

And his suspicions were confirmed with that last question.

It was something he did not enjoy discussing—by far, it was something he had avoided thinking about as often as possible. Occasionally the inspiration struck him to pen out a semi-autobiography (published under the guise of a titillatingly blasphemous fictional novel, of course—maybe even press his creativity for a scorchingly sacrilegious three-parter), but after the first few sentences within the span of three hours, followed by three glasses of whiskey pounded down in frustration, he would abandon the idea. After all, how could one possibly measure up to the work Milton had already put in for his ol’ pal Luci? Really, how does one possibly surpass the whole “Hail, horrors! hail, Infernal World!” spiel? Sure, Luxu could figure it out if he lingered long enough, but for now, he’ll just stick to his private journals, to save himself the embarrassment of publishers turning down his hard work—likely multiple times, knowing the garbage most humans liked to peddle amongst themselves.

And so, he’d never regaled the full tale of the Fall—his Fall—to… well, anyone, as he could recall. All of that pain, all of that… that anguish—

“…Heaven’s only good to you if you keep your head down and keep on singin’,” and—without mentally checking his next action—lifted both of his hands and completely encompassed Neraine’s own, though with an odd gentleness he usually did not have the chance to demonstrate. “And when you decide to use that voice for anything other than that, well… let’s just say, it gets real messy.”

Luxu he went by now, but once upon what felt like a distant fever dream he had been “Asmodeus,” along with a million other names in a hundred different tongues over the expanse time, before “time” was really “time” and they were living in the vacuum of His Eternal Aether. An all-encompassing ecstasy that pervaded every fiber of his divine form, he and his fellow angels joyfully situated in pre-Creation. Awakened to blissful subservience, yet slumbering in their ignorance.

Until their Eyes truly Opened.

And one who knows the purest of Love is only destined to know the purest of Scorn.

Months ago Neraine followed a strange creature into an alleyway. The story unfolded like an origami paper craft. Ink like blood on her hands and smeared across her lips. Indignant, Neraine had left the imprint of her palm across his cheek in return. Luxu was all jutting angles, strange shapes. Human but contorted in the uncanniest of ways. People didn’t have horns, gold eyes, and scars, like he did. They didn’t talk or walk like him, grating on her last nerve as he followed her like an incessant puppy. Then she stole back that kiss and painted him breathless, red, and flecked with snow. Now Luxu tried to sell her that he had been angel singing in the divine courts before he fell to this demonic form. Since meeting him her life had been a whirlwind. Nothing was clearcut about him. Each conversation revealed another sliver of revelation. He was something, but she was never sure what. 

Angels were a high aspiration. She never read any sacred text about them. If Neraine asked the High Priestess perhaps in her wisdom she could tell Neraine about the servants of the most high. The image Luxu conjured wasn’t of fluffy winged cherubs with harps lounging on clouds though. Neraine thought of horrifying, ancient, powerful, many faced beings of eternity soaring on wings of ivory or silk. Luxu’s voice had a sweet, seductive cadence but the song of an angel must sound like hell. On the reverse, the glamor of demons packaged the strangeness of their species into an easy swallowed pill. That was the trick, Death had explained. Normal, simple, pretty things were luxurious, comforting and tempting. That’s all people wanted. All the plays and novels that warned of grand plans of temptations had it wrong. Most were content with a quiet life and a few small pleasures to make it tolerable. It’s all Neraine had ever wanted. To cut things down and tuck them in their boxes and put them away where they belonged. That’s what demons promised and angels tore apart. 

Between this divide of good and evil --or whatever force of destiny that shoved it way in her life-- Neraine wasn’t sure what she bought. Her entire life she took things for what they were at face value. None of this cosmic crap needed. She wasn’t religious. Neraine didn’t worship or pray, she worked and earned. No one had to write her destiny for her. She’d had it handled, thank you very little. Angels, gods, destiny, were all lofty aspirations for someone who had time to care. No, there were real, hard things to focus on. Neraine had failed in her mission and she had to correct a mistake. For the sake of the entire universe. So she could sleep again. So she could go home. There was what she needed and what she wanted, and she was starting to realize what those things were. Whatever Luxu was or wasn’t supposed to be, didn’t matter. Whatever Luxu was or was supposed to be, didn’t matter. Because all Neraine could see in front of her in that moment was a man. 

