iridescent gold [closed]

[Artume Verte]

The darkling throng gardens were enticing -- beyond enchanting -- for Artume. The gnarled, contorted trees forced into greater beauty captivated her in ways she did not understand. The luminescence from the miniature forms of the sun and moon brought out every knoll and knot in the trees, enlightening each singular piece of bark as they were stretched and pushed into proper placement, as dictated by the royal gardeners and the King.

Artume knew nothing of these matters, and would have shrugged the information off in any case, more apt to forget it than to keep it in mind every time she floated through the gardens. Nevertheless, she had come to appreciate the scenery here more than anywhere else. Sometimes she entertained herself by morphing into her mantel, basking in the radiance of the miniature sun and scaling the twisted trees. Today, she glided through, green robe rippling behind her like a cloud, trailed only by her ever unsuppressed sidhe glow. She hummed quietly to herself, admiring the greenness around her and how she blended with it. It was a whimsical, nostalgic kind of afternoon.

At last, Verte nestled herself at the base of one of the larger trees. She sprawled herself across the roots, let it cradle her, and gazed into the quartzite crystal above. The colors rained down harshly until they reached the foliage; the leaves filtered the dark rainbow into a soft prism that showered over the gardens, blessing them with that special, dark Unseelie touch. Artume knew little of this, too, but she didn't imagine it all that important -- what mattered was that, while she perhaps did not necessarily belong, she did not feel out of place in this court, either. Not as she once did back in that other world, now nearly forgotten. It had been pleasant enough, toying humans with her green temptations, but that was here, too. Stronger, even, and certainly more rewarding. The fae here were not weak-willed humans, to say the least, and that made it ever more challenging. Having to use her Hand to seduce and manipulate was not something she really had to do before -- unless she had been using it unconsciously, but it was hard to say. And I don't care either way. Accomplishments were accomplishments, rigged or cheated or no.

A gentle sigh escaped her pink lips. There was warmth here, somehow, and it made her summer wine cheeks shine. It was a lovely thing, this place. Artume rolled to her side and draped an arm over one of the large roots. Her eyes scanned the garden, and she had to wonder, why didn't more of the Unseelie spend their leisure time here? What were they all doing? Why would you want to do anything else but indulge in this gentle pleasure?

[Kin/diablo]

Wow, um, sorry. This was short and bad. And probably I should've been the one to start because that would've cut down on the number of posts where nothing happened, haha.

It was after his visit to the Exordium that Hal finally returned to the Unseelie caverns. He didn't doubt the beauty of the underground gardens, nor did he lack the ability to appreciate it. Still, it wasn't the same, even with the artificial lighting that helped the faerie discern night from day. Something seemed wrong -- perhaps it was the stillness of the air or the lack of heat from the sun...

Even above, at the Exordium, it had struck him that the sounds of Alanor's wildlife were -- different.

Stepping from one cavern to the next, Hal came to a large area with twisted trees. He glanced over a female sidhe who was sitting at the base of one of the trees, pausing only for a moment, but long enough that it was clear that he had seen her. Then, with an odd twist of his mouth, he continued past her without a word.

[Artume Verte]

He was plain looking, true, but still a likely catch. A nimbus, she registered, calculating the odds. He had seen her, but kept on walking -- Artume planned to teach him why that was a mistake. Soon, at least for a little while, it would be his biggest regret -- nearly passing up such lovely flesh. But she would comfort him, reassure him that that was alright now, that he had still made his way into her arms in the end.

Verte giggled.

A whimsical, nostalgic afternoon, indeed.

"Not enough people come through this way," she called out to him, voice gentle and soft. Her glow swirled about her thickly, then trickled out in his direction, ever so subtly. Artume rose from the roots and walked towards the nimbus, swooshing to his side with a swift ruffling of her robes. "What are you up to, down here, in this artificial garden, in this artificial life?" Her eyes twinkled, her skin glittered, her cheeks blushed and her lips pressed together. There was a soft tinkle of a laugh and she scurried in front of him, so that she faced him while they walked, with her stepping backwards. She wished she cloud float like a green cloud before him: It would be easier than walking carefully between these folds of robe.

[Kin/diablo]

Hal took a few more steps before finally stopping his tracks, bringing them both to a standstill. He had a vague idea of brushing her aside and leaving her here, but she didn't seem like the type to be left behind -- and he wasn't sure he wanted her following him out of this particular cavern. Aggressive, he thought, and persistent -- especially if she was impeding his progress like this. Damn those social niceties and politics that kept him from behaving wrongly to those that didn't blatantly invite rudeness. It wasn't like he didn't already do this every day, but it was easier some days than others.

Today was not one of those days.

He exhaled lightly. Then, giving the stranger a polite smile, Hal said, "Just passing through, ma'am." Ever the gentleman, he was giving her his full attention now, though perhaps not in the way she'd been hoping for. He made a small gesture at the trees that surrounded them. "Beautiful," he added, clearly referring to the garden and not the sidhe, "but not the reason I'm here. You?"

[Artume Verte]

This one might be a toughie, Artume observed, entertained by the prospect. "Hehe, 'ma'am'? Do I look like an old maid, then?" They had stopped walking, but Verte took the opportunity to swirl around him and dance a hand across his shoulder. "It is beautiful," she purred, clearly referring to the nimbus and not the garden. She eyed him like a slab of meat before meeting his gaze again.

"What's your reason, then, if not for the beauty?" Artume said this while biting her lip and dipping her chin, as if to now indicate herself. That is, she made it quite clear that she took him to mean she was beautiful -- she could play coy, dumb, innocent, ignorant, whatever. It was an easy statement to turn on its head, and in turn, could (hopefully) guilt him into sticking with the new meaning. Otherwise, he may be forced to directly insult her... and she would have none of that.

Ignoring any question or conversation fully directed at her was another one of her tactics. It was true that she absolutely hated talking about herself besides, but it served a second purpose in these situations. A man delighted in a woman who focused solely on him, a woman who finally did not rattle on endlessly about her daily tasks, a woman who was sincerely interested in only him. It was part of the hook, the addiction. The line, however, she had yet to establish... And the sinker -- oh, she could hardly wait to see.

[Kin/diablo]

Hal, on the other hand, found this exchange significantly less entertaining than Artume did. He had no desire to play the prey to her hunter, and even if this had been another, better day, he didn't imagine he would be moved by her display. Clasping his hands behind his back, he thought better of it and brought them back to his sides, fighting the urge to clench them into fists. The sidhe was making no effort to hide her interest in him, for which he was -- well, if not grateful, then at least relieved.

At least this one was straightforward.

"An old maid?" Hal looked her up and down, evaluative but still uninterested. "I suppose not." Instead of dropping this line of thought, though, he continued dryly: "Old -- perhaps. It is hard to tell. But I've yet to hear of a sidhe stooping so low as to be a mere maid."

He purposely ignored her question. Passing through, he'd said earlier, and he didn't plan on maintaining this conversation for much longer. The tension was settling in again, heavy and coiled at the edge of his consciousness. Maybe it was time to leave. Casting a speculative glance over the sidhe's shoulder, Hal motioned in the general direction of his exit. "If you'll excuse me?"

[Artume Verte]

Artume was visibly injured by his comments. Internally, she realized the mistake she had made -- in certain varying definitions of the term, she was, in fact, an old maid. For once, the idea actually pained her. Maybe it was the way he said it, a sidhe stooping so low, or maybe she had always felt this way about the fact. She couldn't be sure. It was of no major importance now, however.

Now, she was moving in for the kill. His detached, disinterested actions pushed the appeal of using her Hand farther and farther away. In some ways this was better, in others it was incredibly worse. Artume liked a challenge, but some part of her worried that this was not a bone she ought to pick.

"Excuse you?" Verte giggled and pressed a hand to his chest, leaning in close with a slow exhale. "I think you'll have to apologize for your comments, first..." Her voice darkened to a new flavor of sinister. She tipped her head to the side and evaluated him further, regretting her earlier compliments. I knew he was plain the moment I saw him. He knows nothing. The fool.

