Dezel with Unclouded Eyes

Reblog here for Team Mystic

Just because I take a while to reply to you, but not others, doesn’t mean I’m ignoring you; My muse is picky, and I can only write what I’m drawn to. I want my replies to be well written and fun, not forced and horrible

Just because I shorten a reply doesn’t mean I’m bored with the thread; I’m probably tired, thinking of something else to continue with, or giving you the chance to set up our next situation.

Just because I drop a thread doesn’t mean I will never come back to start another; When I drop threads, I’m usually overwhelmed, without a muse for that particular piece, or bored with it, and I’ll ask to start another.

He’d describe her as lonely, one of the types of women he’d seen his cousin consoling in the dead of night on the couch over stupid TV sitcoms. But he didn’t say it aloud, for fear of the word getting out and then having to face his cousin when it got to him, which it inevitably would. Dezel didn’t bother retrieving his plate, and instead got another glass of ice water to drink. Sitting down across from her, seeing how she wiped her eyes, he retrieved a few napkins and handed them to her.

“Thanks,” he said, taking a drink from his glass. “I never thought much about my name. It’s as weird as my old boss’ name.” For a moment, he seemingly spaced out before speaking again. “Don’t apologize. Sometimes we can’t help how we look, Diana. You look fine, despite the bruising.”

There was a part of him screaming to know who did this, but Dezel wasn’t going to pry. They were acquaintances at best, so it wasn’t time to spill one’s life story to what seemed to be a complete stranger. He knew this for a fact. But still, he couldn’t help but feel angry, despite not showing it on his face. “If you want anything, go ahead and order it. I’ll put it on my tab, alright? That includes refills on your drink.”

He noted her whisper, but didn't say a thing as he took a drink of water. The cold felt good on his dry throat, something much-needed since he'd recovered from his monthly illness. He noted her fingers and her face, still feeling that unneeded anger and stuffed it in the back of his mind, not needing to feel like a "knight" or something similar to that. Dezel passed her more, setting the napkins in front of her so she could access them easily.

“It's alright to feel like that. Everyone does, that's why they have different extremities to how they deal with it.” He should've kept his mouth shut, or so he feels. Waving a hand, he set it back down. “Nevermind that. Ramblings of a stranger.”

Her question made him smile a bit. “His name's Spada. It's the Italian word for "sword". Kind of funny, if you think about it,” Dezel said, opting for another refill of water. “I'm serious. Your smile's nice, too.” He'd have to punch Zaveid for all of this mushy talk he's spewing. God forbid he get the man's drawl, too.

He really wasn’t one to intrude on something, which was the possibility when he’d approached the woman, but he hated gossipping girls who couldn’t keep their mouths shut and be professional. The barest hint of a smile was on his face, trying not to laugh at the cooties comment. Dezel was glad he had self-restraint, else he’d be giggling like a schoolgirl by now. He didn’t want her to feel offended.

“Welcome,” he said, no hint of malicious intent in his voice. “Mind if I sit here with you?”

Certainly she looked as if she needed company. Reminded him a bit of his old boss’ boyfriend, too. Maybe she just needed someone to talk to, or a listening ear. Dezel didn’t mind either, seeing as Zaveid would probably have his head if he was less than accomodating to anyone in need or something like that.

“Name’s Dezel.”

He'd describe her as lonely, one of the types of women he'd seen his cousin consoling in the dead of night on the couch over stupid TV sitcoms. But he didn't say it aloud, for fear of the word getting out and then having to face his cousin when it got to him, which it inevitably would. Dezel didn't bother retrieving his plate, and instead got another glass of ice water to drink. Sitting down across from her, seeing how she wiped her eyes, he retrieved a few napkins and handed them to her.

“Thanks,” he said, taking a drink from his glass. “I never thought much about my name. It's as weird as my old boss' name.” For a moment, he seemingly spaced out before speaking again. “Don't apologize. Sometimes we can't help how we look, Diana. You look fine, despite the bruising.”

It’s late, and he could feel the air becoming chilly as the night wore on. He didn’t let it bother him, keeping his sights set on finding a cheap place to eat that night. Enjoy the solid food as he could, and probably stuff himself full. That was his intent, anyway, upon entering the restaurant. The food wasn’t half-bad at all. People chatted and ate, and it seemed pretty lively.

There was a patron, however, who one of the waitresses was talking about. The way they were talking about said patron made him look to find who they were talking about. Picking up his recently-refilled drink, he got up and walked over, gently setting the glass near the patron. A woman, who seemed to be off in her own world.

“Here. It’s a new glass. Haven’t drank out of it or anything,” Dezel said, hoping this would stop those waitresses from gossipping about her.

He really wasn't one to intrude on something, which was the possibility when he'd approached the woman, but he hated gossipping girls who couldn't keep their mouths shut and be professional. The barest hint of a smile was on his face, trying not to laugh at the cooties comment. Dezel was glad he had self-restraint, else he'd be giggling like a schoolgirl by now. He didn't want her to feel offended.

“Welcome,” he said, no hint of malicious intent in his voice. “Mind if I sit here with you?”

Certainly she looked as if she needed company. Reminded him a bit of his old boss' boyfriend, too. Maybe she just needed someone to talk to, or a listening ear. Dezel didn't mind either, seeing as Zaveid would probably have his head if he was less than accomodating to anyone in need or something like that.

Marlind Museum. He hadn’t stayed here long while with Rose but, having nowhere to go since his presumed death, he’d found himself there. Perhaps it was because of a tug of sorts, drawing him to the museum. It wasn’t like he wanted to be here, with the malevolence ever swirling closer, but he felt like he needed to. There weren’t any hellions yet, but Dezel didn’t take any chances. His footsteps echoed in the halls, despite how they were set up, and he was the only one who could hear them.

But the wind told him there was someone else. Another person, further in and possibly lost. The wind seraph followed the trail, soon coming to a stop near the entryway. Not too far ahead was the person who was probably trapped here. Certainly, humans were a despicable bunch at times but no one deserved to due while lost in a museum.

“Just who are you anyway….what are you doing here.”,Alex had just woke up from a nap and saw him dragging him off . The shadows around him moved a bit and his scarf touched Dezel’s hat. That’s one of the things he leaned he could do in life. He didn’t know if he were alive or dead. People who cam through here couldn’t hear or see him. It was kinda sad really. Yet, with that simple use of magic or whatever Dezel would call it, Alex’s domain was felt. It was only in the museum and around the museum.

So this man could see him? He batted away the scarf from his hat, intent on getting him out... until he felt the domain, that is. He'd come across another seraph? Letting go of the other, he turned to face this strange seraph. He was new, a baby by seraphim standards, so it was possible he didn't know anything. Until this seraph said Dezel's true name, that is. He tensed, crouching down into his battle position, ready to attack at a moment's notice.