Glory And Gore :: [Nero + Amazonite]

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Glory And Gore :: [Nero + Amazonite] Oct 29, 2013 23:15:49 GMT -5

Post by L△LIA on Oct 29, 2013 23:15:49 GMT -5

Xanthus,

The engagement becomes official today and I think it doubtful that you would approve. I would promise you that Miss Shore will never find a home within a heart such as mine, but that seems an unnecessarily redundant sort of sentiment, considering how the steel and iron caged within my chest is far better suited as an offensive fortress than some laughable home for the empty charm of a high society halfwit.

The party itself is everything a celebration ought to be, grandiose enough to compensate for the particularly notable lack of affection gracing the evening's atmosphere. Or, perhaps, I myself am simply biased in this inference. However, considering that mine is one of the banner names scripted across the invitation of this extravagant soiree, surely in this instance a personal opinion must count for something. My own sentiments about the Shore family may have been discounted as little more than a trifle during the matchmaking process, but that is more because I am a man intent on choosing his battles strategically than due to any impressive defeat of my own will or influences of greater social power.

Objecting to the match hardly seems a worthwhile use of my efforts in the face of my mother's vapid insistence. Surely you must understand and forgive me for taking the path of least resistance in this matter, as I imagine that even in your departed state her senselessly stubborn countenance must be nigh impossible to forget. The meaningless paperwork of a marriage seems harmless by comparison.

Even discarding any perceived wanting of feeling or my own lack thereof, it must be undeniable that the most telling of flaws in this arrangement is my difficulty in identifying the correct Miss Shore. While one sister is more or less the same to me — excepting, of course, the notoriously abhorrent Opal Shore, patron saint of my most particular malice — I am told that differentiating the face of one's future wife from those of her siblings is an unavoidable duty of her suitor. "I do apologize, Miss Shore, for this incident of mistaken identity. Please, forgive my ignorance and, if I might beg both your understanding and your assistance for another moment —" Surely, I have encountered each and every Shore the District has to offer, save for the one I'm required to meet. Each of their faces seems yet more offended than the last, astounded that I might be experiencing some difficulty in locating a girl I have never set eyes upon. If it weren't unquestionably improper to completely disregard my fiance at our own engagement party, I might be thankful for the deference in introductions, but as it is, I am simply being subjected to more of her family than I have ever desired interaction with. "— could you direct me to the proper Miss Shore? I daresay, your family registry must be quite an impressive thing."

If Miss Shore — and, indeed, her entire family — is lacking in shame to the point of harboring a misplaced belief that I might wish her presence within this house, then I shall also harbor no shame in acquiescing to spend a lifetime brutally clarifying each and every reason for this being the most regrettable of misconceptions. Today's theatrical production of joining our families together through mine and Miss Shore's hands is something far worse than a poor attempt at mending social ties. After all, bad blood would be a farcical way of describing our collective situation, if it weren't so offensively accurate in the most literal of senses.

After yet another redirected attempt at forced politeness and social requirement, I straighten up the lapels of my brocade tuxedo jacket and give the floor a few short taps with the end of my cane to vent my ever-increasing annoyance. At least it turns out Cerberus is useful for something, having thrust the gilded cane at me earlier, prattling on about how I had better begin practicing the restraint of my most sincere intentions now, as I'm fated to a lifetime of exactly this. Idiot. I am not an arms dealer for nothing; if ever I find myself unable to resist the impulse to cut the Shore bloodline quite short, then I have far more effective means at my disposal than a cane. Still, as it's mandatory that I speak softly this evening, despite my house being overrun with enemies, it does seem appropriate to be carrying a big stick. "Pardon me. If I might be so rude as to interrupt you ladies —" Cutting my way into the circle of guests the last Miss Shore was kind enough to point me in the direction of, I bow slightly and force a strained smile onto my face. "— I would like to apologize, but I do believe it would be worse of me to keep Miss Shore waiting for much longer. I seem to be feeling a little lost within my own home tonight."

So, I will do better than a superfluous promise to never love the girl who will share my name as if that might make her mean something to me other than a reminder of the unforgivable. Instead I shall vow that for every fingerprint she dares to sully this house with, I shall reach out and ruin what she holds dear twofold with my own. Once for the bad blood the Shores drew cold from your veins, and once for what is still running frigid in mine.

Sincerely,
Nero

there's a humming in the restless summer air
and we're slipping off the course that we prepared
but in all chaos there is calculation
dropping glasses just to hear them
b r e a k

Last Edit: Mar 9, 2014 1:11:30 GMT -5 by L△LIA

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“And now that you don't have to be perfect, you can be good.” - steinbeck

Glory And Gore :: [Nero + Amazonite] Oct 30, 2013 4:59:18 GMT -5

Post by ✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ on Oct 30, 2013 4:59:18 GMT -5

Father,

I know that the knowledge of my engagement to a Grimm would do no less than make you turn over in your grave. We both know what they did to us, to you. The one I am meant to marry seems particularly odorous, he has the same smirk on his lips that Corbet Grimm had. I wonder if he knows what Corbet Grimm did. I wonder if he cares. They say his heart is made of steel and he has oil for blood, no less than a crank-up robot that you put a dime in for tricks.