[Kin/diablo]

Hal glanced past her again, now visibly restless. He didn't exactly lean away from her -- he had never been the type to yield, and he wouldn't back down now -- but he might as well have, for all the response (or lack thereof) that he gave her. He lifted his hand, sorely tempted to move hers off to the side, but then she spoke.

Hal froze, his eyes narrowing for a split second. His mouth tightened into a thin, hard line, and he took a few moments to collect himself before speaking again.

"How curious," he said, his tone deceptively light, "that you should demand an apology before I have given any offense." He was still smiling faintly, as if he wasn't even aware of doing it, but there was something dimly menacing in the way he watched her, intent but contemptuous. "Do not shame your blood, Princess." Quickly sidestepping her, he started to walk away.

[Artume Verte]

With a whirl and a spin, Artume casually followed after him. A playful lilt was sprinkled in her tone as she told him, "Oh, don't be silly now, you most certainly did offend!" She giggled and brushed his arm with her finger tips, skipping in front of him, green robe billowing behind her like smoke. Verte scurried forward and caressed a tree with her backside, spreading her arms across the trunk, hugging it while she crossed her legs and eyed the man with frustrated interest.

"It was rather rude, even," she said darkly. Artume bit her lip and slitted her eyes in contempt.

She kicked the tree roughly as she sprung forward after him still. "What is this about shaming blood? What do you imply, nimbus?" She spat her words at him, vile and slick.

I have lost myself, she thought. As everything went on she felt slightly out of place, detached, like she was watching from afar. She was acting out of turn, out of anger and spite, and she wasn't entirely sure how to stop herself. It was not so different from the alcoholics who simply could not stop indulging, even as they were fully aware of their poor choices.

[Kin/diablo]

(All cool with inkling, bros.)

"Rude? No," Hal interjected. "With all due respect, of course." But his lip curled as he said it, and there was no mistaking the displeasure in his tone, though his voice remained calm and even. He was still walking, his steps carefully placed, brisk but not hurried. Everything about him spoke of his tightly-held control: the slight paling of his face, the stiff line of his neck, the rigid set of his shoulders.

The woman was still ranting at him, her tireless tirade ringing throughout the cavern, and What do you imply, nimbus?, she was saying, and if he had to see her face again, he thought, he might do something he would regret--

Hal stopped abruptly and turned, letting her momentum continue carrying her to him. "You don't know," he began quietly, and in the time it took for him to close the gap between them, he'd gone from composed to livid, nearly trembling with fury, "when to fucking give up, do you?"

He couldn't hear anything except for the rush of blood, the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears. He closed his eyes, trying to focus his thoughts, and when he opened them again, he had her by the throat, feeling only softness and the warm pulse under his hand. "Fucking whore," he spat, and slammed her backwards against the wall.

[Artume Verte]

Tears welled at the corners of her eyes, but Artume did not register them. If she had, she may have relished in them, in the challenge and danger they represented. Her focus, however, was occupied with this nimbus' release of his inhibitions. She could see it in the way he moved, the way he breathed, how locked up tight he was. And now, she had pressed him so hard he had to let go, had to be himself. She pushed him into reality. It may not have been her ultimate goal, but still, her plots and schemes always involved the suspension of inhibitors anyway.

Artume's hand clasped around his, digging her nails in as a grin spread across her face. She glittered like molten gold. "Fucking whore indeed," she hissed. "You already said yourself that I was a maid, and you weren't wrong." She grimaced, almost laughed, and ground her teeth. "How can I be a whore if I don't fuck? I may not know when to give up but at least I know when to start!"

Artume roared, her hand ripped his from her throat, and she thrashed herself against him, held his arms to his sides, lips parted and teeth gnashing. It was not a pretty kind of kiss, but it served its purpose. Her Hand came forward, but did not strike; she held it ready if he tried to pull something tricky. She expected him to, but she was determined to push him as close to the brink as possible on her own. How can he resist? Aren't I supposed to be intoxicating? Verte was at an utter loss.