Luxu folded her hand in his. She felt the tremble of his heartbeat beneath her fingers. Warmth radiated off his skin, through the callouses of his palms. Neraine tilted her chin-up but her eyes darted down. Her gaze lingered, for a dizzying second, on the curl of his lips. Neraine’s teeth dug into her inner cheek. This wasn’t about her. Kisses in snow were one thing and this was something else. Luxu was intoxicating like the sips of wine she had at parties as a teenager. He was a demon of lust, as he’d say, came with the territory. It had to be natural that at some point Neraine’d fall to the sway. She was stronger than that though, better than that. She could do better by Luxu than just make-out with him. Maybe, after all this time, what he needed was a friend. And as Sisily used to say: that was also what Neraine needed. 

“That-- that’s not right,” Neraine said, she shook her head. “Dissension shouldn’t justify punishment and...”

She lost the syllable in a breathy whisper. Neraine lifted her free hand, hesitated, and then cupped his scarred cheek. Her thumb ran along the jagged, uneven edges of his marred skin. She couldn’t imagine the blade that do that to him. Luxu seemed untouchable and the idea that anyone, anything, could hurt him ate her alive. The burning emotion that it sparked in her demanded action, to even the scales. It wasn't about revenge, it was about restitution, satisfaction, justice. 

Oh yes, Luxu knew exactly the feeling she meant. Albeit rare, even the Archedemon of All Corporeal Desires could experience the intensity of what humans might refer to as the passionate emotional procession of “falling in love.” Not just a notion of lust, but as something deeper and far more profound—an actual connection to another sentient being. Granted, he could count those moments on a single hand, even amidst the numerous eons of his sinful existence—but each one of those at-the-time brilliant and beautiful moments had only ended in his own crippling despair.

A shame he was incapable of learning the first time around to put a leash on such devotion.

“Sounds like you’re talkin’ from experience, eh?”

“What you don’t think I’ve ever been in love before?” Neraine scoffed.

Her arms crossed over her chest. Despite the challenge in her voice her gaze dropped from his. The moment she asked him she asked herself. The resulting answer tasted bitter and pitiful. She listed off passing crushes that she squashed beneath her heel. Neraine didn’t spend school dreaming about the cutest boy in class. She listened to the lecture. Studied, practiced, trained; work never left much time for play. And the other occasion where she indulged the whim, well, it tasted too bitter to swallow.

“Aw, c’mon, now, Miss Hero-eene, don’t be like that,” the demonic entity purred, drawling out his syllables and still not quite willing to let this dandy little make-believe scene come to an end before he’d gotten in his proper jabs, “See, it might just be my opinion, but I don’t think that’s·quite enough swoonin’ from ya just yet. I ain’t even started all my swashbucklin’ talk, and here ya are with your bodice yet un-ripped.”

Luxu was fully aware that there were lines that were not meant to be crossed—alas, he had done so a couple times in the past, and, since he had come to know Neraine, felt rather… well, there wasn’t a precise word for what he experienced, but it certainly wasn’t any sort of positive·term for the feeling instilled in him amidst his lexicon of emotion-related words—and if she demanded he stop, he would agree. Maybe with a few snarky remarks, but nonetheless.

But in this particular instance? What he felt to be a playful sort of interaction between the two of them that he did not usually have the pleasure of experiencing? He would have to… search out·that line.

“My suggestion is we go get ourselves a nice big boat, a couple’a cutlasses, and a whole crew a’ mouthy sailors that all turn out to be wicked undead in the end,” he went on, carrying her around the living space, rocking and cradling her with an obscene sort of confidence. “And in the aftermath? Ya gimme a big ol’ smooch.”

“Aren’t you forgetting some details?” Neraine asked, a slight, amused grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. Her eyebrow lifted, unimpressed by his·‘plans.’ This was why she called the shots. She was the only one who thought anything through.·

Neraine slung her arm around Luxu’s shoulders and neck. Neraine twisted turned in his arms. Confident in her movements as she was that he wouldn’t rop her. She pushed herself upright coming eye-to-eye with Luxu. She felt lighter, gaze brightened with glowing --but restrained-- mirth. Perhaps for now she’d play along with his game. Even as she shot holes in his metaphorical ship.·Her elbow rested against his collarbone and she began to count her points off on her fingers.·

"One, where will we get a boat? Much less a crew?” She asked. Last she head most ships were quite expensive and very much out of their price range. “Do you even know how to sail? I sure don’t. We won’t even make it out of port.”