I scan the grand room, taking in the gilded walls and ice sculptures that dress the room. I can hear the booming laugh of a Grimm, Cerberus I should think. Apparently he is the most boisterous one. It was odd at first, seeing the Grimm mansion in four dimensions instead of flat on a map. As we entered my eyes drifted over the entrance to the sitting room, and then the small room next to it. They were the places where Mr. and Mrs. Grimm died, in total agony I hear. a triumphant smirk raises the corners of my lifts up, and my hands clench the edge of the black gown I wear so unwillingly. If it had been my choice, I would have arrived in anything but this cage of a dress. It hadn't been my choice. It clings to my body in all the right places, and flairs out around my calves, giving me the appearance of a mermaid, or so my adopted mother says. I feel like a fucking fruitcake.

Before you get too angry, I should tell you it was I who asked Mrs. Shore to arrange this engagement. It was I who went to her with cool eyes, telling her that we had secretly been lovers for months and this was what we both wanted. Of course she was thrilled. To her, names and families mean everything. I had to bite my tongue when she exclaimed about the Shores taking a step up in the social ladder. I don't give anything about the stupid Shore and the stupid social ladder. It is not what drives me. I am Asai, I will not forget that, I never will.

My shoulders are bare, and I shiver out of practice. I am not cold, I would never dare show such weakness, no matter what predicament I find myself in. It is just the feeling of being spoken of and spoken for that rests on my back like a weight. I am sure that if I crane my head now above the crowd of people exuberant about the weather around me, I will spot my adopted mother chatting up some other family head, trying to sell another daughter or son to them. What I am to her is a token, a trading piece, only useful for what I will get her. A rush of heat hits my abdomen and I feel anger drag it's self through me, pushing it's claws into the insides of my skin.

It screams at just being here, in this room full of people that I cannot stand. I imagine breaking the stem of the wine glass I hold and shoving it into the eye of the boy next to me, just so I can release some of this horrid hatred. I hide the pain that has been brewing for nine long years somewhere between my eyebrows and laugh boldly at the boring joke that the girl beside me has decided to tell for the third time. My hand clenches the wine glass far too tight.

You see father, the reason I do this is to get the revenge that was never truly given me. Xanthus Grimm died before I could end him myself, and for that I seek your forgiveness and understanding. In return I will decimate the Grimm name, and not even give them one last heir. I will show no mercy father, as I know you never would have if you were the one to survive and I had died with the rest of my dear sisters on that ill fated day.

A voice, smooth as glass, breaks through the small cluster of people that surround me, my status and this engagement party making me a center of attention. He attempts a smile, but it is laughable. He is not a good actor. Maybe he really is a robot. His dress is Grimm, extravagant, on the verge of ridiculous. Yet on him the look works, as if it was made for him. His face is one that looks like it knows blankness better than a joyful grin or a scowl. Yet, he has that telltale Grimm look to him, that way of standing that makes him seem arrogant and a gentleman all at once.

I hate him already, more than words can say. I want to take the carving knife off the table behind me and push it between his eyes until bloody oil bubbles out and his eyes go even blanker. I think all this in seconds, even as I hand the wine glass that I was holding off to a waiter and give him my hand. A smile, I hope it seems demure, fills my features, and I decline my head softly to him. "I was not waiting long, Mr. Grimm, yet it is pleasurable to me to know that you sought me out with so much fervor, how lovely it is to finally meet in the flesh." My skin crawls to feel his against mine. I resist the urge to yank my hand away.

I promise Father, I will never love this man that I offer my arm to, seemingly so readily. I would rather tear out my own eyeballs than fall in love with a Grimm. No Father, in fact, I will take everything from them that they hold dear and then dangle it in front of their faces as I slowly bleed them out in the most painful of ways. I have nothing to lose anymore, it has all been taken from me. Once by Corbet Grimm, and second by the Shores themselves. I will make them pay, this I promise, I swear it. They will lose everything they hold dear, and the world will remember the name, Asai once again.

Your Heir,
Athens

{P o s e s , p o s e s
That's all you are to me}

Last Edit: Mar 9, 2014 3:41:27 GMT -5 by ✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

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Glory And Gore :: [Nero + Amazonite] Oct 30, 2013 10:42:25 GMT -5

Post by L△LIA on Oct 30, 2013 10:42:25 GMT -5

She has come wearing a dress the color of a widow instead of that of a bride in waiting and I wonder if she knows that she has predicted her future well. The man she has been arranged to marry will only ever love her as much as a sincere one who has passed on is capable of, little better than a corpse rotting away the years in bed beside her. Accepting the hand she offers, I glance at her watchful acquaintances before pressing the most mechanical of kisses to Miss Shore's knuckles. Daydreams dance in the eyes of those around us and at least one of them sighs aloud. These girls have no anchor in reality, seeing and hearing only what they wish the truth to be so that they might revel in some sense of envy. Their fates are no more fairy tales than our own, but it is the duty of those who go before to pave the path for those who are bound to follow after, so they may think whatever they please just so long as it allows this endless cycle of society to continue.

"How could I not?" Indeed, meeting you has become quite unavoidable as of late. "With each sister of yours that I happened to encounter before you, I found myself growing ever more anxious for our meeting. Today, especially, the passing of minutes must feel quite long to me." My voice is lazily guarded as double-edged words are released on a breath of truth few of those surrounding us seem clever enough to decipher. "Please allow me to assure you that the pleasure is all mine." I am nothing if not genuinely gratified to have finally found my excuse for avoiding the rest of the Shore family, as dealing with just the one seems to be the lesser of evils when faced with the entire, loathsome clan. "Perhaps now we might find a few moments alone to better acquaint ourselves?"

This is not a request, so I do not wait for an answer. A single, sharp tap of my cane signals ~~my impatience; my seething frustration with the whole of tonight's affair;~~ my goodbye to the group of women I have stolen my fiance away from, as I turn our direction toward spaces less occupied. I will be quickly forgiven by those behind us, despite having neglected to offer them that previous apology, as they twitter on amongst themselves and re-imagine me into a man too struck with adoration to remember that anyone exists other than the lady I am currently hand in hand with. It is best to allow them to believe such nonsense. "You look quite agreeable this evening, Miss Shore." Her name is acid on my tongue and I put yet less effort than before into hiding my distaste for it now that we are separated from the crowd. "The color suits you so well that I think I would find it difficult to object to the idea of never seeing you wear another." Particularly white.

and the cry goes out
they lose their minds for us
and how it plays out
now we're in the ring and we're coming for
b l o o d

Last Edit: Mar 9, 2014 1:33:19 GMT -5 by L△LIA

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Glory And Gore :: [Nero + Amazonite] Oct 30, 2013 18:31:16 GMT -5

Post by ✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ on Oct 30, 2013 18:31:16 GMT -5

His lips press against the back of my hand, and I make my other into a fist on reflex. I hide it behind my back and stick a nail into my palm, keeping the other one still as possible. His lips are cold and dry against my hand, but it has the effect needed. The girls that I barely even knew six months ago, and truthfully I still don't, sigh with envy. I don't see why they should be envious. True, it's hard to find a gentleman these days, but the man is no gentleman. In truth, he is a mechanical monster, pretending he has life with a heart that beats a dead rhythm. I act like I know exactly what I am getting myself into, but I do not. What stands in front of me is a robot, nay, a monster wearing the skin of a man. He does not release my hand. It takes more willpower than I'd like to admit to to not yank it back.

The words he says are double edged swords and I am glad to know that my hatred for him might have a match for me. How suitable, a couple to be married that utterly despises each other. Yet, I cannot imagine myself ever falling for a man. They are such weak, ugly things. I will be a black widow and never fall in love with a man. I will use him up, suck his soul dry, and then drain the life from his body so he is ruined for anyone else. I remind myself of this as he speaks to me. I will wipe that smirk from his face as if it was never there at all. "I was lucky to not have to search out your own cousins, Mr Grimm. They are quite excellent at making certain they are seen and heard, are they not?" The crowd of ladies beside me titter behind their hands, the vulgarity and silliness of the other Grimms very well known.

Still having my hand in his, he makes the excuse to leave and tugs me away. I toss a look over my shoulder at the ladies I leave, and they all laugh and wave us off. Some part of me that is still an eight year old girl, full of pain and angry screams in horror. I push it down, away from me. This is the part that will be difficult. I know I am not half as lovely as my older sister was going to be. In fact, I would say that my looks are quite disagreeable. I make up for it in presence, a deadliness tied to elegance that turns me into a predator. So when he says that I look lovely in the dress, I know that it is certainly only small talk, I look more like a boy stuffed into a dress for all the muscles I have.

I give him a light laugh, and use the excuse of placing my hand over my heart to pull mine away from his, "Such sweet words sir, I wish I might say the same for you," I allow a slight pause, "I must say I quite look forward to seeing you in wedding blacks." We are alone now, in our own little corner, but everyone is watching us. I can feel Mrs. Shore's eyes boring through my skull. Music starts and people are beginning to line up for the first dance. I turn my head, to see this, exposing a thin scar that runs up the side of my neck and across the back of my right shoulder. My adopted mother found it suitable to cover it with make-up tonight, yet it still shows through.

"Do you dance, Mr. Grimm?" I ask, voice the epitome of sweetness, and I don't wait for a response, using our still connected hands to drag his taller frame into line.

{I am your black widow
I'm floating through
y o u r v e i n s}

Last Edit: Mar 9, 2014 3:38:22 GMT -5 by ✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

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Glory And Gore :: [Nero + Amazonite] Oct 30, 2013 22:23:40 GMT -5

Post by L△LIA on Oct 30, 2013 22:23:40 GMT -5

At least, it seems, there is one lady in attendance this evening who has not been so foolish as to romanticize tonight's affair. Miss Shore seems quick enough to catch the bite behind my words and wastes no time doling out her retaliation. "I was lucky to not have to search out your own cousins, Mr Grimm. They are quite excellent at making certain they are seen and heard, are they not?" It is no easy feat to win a genuine smile from me, but I can feel the hint of one tugging at the corner of my lips.

"Yes, I'm afraid I must agree with you on that point." Somewhere across the room, the voice of my most boisterous cousin rises up as the crowd around him roars with laughter, no doubt taken in by a story of his latest juvenile prank on Amira or a tale of one of Leo's escaped pets on another rampage through the neighborhood. Some call him charming; I call those people liars. "Everyone has a talent of one sort or another, however, dear Cerberus's is a little more useless than most. It would be best not to rely on something so unreliable as luck when it comes to avoiding him." If only the repercussions of falling victim to him were damaging to more than mere pride or social standing, then I would hand Miss Shore over now, but as it is, that would do neither of us much good.

Instead, criticisms are traded for compliments and she laughs demurely at my comments about her dress, pulling her hand from mine and placing it over her heart, playing the part of the bashful bride. "Such sweet words sir, I wish I might say the same for you," subtly moving my freed hand behind my back, I cannot help the way it clenches briefly as though grimacing from the prolonged contact with her skin, "I must say I quite look forward to seeing you in wedding blacks." The sounds of a string quartet sweeps through the air, drowning out the end of Cerberus's story and summoning the more eager guests to the dance floor. I myself am anything but keen to be back within the stifling crush of the crowd, but Miss Shore turns with interest. There is a flash of a scar trailing down the side of her neck, but my attention shifts as she grabs my hand once more to drag me toward the madness. "Do you dance, Mr. Grimm?"

"Not if I can help it," I reply unenthusiastically, already aware that this is not a matter my opinion will wield much influence in. "I do believe, Miss Shore —" We're halfway there by the time I pull her to a halt, readjusting the grip of our intertwined hands in preparation for the particular dance that has just begun and handing my cane off with a sharp nod to a passing servant. "— that it would be improper of me not to take the lead." Falling into line with the other couples, we stand face to face in the kind of stance that could just as easily be in preparation for battle instead of the presently frivolous form of diversion. "Then again, from the rumors I've heard, one might be inclined to think that you and I have already been quite improper with one another." Releasing her to raise my hand into the air between us, palm held open in mockery of the slap that might belong in this moment of an alternate universe, I am simply one of another dozen men in this dance waiting for my partner's hand to rise up to meet my own. "I've never been fond of being involved in those kinds of insipid rumors. I don't suppose you might have an inkling as to how they began? If a loose mouth cannot close itself, then someone ought to lend a helping hand, I think, before the jaw is too unhinged to be saved."

you could try and take us
but we're the
g l a d i a t o r s
everyone a rager
but secretly they're saviors

Last Edit: Mar 9, 2014 1:44:45 GMT -5 by L△LIA

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Glory And Gore :: [Nero + Amazonite] Oct 31, 2013 5:36:27 GMT -5

Post by ✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ on Oct 31, 2013 5:36:27 GMT -5

I will never forget my duty, it lives inside of me, drives me. Without it, I would unable to rise in the morning. It gives me flight, makes me bloom when all I really want to do is fall and wilt. My hatred and perseverance have been at the wheel for so long that I have forgotten how to be a teenaged girl, in the height of her childhood, beautiful. I have forgotten what it is to laugh, just throw my head back and laugh until my sides hurt. I have forgotten what it feels like to cry, what it feels like to feel love. I have forgotten everything but what I need. I threw these things away long before my father's death, but there was always the secret time at night when I was not an heir to a vast empire of criminality, but simply a sister. I have held hatred and the need for revenge close to my body, agonizingly tight as if to cover myself up, to hide. I have succeeded. I cannot find myself.

I am also a creature of stunning pride to the point of elegance. I have spent years studying the art of war, as well as the art of dance. Just as I have mastered the art of killing with my hands, I have mastered the art of acting and appearing to be everything I am not. I do not flinch when he calls me Miss Shore, or deny my new sisters when all I want to do is spit back at him, telling him that my own sisters were killed in his name, the name Grimm. I am perfectly hidden, perfectly artful with every step I take. I have been waiting for an opportunity like this for what feels like centuries. I will not allow anyone to ruin this for me, least of all Nero Grimm. I will emerge triumphant, bloody, and finally at peace.

I detest him for stopping our forward propulsion, just to take the lead and move in front. It just furthers the proof of what a terrible match we are. Any man who thinks he should be the one to lead me, to guide me should simply take that preposterous idea and shove it somewhere dark, so the light of day should never think to shine on it. I am not one to be ruled, to obey. I am Asai, and the Asai rule. That is how it was, and shall always be. Still, I give him this tiny victory, if only to appear how I am expected to. I will put up with this, and rule my emotions, I won't let myself fail because of my own anger. I place a smile on my lips and pretend to be thrilled that he is taking charge. For all the world I look like the blushing bride, the girl who can finally be happy with the one that she loves. I am better at it than him, for all his pretty words. The strain in his jaw is almost more than visible. His being uncomfortable makes me more than pleased.

"Not if you can avoid it? I can imagine how well you must do with the opposite sex, Mr. Grimm." I lift my palm up to reach his and I am shorter than him, it is true. Conveniently, as expected, he has put it at the appropriate height for one of my stature, ever the gentlemen. For a small moment, my hand hovers over his, our palms touching but not touching, our warmth shared but not. Then my hand pushes forward and our skin must touch again. This time I do not react, I cannot. I consider his last comment and the piece begins, as do my feet as if I am an automation and my key has been turned. I know these steps. I have spent the last few weeks practicing them with my adopted mother after her vapid insistence.

I look down at my feet, willing colour to my cheeks as if I am utterly mortified. "I am not quite certain what you mean, but if you question my character I can assure you that I have no ideas as to where these comments might have arisen. We both know that we have never met before." The next step begins and I find my fingers pressed to a bored looking boy with dark hair and darker eyes. We do not speak, but I turn my head to glance once again at Nero Grimm. As we near each other in the turn of this step, I say, "I do however, know that the Shore sisters are excellent in spreading knowledge to others." I am pulled from him again before I realize my mistake. I was meant to have said, my sisters. I am given back to him and smiling I say, "Your feet move rather prettily for one that does not dance."

{I wanna be, I wanna be,
I wanna be your
e n e m y .
I wanna be, I wanna be
everything you
f e a r .}

Last Edit: Mar 9, 2014 3:46:30 GMT -5 by ✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

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Glory And Gore :: [Nero + Amazonite] Nov 14, 2013 14:47:34 GMT -5

Post by L△LIA on Nov 14, 2013 14:47:34 GMT -5

She is tolerable at best — not entirely graceless, but edged with the most subtle undercurrent of something undeniably wicked. Perpetual midnight lurks within the crook of her lips, despite her ability to smile on cue at all the correct moments and to the precise width of an appropriate expectation. This is a girl who is acutely aware of her place in society, even as well-kept secrets bury themselves deeply within her bones. I have little interest in prying for her unguarded honesty — that would be an endeavor better suited to a more sincere man than I — but it is an almost intriguing realization that settles within me as I decide that hers is not a mouth to frivolously run away with itself. Either she had no part in the rumors that have brought the two of us together or this marriage is far more calculated than my mother's mere meddling. I am inclined to believe the former, revulsion more electric between us than the youthful desire that usually haunts a moment of skinship between a newly engaged couple.

"Oh, I find it wise to question the character of all people, be it that of the Shore sisters or, particularly these past months, even my own." There is something aching within me and the impulse to reach for the pocket watch tucked within my jacket twitches through my fingers, rebuffed by the knowledge that a reminder of my earlier encounter with Miss Opal Shore will only exacerbate any issues I might be experiencing with the untrustworthy mechanics of my heartbeat. I have not yet been able to bring myself to examine the timepiece clearly, so I cannot help wondering if flecks of Xan's blood remain embedded in the etched pattern or if the springs have been wound to remember time correctly in his absence. "All too often people perceive things in accordance with their own wishes rather than reality and such misjudgment can be quite the dangerous vice. You must forgive me for any such efforts not to underestimate you —" Something hardens within my eyes, within the fibers of my muscles, and within whatever organ claimed responsibility for my emotions in my heart's absence. "— or your sisters." Voice hollowing itself into a barbed hiss of a whisper as we begin to change partners once more, I am scolding myself far more than her. "I am not a man who repeats his mistakes."

The dance weaves its captives between one another, our feet spinning us from palm to unknown palm before we are set upon a path to return us to our rightful partners. By the time I have returned to my fiance, I have stowed my distraction and wiped my face blank once more. My hidden truths, just the same as hers, are meant to stay locked within the secrecy of my own marrow. "In the future, it might be pragmatic of you to put forth a bit more effort in the education of your sisters. After all, knowledge tends to be a good deal more beneficial when it's accurate — for all of my cousin's silliness, I daresay even Cerberus has a little skill in identifying stories better left unspoken."

Mimicking her easy smiles, I step in perfect time to the demands of the music, following my cues as capably as she does. "It is the unlucky responsibility for those born with more than their fair share of a family's sense to realize when more fickle relations —" A sigh of exasperation slips from me as Leo's infamous cat tears its way between the legs of the unsuspecting couple in line beside us. Without missing a beat, I scoop the furry terror up by the scruff of its neck, Leo bursting into the fray a moment later to reclaim the beast with a frantic breath of incoherent thanks as the duo hurries off in search of more interesting mischief. Rolling my eyes, I cannot even summon an expression of annoyance at this point, too used to the predictable antics of my cousins. If anything, there is the faintest flicker of fondness in my smirk as she scampers away, the dance continuing almost as though there had been no interruption whatsoever. "— need a watchful eye. We don't get to choose our blood, Miss Shore, or I'd have had but one cousin growing up, although we do possess an ability to affect its flow."

As the first song ends, a new tune immediately sweeps through the air as guests laugh and clap with delight at the upswing in tempo, new couples rushing to swell the line on either side. "If you're in possession of as keen a sense of logic as I suspect," the compliment escapes me unhindered by any backhanded words, my mind too distracted by the complicated skips and hops of the footwork involved in the current dance and my irrefutable loathing of it, "you might have deduced that I have been kept far too busy to concern myself with whether or not the whole of the opposite sex approves of me. I feel no regret at declining dances or the opportunity to play the white knight in the frivolous minds of young and foolish girls. However," stepping in close, my hands find a steady home upon her waist as a dozen dancing girls are suddenly lifted into the air, "I must not completely lack redemption to have become a target of your interest." Perhaps I, too, am tolerable at best. "Although I do not doubt that you'll have your own suggestions as to how one might better himself, when his only redeeming quality seems at first to be a little coordination in his feet. Do tell, what kind of white knight were you expecting to encounter tonight?"

glory and gore go hand in hand
that's why we're making
h e a d l i n e s
you could try and take us
but victory's contagious

Last Edit: Mar 9, 2014 1:48:37 GMT -5 by L△LIA

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“And now that you don't have to be perfect, you can be good.” - steinbeck

Glory And Gore :: [Nero + Amazonite] Nov 17, 2013 6:23:23 GMT -5

Post by ✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ on Nov 17, 2013 6:23:23 GMT -5

His touch feels similar to the feeling of poison dancing through my veins. Every moment that I spend with my hand against his is one that I have begun to detest. I am lucky, able to pass off tiny shudders of horror with the trembling of a bride to be. I am disgusted with this unprofessional feeling of mine. I am not a child anymore, a girl of twelve filled with so much rage that I could barely contain it. If I knew that even touching my skin to his was going to be this difficult for me, I would have taken it upon myself to clean this revulsion out of me, until my insides were nothing but ice, and all that sat in the forefront of my mind was my duty to my family. I steel myself, imagine liquid metal coursing through my body. I will not let this be my downfall, my own emotions must not get in the way, what has to be done will be.

He is barely tolerable. I know that he is nothing more than another Grimm boy, far too big for boots that would stomp out the world in greed. Yet, his wit is refreshing. It has been many years since I have come across one so quick in conversation. It is nothing like speaking to the Shore brothers, all either mewling children, or brutes with brains the size of a grain of jasmine rice. This boy seems to not have a similar problem. It does not seem to matter what conversation piece I throw at him, he is seamlessly ready to parry with a verbal counterpart. In this game of cat and mouse we play, it is quite possible that I have a suitable match. However, I have a card that I guard carefully, that he does not know of. My disguise is my name and his arrogance.

A soft smile slips across my face. For all the world I look to be a young woman enjoying the night of her engagement celebration. The smile is not one of joy, or glowing happiness, but more of a collector who has just found a new object of intrigue for her collection. It isn't for the knowledge that he might rather dislike the Shore sisters, that is a fact so tame that the world might know. It is more the fact that the mere mention of them can elicit a response deeper than a blank stare. Quite possibly, the silent reference to the killing of one Xanthus Grimm is the root. I remind myself to do some not very careful prodding later on as once again, we switch partners.

My eyes narrow in the slightest of ways as he dares to reprimand me on the actions of the Shore sisters. If I still had sisters to worry over in such a way, maybe I would be more caring of the statement. Yet, with each mention of my 'sisters', I hate him more. As if I should be responsible for the stupid cows. All they seem to care about is training and being absolutely psychotic. They have little care for the real world, because in theirs, they have not lost much. If I could still care for the sisters I was raised with, I would not be here, dancing beside him. My heart is still there, in the past, in the darkness of our sleeping space with secrets flying between us, and a friendship so deep that my heart still aches for it, broken and jagged in it's absence. An entirety of me is missing because of the actions of his own kinship, and he dare reprimand me. I will give his head to the carrion crows, so they can pluck the eyes from his skull.

He continues on to an audience already grown tired of his preaching. A smirk curls my lips up as a cat suddenly tears across the dance floor, stopping the music abruptly, tripping people up in their dance. "Indeed," I agree, raising one elegant brow, "You seem to have your cousins in hand. I shall try and learn from your actions so that I might better my family to your standards, Mr. Grimm." With the removal of a cat, and a sheepish girl I know to be Leo Grimm, the music begins again, a few beats from where we left off. Our hands meet again and this time I do not show the slightest flicker of emotion, I allow my fingers to repeat the arch they have performed every time we have touched, just to keep up appearances.

In spite of my deeply rooted dislike, I do not miss the compliment he tosses out, this time no barbs to accompany it. Before I can properly respond, he pulls me close for the next dance, and I am far closer than I should like to be to this man. I begin to form a response, forming my counter attack in a matter of seconds. I am lifted in his arms, and for all his faults, he does not drop me. The lift is careful, and I am in no discomfort for all the hatred between us. For a man compiled of gears and oil, his movements are far from mechanical. "A gentleman? You ask of me what one such as you must already know, but very well then, I shall tell you." The dance moves us, taking us sweeping across the floor. We don't change partners for this one, we have no company but ourselves.

"A gentleman, a knight, per say must cherish honesty. He must accept his deeds, and take responsibility for the actions of his own family. If his family is gone from this fine earth, than a gentleman must settle their debts." The music swells around us, and we spin, perfectly executed even as both our thoughts are far away. "A Gentleman must be cordial, polite and most importantly, mildly tempered," I pause as he spins me. The steps bring us back in close, and my voice lowers as if I am sharing something in confidence. "The secret however, is to never speak of a lady's family in an ill manner, especially if said lady happens to be one's fiance," I finish as the music stops, and step away from him. It does not feel far enough."

{Behind the dreams of mastery
L o v e d i e s s i l e n t l y
Torn to the flesh as the fire bleeds
E c h o e s o f h i s t o r y}

Last Edit: Mar 9, 2014 3:50:00 GMT -5 by ✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

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Glory And Gore :: [Nero + Amazonite] Nov 18, 2013 17:02:29 GMT -5

Post by L△LIA on Nov 18, 2013 17:02:29 GMT -5

Despite the reputation of my family — always one Grimm yet more eager for an excuse to throw a party than the next — for my part, I much prefer the night to remain quiet, as nights are want to do when left to their own devices. This music is almost grotesquely excessive when thoughts of quiet clicks and whirs beckon me to abandon all efforts for tonight's celebration in favor of the more private quarters of the house and a little work. I am not a man incapable of enjoying a bit of revelry, but the evening would be undeniably more to my liking if I'd have been granted input concerning the guest list or even the musicians hired to play. Even if the involvement of the Shores was never to be optional, perhaps hearing more of the cello's deep reverberation and a little less screeching violin could still do wonders for my mood. As it is, one regrettable detail cannot be escaped without being replaced with another.

"I'm afraid it shall be difficult for me to promise honesty and not to speak ill of your family within the same breath, unless I promise not to speak at all. Then again, perhaps you might find that to be a wholly adequate compromise?" The dance ends, she steps away, and I find neither of these changes to be to my disliking. A knowing grin tugs at my mouth, amusement thrumming in my chest as I meet her eyes for a moment too long. There is something sharp about her gaze, beyond the way her features seem to be stretched thin to accommodate the width of her face, as if her pupils might also appear razor-edged if viewed from the right angle. My head cannot help tilting slightly to see if I might catch a glimpse. "If nothing else, it seems I owe yet another apology — I did not realize you to be a girl who sees no difference between the consequences of a cat disrupting a dance and a marriage disrupting a life. By those standards, I fear it will be difficult to prevent you from being cross with me, both now and in the future."

Stepping in closely enough to hide the details of my expression from anyone except for her, I clear any evidence of sarcasm or plays to social expectation from my face. If she requests honesty, then she shall have it. "However, although I might fail on all other accounts thus far —" There has always been something brutal about me, even as a child. Mine are features disinclined toward kindness, regardless of emotion or intent, and smiles that might compensate for my harsh appearance have always been difficult to come by. Truth of feeling is challenging for most to see within my face, as people too often cannot look beyond the flatness of my eyes or the stoic hollows of my cheekbones. It is but a series of faint ripples that shift my countenance now — a flicker of confusion in regards to her allusion to Xanthus; a series of stitches through my lips in the name of dignity, determination, and honor; and the effort of something undeniably genuine where this topic is concerned. "— if responsibility is owed in the name of the family I have lost, then be assured, those debts are mine without you asking for them to be."

It is more than a wound she has pried at and I am not ashamed to let her see that. For as often as my mother nags that Lyrica's half-blood ties to me make her my sibling, I have only ever felt a true kinship with my departed cousin, Xanthus. He was more my brother than that girl is my sister. While such sentiments may be a point of contention between my family and I, I am eternally stubborn on the matter. "That said, it is only fair for you to expect of me what I have so freely admitted to expecting of you." Are you so brave as to accept your sister's debts as your own, Miss Amazonite? "So if the ghost that haunts this house offends you, then I will gladly bear all his punishment." As much as I would like to seize this opportunity to escape from the oppression of the crowd, I won't have her mistake my desire to flee from the evening's affairs as an attempt to elude her perplexing accusation. She may speak flippantly where the likes of Cerberus and Leo are concerned and I will most often agree absolutely, however, I'll volunteer to be torn limb from limb before I'll allow a single tongue to lash out at the already mangled corpse of my fallen cousin. I would rather us both be bound to a lifetime of silence.

delicate in every way but one
(the swordplay)
g o d k n o w s
we like archaic kinds of fun
(the old way)

Last Edit: Mar 9, 2014 1:18:18 GMT -5 by L△LIA

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Glory And Gore :: [Nero + Amazonite] Nov 29, 2013 5:47:19 GMT -5

Post by ✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ on Nov 29, 2013 5:47:19 GMT -5

I cannot lie and tell you that I adore the brightness and sounds of the party. I also can not tell you I hate it. In gatherings such as these, there is anonymity. Not that it is something that I seek. Yet, every so often, it is rather nice to have a place, a person that you can lay your mask down with, where you don't have to pretend. For me, it is no person, no place. For me, it is when my feet are sliding across the floor and I can extend my arms to the sky. For me it is when the room is empty and I have four far away walls for my voice to echo off of. Half of me loves the feeling, the other is only ever angry. My simple minded elder sister loved to dance, it was the single thing she was a genius at. They cut her feet off and threw them to their dogs.

So when I have a room to myself, I do not dance, not the way she did. My feet move with precision, my arms with dedication to detail, but they are all the movements of a warrior. I have no happiness, no raging calm inside the quiet of my storm. There is only the thought of revenge, the choking need for blood that takes me. It has held me in it's grasp for many a year now. I am happiest when my body makes the motions to kill. Still, it can take some happiness in a dance or two, even if the music could use a finer touch. It is lovely but screeches most hesitantly, like a prepubescent boy. It needs less of the violin, more of the cello. Whoever chose the musical entertainment for the evening needs to be shot.

One would think I would be more hesitant with using such phrasing, especially if they knew the fate of my family. However, I have never been one to shy away from the ugly. It's hard to do so when one has to look at herself in the mirror everyday. As I have said, I am not a lovely girl. My forehead is far too wide, my eyes are mean, evil things, and my mouth is more capable of a smirk than anything else. I do not fear words, let alone what they can do. I carry no shield but my mouth, yet I am an excellent deflector. Years of hatred have formed my features into something that belongs on a witch's face in a fairy tale, I do not have looks to back my words. I back them alone, with pure strength of will and the lash that is my tongue.

Truth be told I lose t when he leans in close. For all my complexities, for all my lack of feeling towards him, there has never been a male so close to me before, but for when we're dancing. In this tiny pocket of time I am a teenaged girl, with a heart beating fast at the added warmth of a boy leaning in close. Even if that warmth is only half of it's stature due to a body that runs like a river full of oil, and a power wheel made of cogs. His touch should only ever feel cold and chill me to the bone with disgust. My eyes narrow as he speaks, I have to bite my tongue to keep from spitting words full of hatred at him and his entire stupid family. I wonder if his skin might flush like mine, or if he wants to show embarrassment he has to press a certain button to release heat into his cheeks.

His features change on me as he leans in, and for a small moment I feel the intimacy that I have missed. It is nothing but a flickering before the thought is dampened by my fingers putting out the flame. I watch his eyes, the way they flicker over my features. I know what he sees. I would be so disappointed if I were him. It's too bad his Uncle killed my sister before he could marry her instead. She looked like a porcelain doll, it would have been a fitting match. Instead we have a piece of machinery and a dutiful soldier. Our stories seem like they have been cut out and pasted together by a blind bookbinder. It is ludicrous.

"No," I whisper, "It is not your mangled corpse of a brother that offends, it is your very DNA, the make-up of you and your relations and your murderous heritage." I should stop talking, but we have our heads bent together, looking like nothing more than two lovers, finally able to be together, unable to pay attention to anyone else, so besotted are we. "Are you certain that you would take on the debts of the deceased, Mr. Grimm? I assure you it is no easy task, I have toiled for many a year now, and I am barely farther than where I started." I see the way he looks when I mention his brother, and I cannot sop picking at a wound barely healed. After all, mine still bleed from time to time, it is only fair that pain follow him too. Almost hissing now, baring the true snake in the grass that I am, I say, "It seems that we have reached nothing less than an agreement in this joining. You do not have to remain silent about my adopted family on my behalf. Their stupidity knows no bounds."

I smile softly, and lean away, masking the steam in my chest by pretending that my own blood is ice in allusion to his oil. Water and oil can never mix, we will only slide against each other, unable to cooperate. I am fine with this, I do not plan to be chained to him for long. "Besides Nero Grimm, no glutton for punishment am I, but I must admit that I enjoy the verbal opponent that you present," I say, with a cock of my head to the side. I am only a tiny bit surprised to find that this thought is purely truthful.

The next song begins, too loud, too painful. Wincing slightly, I wave my hand absentmindedly through the air. "Oh Knight in shining armour, could you please take this damsel away from all this?"

{Crooked fingers
k n o c k i n g o n
windows without souls}

Last Edit: Mar 9, 2014 3:55:30 GMT -5 by ✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

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Glory And Gore :: [Nero + Amazonite] Dec 15, 2013 22:31:28 GMT -5

Post by L△LIA on Dec 15, 2013 22:31:28 GMT -5

It is messy to kill a person with one's bare hands and so usually a tidy man such as myself would prefer a gun or an explosive to do the trick, the kind of aftermath cleanup that can be easily delegated, but her cheap lips are cause for reconsideration. "No," the heathen mouth of blasphemy whispers, "It is not your mangled corpse of a brother that offends, it is your very DNA, the make-up of you and your relations and your murderous heritage." I could show you what a mangled corpse looks like, girl. There is something strange lurking within her accusations, but I have no mind for decoding the finer points of a doubled-edged tongue when the obvious wound cuts so deep. The joints of my spine seem to click into place as I straighten automatically into a dangerously rigid stance, smoke clouding my marrow as I seethe. Xanthus is not a toy for her to sharpen her foolish teeth upon. "Are you certain that you would take on the debts of the deceased, Mr. Grimm? I assure you it is no easy task, I have toiled for many a year now, and I am barely farther than where I started."

Within me, the mechanics of my false heart hitch against rusted gears and the coagulating blood of the dead. If I were less of a man, I might slap her. As it is, one hand reaches for the burden of my pocket watch as I give a single nod of sharp conviction and shift my hardened glare from her to the tragic tick of a second hand that wound up marking the countdown of the wrong heartbeat. It was only ever meant for mine, not his. My other hand silently moves to my neck, pressing two fingers into the pulse that rages too honestly beneath an expression unwilling to be so forthcoming. There may be evidence of anger upon my face, but it is reigned in far more than what echoes in my blood. Her attack is shameless, easy, and not worth the over-reaction I'm suffering, but my earlier run-in with the infamous Miss Opal Shore has created something of a raw combination. One thirty-eight. One thirty-nine. One forty. One hundred and forty-one beats per minute. Holding the watch Xanthus carried into the Games isn't helping to calm me; these are suddenly the mechanics of feeling and steel was never meant to ache.

"It seems that we have reached nothing less than an agreement in this joining. You do not have to remain silent about my adopted family on my behalf." A breath I did not realize I was holding hisses into release and then I am filled with new oxygen, as though in a moment of rebirth. "Their stupidity knows no bounds." Cutting short of the one minute mark, I click the time piece shut and casually stow it away within the inner pocket of my jacket once more. My palm still burns fiercely, but I don't have to count the tick tick tick of my own body to sense a slowing within me. There is a burst of relief that tempers even the effects of her senseless words and as she leans back, a flicker of new curiosity begs me to follow. "Besides, Nero Grimm, no glutton for punishment am I, but I must admit that I enjoy the verbal opponent that you present."

The music shifts abrasively, much too loud, and her wince mimics my own. With a wave of her hand, as though both words and song can so easily be cleared from memory, she deadpans a line of sarcasm and I look at her a moment longer than is necessary. "Oh Knight in shining armour, could you please take this damsel away from all this?" Picking up the cue, I take her hand and begin leading us away from the excessive enthusiasm of the still-dancing guests. The servant I passed my cane to earlier catches my eye to offer it back and I shake my head at him as we continue past, slipping off into a sparsely occupied hallway that leads away from the main event and into the more private quarters of the house. In light of my most recent revelation, I no longer feel the need to carry a blunt weapon.

"A tour, then?" The question is more of a statement of bland necessity. I am too distracted to play into her joke of knights and damsels, pausing for only a beat before lapsing into the true point of interest. "Had I known from the beginning that you possess no personal entanglements with the Shore bloodline, