Darling❣

In their first meeting, it’d been natural to think her a queen, and nobility if not so. She’d held herself with impeccable poise, and in both mannerisms and thought, she struck him as someone well above the crowd–someone, if nothing else, with a disposition to rule.

When he steps foot inside the Regency Lounge as per her invitation, then, Kouen expects it to resemble a court. What he sees instead is something more closely resembling a temple, filled with people who are reminiscent of devout worshipers–men and women both bewitched and enthralled, willingly made prisoner by the enchanting shackles of a voice too mesmerizing to be true.

For a moment, Kouen thinks to laugh. She is no queen as he’d thought, but a woman made goddess–and here, in her domain, the difference is as clear as each shifting intonations of her song.

He doesn’t clap and cheer as the other patrons do when her performance comes to a close, but neither will he deny that he’s impressed. Eliza’s voice is a pleasant one, even when compared to the performers of the Kou Empire’s royal court, and if there is reason behind which individuals have been brought here to this city, Kouen thinks that hers is this–to be a beautiful songbird in a cage of gold, to sing and sway in a tireless repetition of entertainment and power.

With wide, even steps, Kouen approaches her stage, the pedestal and altar upon which this songbird-goddess defines her place among the crowd.

“I wouldn’t have thought you to be a performer.”

Kouen’s stature alone seems to pick off the usual herd of adoring fans wishing to approach her for some meaningless babble. It’s a rather entertaining turn of events: he doesn’t seem to care much for the fellows on his periphery as he passes across the aisle, making a beeline for the base of the stage. As the rest fall back, be it due to a foreign presence or his unfamiliar dignity as he approaches her as one would an old friend (the irony!), he seems to already have demonstrated command. 

Parallel to hers, in fact, for it doesn’t seem as though he has a care in the world for what others may make of him centralizing the attention of the room.

“I’m flustered.” Eliza calmly pantomimes an appreciative kiss to receive him, pressing her fingertips to her lips. “Truly. Your recognition flatters me so. I’m only thankful you’ve finally risen above whatever has kept your visit. Any longer, and I’d imagine you had already overthrown those scientists through sheer, unbending will and moved right on!” She jests harmlessly.

“What’s this? You can’t seriously be going all tightlipped on me after saying something like that.”

It’d be so easy to drop the conversation then and there, depart in a huff and return to the pleasant solitude of his reading…but would it really? She looks smug, if he had to put a word to it, and though the thought of allowing her to have the upper hand leaves a positively bitter taste in his mouth, the promise of something truly unforgettable has him hooked.

The audacity of her.

“Come on, if you really have a valuable life lesson tucked away in this delightful sounding story, don’t you think it’d be best to share it?” He flashes her a smile that could almost pass as genuine. “What, are you worried that I’ll go telling people about some big secret? Please. You don’t have to worry about little old me.~”

As if the words of a talking flower of all things would seem trustworthy, not to mention believable. And who’s to say he hasn’t learned a thing or two about withholding information?

Oh, dear. Or is he already? Either way, Eliza’s mind is already made up. It would be best that he makes good on his promise, even if it’s no longer a real concern whether or not she gets something concrete out of this deal. 

“Hm! You really know how to drive a hard bargain. I’d be in peril if you weren’t just our everyday blossom. Your specimen doesn’t exactly cultivate by the hundreds, does it?” She quips breezily. “I’m at pains to play along now that you’re looking to trade. And since you’ve asked, darling, you should know that confidentiality is the least of my worries. You’ll take my my secret to the headstone, of course, if that’s the fate that meets all flowers.”

❝ That is a sad thing to hear, but I’m set on helping you forget, bella donna—at least for the time you grace me with your presence. ❞ Eyes closed for a brief moment, his expression is one of satisfaction at the positive answer his propositions have been met with. The blond reflects, then, on the fact that she looks nothing like the women he is used to have clinging to his arm. Her appearance is rather telling; it makes it easy to assume that she is most definitely familiar with people trying to make such advances on her, so he will have to put the full extent of his skills to use. And that is quite alright, as it makes the reward for his efforts seem more appealing. 

Still, his guileless charm makes for a rather handsome profile, especially as the diva’s acknowledgement doesn’t in any way cater to no-hopers. The songstress likes them polished; prefers them to be more urbane than sharp, even, as it would do no good if their gravitation lead them straight to her dirty little secrets.·If she must have an escort, she won’t settle for anything less than trophy in a man. Terribly prejudiced of her, of course, but Eliza’s regal bearing is more than enough to indemnify her choosiness.

“Why, yes. It’s Eliza, if you must know.” She complies simply. “And what of yours? I hope I’m not meant to hang off your sweet talk, and nothing else! I’ll take that arm of yours, darling.”

The amount of times this one discharges….she won’t know what hits her. She’ll need a rest after all that. A dirt nap.

How can she help herself….help spoiling and pampering herself? She’s got a point. How can someone so obsessed with playing it cool resist?

A scoff.

“How can you even afford this? Don’t tell me you’ve picked up a real job killing people for money instead of sport and a little sweat beneath your collar.”

The way he says it, Wolfwood assumes she’s as horny for blood as any old killer. No art to it.

Burn.

For a lamb that subscribes to religious folly, he seems absolutely forsaken. 

(especially after the whole…sharks sniffing out other sharks in the water deal)

But actually? This image, this situation, there’s too much humor in it. His shoulders droop as he chuckles. 

With a fight that he won’t be able to forget, that is.

“How can I help myself?” She confides in high spirits, shaking out her freshly-trimmed locks. Angling her face, Eliza contentedly inspects the coiffeuse’s handiwork, left and right. 

“Ren Kouen. And you have my gratitude, for the directions if nothing else.”

He isn’t being the most cordial, he knows, even if this Eliza has been exactly that. But being brought here as part of some experiment has more than put a damper on both his mood and patience, and Kouen has never been one for pleasantries to begin with. Still, he’s meant every word when he expressed his interest in her–not because she is strangely alluring in a manner he cannot identify, but because she is self-aware and comfortable here, truly a queen within a gilded cage.

It’s as pitiful as it is admirable, and though he’s spoken rather harshly against it, he hardly has to know more about Hive City and its scientists to see that he’ll be better off adopting her method. Their captors have the power to give and take away abilities, after all, and so it is bitterness that sharpens his tone.

There’s a clear, biting edge to her tone. Pleasantries aside, she has neither liked or disliked their little exchange. To come away from it knowing more of him, and not vice versa, already makes their acquainting endurable. Alas, she can only imagine how well he would take blatant compassion - or condescension, should she say? As formidable as he may have been before, he’s but a shadow of the man before. 

Then again, nothing but shadows exist in the Hive. Were she to discount every single one of them for the inadequacies imposed upon them, Eliza would fail her own charitable guise. They’re both bound to the same circumstance of demonstrating their fitness to survive in this terribly left-wing society. She loathes that it makes neither of them better than the other. As irritating as friendships are, she has little choice other than to pick and choose with utmost care.

“Well, then,” she politely solves the spell of touchy silence that follows their introductions. “All things said and done, looks like what I’m able to offer you ends here.”

“My narration is more important to me than a muse.” He paused. “They feed off each other, but if I had to pick one or the other, it would be my work. As long as I’m getting read… I wouldn’t care if a particular muse didn’t visit me for a few weeks.”

To be read was his one true goal; although he did more work when he had wonderful work to base off of, he’d been forced to… reconsider this idea. Printing once a month was slow work, but he found that if he didn’t want to get hurt, he’d  have to get used to that schedule.

Rohan didn’t care if a few lives were lost in his art. That’s what art is for, right?

Then again, she would be hopeless to even try to exemplify her dignity as a woman with such an unreliable artist. Bore. There is absolutely nothing visceral about this work relationship. 

In a rare gesture of concession, Eliza backs off with a petulant look about her. As difficult as it is to humor such poor work ethics, game over begins only once he’s exacted her form and all its details with his pencil: from when and where he’ll come to see his own death warrant signed for within. Now, admittedly, he remains rather beloved for his artistic spirit: but the rest is simply a letdown.

That said, he is free to do as his code of honor demands.

Continued from this!

[[ Subscribing to the same fashion magazine sounded about right. Bright red spots rested on Junko’s otherwise blemish-free face, hilariously enough resembling the freckles on her dear sister’s face. She remembered learning not so long ago that blood in that kind of pattern indicated a quick blow, since the blood made such a quick and misty splatter.  

Such things tended to be somewhat messy, though, and the occasional drip came around her face and dripped down her chin. ]]

“ It’s a pretty color, don’t you think? It’s got a primal attraction to it.                      I can’t help but be attracted to it.. “

[[ Junko didn’t bother cleaning it off. It was a trophy that she’d eventually get off in a bath. Much like a mandala, a beautiful work of art that is to be claimed by time. A temporary masterpiece. ]]

As much as Eliza would not be opposed to savoring the treat, it is never in good taste to lick one’s plate clean before an audience. Her palate has already been sated, although tonight’s menu had not been quite as... full-bodied as she had bargained on. In time, a more fulfilling alternative would have to take its place. 

“Hm hm. You’ve proven your very point by reading my mind.”

The young woman has grit. Judging from the scent of the spray that has marked most of her, Eliza can already guess that she isn’t just a simple case of cruelty, and had least of all committed her deed out of self-defense. She’s said it herself: she has also recognized their like-mindedness. Impressive little human girl.