#junmoone

lizzie and @junmoone slip away from a gathering to smoke a cigarette

she pulls them toward a stone bench that snags along her dress. orbiting, but not quite integrated into the small pack of partygoers just beyond. peace and quiet play-acted. "have a light?"

lizzie unwinds herself to pluck a cigarette from a gold-plated case, extending it to the other woman in offering in a gesture too smooth to be anything but practiced. too stilted a speed to be anything but overly aware of her own body.

her eyes narrow the slightest bit, staring past, ahead, of the other, to the coalescing shadows; slightly deeper, darker, near formless masses stand stark within, and if she thinks on it, she can place names to the shapes — the short bushes lined on either side of a concrete walkway, mailboxes, shapes of vehicles stood idle for the evening, used for businesses closed for the day. yet there were forces in this world, people with powers, capable of things far beyond what one might consider the norm, who were capable of... both great good, and great evil, and she sensed something. something dangerous, lurking within that, might prove a danger to her. there was an odd tickle in her palm, dancing along the surface of the bare flesh, a tad too forceful to be the night air that blew gently around the pair, cool, and usually calming to the younger, and yet unable to penetrate the warmth that seemed to gather, cold, and hot all in one — a mounting flood; unease that pushed, and pushed against invisible confines. a strand of white had escaped from the long, dark braid cast over her right shoulder, caught up in the current of wind and carried to dance on the edge of her peripheral, a faint pale strip in the dimness that she notices, despite herself. despite everything else alarming and sending the rest of her senses into overdrive. rhaenys glances back toward june, a furrow forming in between her brows, her lips pressing together for a heartbeat's width, accompanied by a steadying inhalation of the girl's breath before she speaks, her voice low, assessing, " what is it ? " in her other hand, her lanyard, the cord wrapped around her wrist and in her palm — her fingers curled securely around her badge, and home keys, " i don't see anything different from usual, this late. do you see something ? sense, something ? "

𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙴 𝙸𝚂 𝙰𝙽 𝙸𝙽𝚃𝚁𝚄𝙳𝙴𝚁 𝙾𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙶𝚁𝙾𝚄𝙽𝙳𝚂. cloaked in the mist, someone has slipped their way past the gates. tonight certainly was an ideal night for infiltration : cold fronts off the g.otham bay mean heavy cloud in the hills of the estate. that, and the manor should be empty, given the g.ala at wa.yne enterprises requiring the denizens of the house. unfortunately for their uninvited guest, A.LFRED PENNYWORTH RARELY LEAVES THE MANOR UNPROTECTED. while he has yet to ascertain how they entered, there is movement in the library. considering the library's secrets ( both intellectual and physical ), this is of course cause for alarm. typically, thieves are focused elsewhere - for more obvious valuables or seeking information more accessible ( supposedly ) in the study.

on quiet feet he moves, his many decades of espionage ever carrying him forward. prepared, armed and rather displeased to be pulled away from his evening revisiting the m.anchurian candidate. rather than enter the library the typical way, he slips into the servants stairs : passages within the walls that only the family are aware exist ( and only two among them who have knowledge of their access, given the propensity for subterfuge among his charges ). the wood panel slides open soundlessly : he raises the rifle, and 𝙸𝚂𝙽'𝚃 𝚀𝚄𝙸𝚃𝙴 𝚂𝚄𝚁𝙴 𝚆𝙷𝙾 - 𝙾𝚁 𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙷𝙴 𝚂𝙴𝙴𝚂.

❝ put your hands where i can see them. you are trespassing on private property, ❞ while he had not anticipated something quite like @junmoone, after all these years little can unsettle him so. perhaps he will be surprised, it has been known to happen. [ * 𝗦𝗖 : 𝙽𝙾𝚃 𝙰𝙲𝙲𝙴𝙿𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶. ]

MSSG , ACCEPTING.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"SHUT THE DOOR BEHIND YOU," @junmoone .

"WHAT , NO PLEASE IN THERE?"‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎the furrowing together of their brows is close to a child pouting , playing games with someone before insisting a roll of his eyes‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎(AN ACT OF DEFIANCE BEFORE AGREEING TO THE OTHER'S COMAND).‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎each step into a private residence comes with a pointed toe, a heel clacking against tile, and lingering eyes that take in as much as they can.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I DON'T TEND TO ENJOY THE METAPHYSICAL , SO I HOPE THIS ISN'T A RITUAL OR SOMETHING , MISS MOONE."

‟ @junmoone, … JUNE MOONE   ›   𝗆𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗅𝗈𝗀𝗂𝗓𝖾𝖽: “        i don't think you understand exactly who i am.        ” / always accepting !

dae solin never flinched when someone bared their teeth. but it was the quiet ones — the ones who trembled, who warned, who whispered a thing like prophecy into the air between them — that made him pause. she had said it like a boundary. like a premonition. he looked at her for a long time, the kind of look that made silence feel heavier. not because he pitied her, or doubted her, but because something in the way she said it made his bones ache. it was the way she sat inside her own shadow, not as its owner— but as its captive. and he knew a thing or two about being a haunted house. “        then explain it to me,        ” dae said, gently. but not like an invitation— like a plea. the sort of tone one uses when they are asking someone to live.

he didn’t move from where he stood, only folded his arms as if to brace himself for her truth. not many people warned you before the flood. she had. that counted for something. “        i’ve never been afraid of gods,        ” he murmured. “        not since i was made a warning.        ” and maybe it was foolish— to say that in the presence of something ancient and half-lit. but foolishness had always been stitched into his myth. a boy who soared on wax and dream. a boy who bled into sky. he was used to speaking softly to things that might destroy him. he’d once kissed the sun on the mouth. his eyes flicked to hers, and for a heartbeat he thought he saw her flicker. or— no. something behind her. someone. a silhouette in the periphery. a second rhythm beneath her skin.

"the exact term is called overthinking, dear. it's a quality much present in people of great intelligence. or so i have been told."

A sip of her teacup, boiling enough to scarch the tongue. she does not feel it, however, has learned she cannot tolerate lukewarm things. vanessa casts glance to @junmoone, a bit of a cynical glint in her eyes. there is a sense of understanding between the two, ancient being knows to recognize its peer. the air around them is charged, humid despite the crude winters of london. the scent of bayou prevails, alongside a rotten stench of sulfur.

( ... ) pam hates the magic type , the inhumanness of it all , the way that it goes against all she knows . this one’s different , the rumors of enchantress don’t go unheard , not when gotham is a band of battles , ❝ i thought you were just trying to impress me , ❞ resurrection , is something that pam thought impossible for most , even witches , & women of the dark . but now , the once scorched roots , the demise of pamela’s hybrid , loved olea europaea ( ‘ olive tree ‘ ) , blooms and blossoms , not at her doing . but the others . ❝ and which one are you ? ❞ an introduction , she expects , she’s heard of the personality problem .

sirat tilts her head, just slightly.     like the sound of june’s voice is a note caught wrong in a prayer.    her hands are still dust-streaked,    glowing faintly at the fingertips,   and she looks like something pulled from a dream half-remembered.   ❝leave you out of it?❞     she repeats, quiet as incense smoke curling in temple air.    ❝ — the thing is  (. . .)  you were in it long before you asked not to be.❞    she says it without judgment :  only the softness of someone who’s been running in circles, too.    ❝it’s in your bones. in the way your shadow doesn’t always follow the light right.❞  

she steps closer, slow, careful,    as if the wrong word might make june shatter.  ❝i know what it’s like to carry something that isn’t fully yours, but answers to your name. to wake with your palms open like you were holding something holy, or dangerous, and find both missing.❞    her voice lowers, trembles just once.  ❝i tried to run from it, too. the fire. the symbols. the way mirrors flinch when i pass.” she swallows.  ❝but no matter how far i went, the sky remembered me.❞  they are two mirrors, one bloody & one golden all the same. two ghosts of what once was more.