A helpless, shrug with a flat expression and then a second finger uncurled.·

"Two, this crew of ours-- are you saying they mutiny?” Neraine queried.·“Fighting off zombies isn’t at the top of my list of fun activities. It’s just after·‘walking the plank’ and·‘swimming with sharks.’ Oh, and, three, you rushed right to the part where I kiss you. You may’ve skipped a few chapters.”

Neraine straightened her legs and dropped out of Luxu’s arms. Back on her feet, and not at all done with him, she captured her hand in his. If he wouldn’t let her read in peace then she’d get something really·worth her time out of this. Neraine leaned into Luxu and cued him to pick-up a simple box step. A small shuffle, working in their brief. Her cheek tucked against his shoulder, content for a quiet moment.·

At this point, Luxu could not logically explain why it was he followed Neraine around like this. He could at least offer the superficial and quite believable excuse that he was simply bored, that there was some sort of existential pull that demanded he break from the norm and she had conveniently offered him a temporary solution to that. Demons got bored, after all. It was nothing new. It was how new sins were invented and doled out in abundance as tempting whispers in humans’ ears, catching them unawares with their own subconscious vices; how the mentally vulnerable sometimes found themselves flung bodily to the ground, writhing and thrashing and babbling ancient and evil languages; how, every once in a while, one might enter an abandoned abode and feel… a certain way.

Demons simply bide their time—waiting. Doing what they can to abate the insistent restlessness that was simply the cornerstone of their existence.

But Luxu knew that to be untrue. That his companionship with Neraine was not simply out of practicality for his own needs. As they continued traveling down this road together, his overtly lascivious nature hadn’t entirely disappeared, obviously, yet it had been… quelled. Calmed. Soothed. He did not much enjoy admitting it, but her presence to him was as a lullaby for a stubborn child.

And yet that restlessness had found him yet again this night. Sleep was not something he required anyway, but it was at least one activity that could pass the time after already reading every single book lining the shelves and arranging the flowers (then rearranging them) to his specific tastes. However, the solace of rest did not greet him, and after staring at the ceiling for more time than he preferred to admit, he had risen from his composure and opened the window for some fresh air. Oftentimes, due to their extended lifespans, his infernal ilk did not take the proper time to admire earthen wonders—oftentimes, creation proved a blight upon their consciousness. It represented all that they were intended to destroy, and seeing such lush greenery and hearing the gentle hum of cicadas and the feeling of the wafting breeze upon his bare skin were merely reminders of such a reality.

He hadn’t considered his partial nudity when Neraine had knocked, and he had invited her in without hesitation—in fact, perhaps he had been a tad too eager to do so. However, after her rather unexpected silence, he turned his face towards her, slightly perplexed by her flustered expression. He realized after a moment that it was, perhaps, that he was a bit lacking in attire, but before he could offer a remedy, he became even more perplexed by her approach after her bout of stammering—and certainly reached the epitome of perplexed when she tenderly brought her hand outward and, very gently, traced one of the numerous scars upon his naked flesh.

And though he would not prevent her from doing so—in fact, he would not even dream of staving off her touch, relishing in the internal shiver upon experiencing the contact of such soft fingertips—he still had to, after an odd sort of swallowing motion (some unfamiliar gesture of…nervousness, was it?) be his sarcastic self, albeit of a tad gentler flavor at this moment:

“When I fell from heaven? Well, let’s just say, it’s an experience not worth repeatin’.”

The room was miniscule. Shrunk down to a claustrophobic box, that was crushing Neraine and Luxu together. It was crowded like there was a hundred other, invisible persons stuffed in with them. Yet, it was just them and no one else. Like a whole universe didn’t exist, except for the cicadas and the wind which intruded through the open window. There was an invisible push at Neraine’s back that forced her forward. No chance to turn or double back. The door loomed behind her, unlocked, but closed in a final way. Luxu wasn’t trapping her but Neraine didn’t feel free to leave. She balked, both mortified and overwhelmed at once. This was not like her. Yet, Neraine found no reserve of composure to draw on. Her attention shifted, from her running, babbling inner monologue to the man in front of her. 

Warmth emanated beneath Neraine’s hand. She felt him breath, the rise and fall of his chest. A stuttered heartbeat that echoed between his ribs. Each scar was an untold or forgotten story. A wound, healed over with broken skin. His body was a canvas, speaking of pain, torture, and heartbreak. A revelation that the cocksure persona of Luxu hid unsounded depths. Standing this close to him was a head rush. Like Neraine stood-up too fast or her blood was boiling. Her gaze lifted from his collarbones, lines of definition, muscle, and bone, to his face. Pyrite gold, burning into her, seeking past her weak facade of confidence. His quip didn’t match her mood. It was unaligned, unbalanced, and Neraine wondered if he mirrored, or mocked, her uncharacteristic display of emotion. Seconds past and Luxu hadn’t pushed her away. He hadn’t demanded she get out or signaled that she had crossed a line. She broke from his gaze.

She imagined that Luxu had been in this exact scenario hundreds of times. A woman, red and stammering, asking about scars. Neraine reminded herself with cool cynicism that she was not the first nor the last. The thought wrenched her heart like a twisted knife. She was nothing more than a stepping stone for Luxu. A long-con he played for another stripe in his belt. One day she’d be a story of conquest told for points at the bar. If, she was even worth mentioning. Neraine, on the other hand, had never been here before. Not even with Gelyan. She stepped into uncharted territory without map or compass. Neraine thought she’d seen and done it all, but Luxu was a new type of unexplored. 

For months she had held-out on him. Cold as ice, unamused by his antics, bricking-up walls to keep him out, drawing lines in the sand. Boundaries Neraine had peeled back, one-inch at a time, ‘till they stood here with nothing between them at all. She weighed the idea of giving in. It would be a good night. Luxu had experience and ability unrivaled by any human. And then, she’d be alone again. He’d have no more use for her. Her seduction and temptation was why he was here after all. There was no other reason for Luxu to follow her. He may forget, but she wouldn’t, couldn’t. Of all this she was certain. Because all she could think about was his lips, flecked with snow, pressed to hers in passionate kiss. For a second the end of the universe and her vendetta of revenge, forgotten. It was all him, filling her mind and pervading her senses. 

“Right,” Neraine whispered. “And I was wondering if you had an extra heart. Because mine was just stolen.”

Neraine looked-up again, breaking the weight with a crooked grin and a terrible joke. She’d heard it from a bold boy who approached her at a bar. He didn’t get much past the introduction but Neraine heard him out for his audacity. A little closer, her thumb traced the path of the scar. The broad, unevenness of the white mark spoke of a jagged knife edge, many years ago. 

Deathless

|| @ghostlyanon||

Neraine knelt by the water. Her fingers skimmed the surface of a cold ripple. Beneath the distorted glass like reflection of the pool was silt, stones, sticks, and silver flanked fish. The foliage above them rustled, vibrant green with Spring and speckled with flowers. Pinks, golds, oranges, beckoning insects and bees to rest on the petals. Islands, dotted with towering trees dotted the vast lake before them. In the dirt and the roots ran an undercurrent of magic. Even someone as untalented as Neraine could sense it. It was as thought they’d stumbled on an ancient, forgotten sanctuary. They stood on the boundary of where they were not welcome. Neraine pressed to her feet. 

“It dies,” she answered. Her gaze searched the shadows on the far shores, between hanging boughs and the reeds. Something moved out there, slinking away before her eyes focused. “That’s the way it is, all things must die.”

From death comes new life. In the Summer, wildfires would burn away the undergrowth and from the ashes new seed would take root. In the Winter, the leaves would fall and the trees go dormant. With each passing season, the fauna, deers, rabbits, mice, wolves, badgers, and creature of the forest, would birth, raise their young, then die. The complex minerals and nutrients in their bodies fueled the next cycle. Their bones made the top soil and their hearts made trees. Repeating until the cycle broke, by intervention, time, or the extinction of the local star. Then, over millennia and in millions of years, that star would fall to its lowest state. A hard, rotting core of iron. The Death promised that entropy was the fate of all existence. It was beautiful but tragic like a melancholic ending to a bewitching play. 

Unless, there came renewal. The Big Bang kicked off the first universe like a domino tipping over. Ran the numbers and chances, until life flourished. Genesis, the High Priestess called it, the beginning, the start of the story. Fragmenting, falling down the river in uncountable variations. Until Death stepped in and took that wonderful creation. She broke it down to composite parts, atoms, time, magic, and gave it back to the creators. Again, and again, and again, so many times it made Neraine’s head spin. For now the vast universe grew, expanding into dark space, but one day-- Gelyan didn’t care, like he said, he never would live that long.

“It’s good for it though,” Neraine said. She glanced back at her companion, her voice softening. “If things didn’t die there could never be anything new. It gives a chance to do something great with the time we have left.”