[Kin/diablo]

A startled beat, and then Hal pulled away from her, watching her through narrowed eyes. His rage had faded somewhat, but it still clouded his mind, tripping up his thoughts. Consequently, it took a moment for her words to register. He began to shake, and it took an even longer moment for him to realize that he was laughing, though no sound came out of his mouth.

"How easily you take offense, sidhe," Hal said when he had calmed, hushed and smooth and back in control. "You say a great deal." His smile remained wry, and if she watched carefully, she would see his masks falling back into place -- one by one. The immediate transformation was peculiar, though perhaps not entirely surprising given the earlier circumstances. As Hal glanced over her, his expression grew contemplative and his smile waned.

"Does it bother you," he said, "that you make so much sense?"

[Artume Verte]

She hated this man -- oh, she loathed him with such greatness she could feel the emotion growling in the back of her throat, desperate to bare its fangs and slash him to ribbons. She would not have it. She would not have it! Whatever upper hand he thought he had was going to shatter, one way or another, she was going to win.

Jaw tightly clenched, teeth grinding with enough strength to turn coffee beans into useless powder, she swelled forward again. Her robes billowed, her figure became more fluid and graceful quite suddenly, and she grabbed hold of the controls again. Swallowing her acidic anger, she retorted, each question in rapid succession, shooting off like bullets from a revolver drawn in a Western bar full of whores and tequila: "Why would it bother me? Don't we all strive to be understood? Not making sense would be counter-productive for that endeavor, wouldn't you say? Are you, perhaps, only voicing your own feelings? Have you been in need of a mirror, nimbus, and horrified that you have found it in me? I know what you do. I know how you hide. I know where you squirrel away your thoughts and fears and feelings." Her grin dripped green poison that bubbled behind her eyes and she cackled.

Briskly, she stepped away, slitted eyes slashing the air with venom that grew from her rigid eyelashes.

[Kin/diablo]

Hal cocked his head, tension slowly easing out of his shoulders even as he stood there in front of her. "You are quite spiteful for someone who is unbothered," he said simply. "I don't think I shall believe you."

In actuality, he didn't know for sure -- didn't, in fact, care at all -- but the bluff came easily, nestled somewhere between intuition and conjecture. It didn't matter if he was wrong, not this time; it was a single line delivered as a matter of opinion, and even if she thought to refute it, she wouldn't know for sure what he really believed.

"You say you know me," he continued, and when he smiled, there was something a little off, a little too manic, in the glint of his eye and the curve of his mouth. "But you know what?" He didn't quite lean closer, but his next words were quiet, smug, as if he were parting with a secret, a challenge. "I don't believe that, either."

[Artume Verte]

The way he relaxed, the way he so easily decided not to believe her laid dynamite on dynamite. But that last, that vindictive, taunting statement -- that was a match; a book of matches; a jacket full of books of matches; a leather jacket bursting at the seams with books and boxes of matches and lighters doused in gasoline.

The poison rode hard now. Her entire body was enveloped in a sick cloud of green, her hair nearly floated above her head in anger and force, her robes shuddered and stormed about her legs.

But she bit it back. She took that poison and she let it trickle down, allowed her kidneys their processes and her stomach its objections, as long as it did not make its way out. The greatness of her rage powered her to suppress it all the same, reassuring it that it would have its piece, but only once the stage had been set.

"That's fine, dear nimbus," she hissed, then with a fresh calmness: "I've no need to prove it to you." She choked back further threats, shoved her impulses down into pockets and holes and clenched her jaw. It took her several more moments to gather herself, to feel that poison settle and cease its bubbling, for her teeth to separate and her face regain its regal composure. Her smile boiled with confidence and pride, her entire expression dancing and singing whatever-helps-you-sleep-at-night.

She continued her step, swirled away from him gently but did not go too far. She hovered near -- she rediscovered that ability of hers to appear intangible, unobtainable, no matter how close she may be. Whether or not it affected him, she was simply content that she was able to regain herself. It was bad days lately, with men sending her through new loops. It used to be easy. Now she might get a handle on things; now she might get a hand around a heart to mangle.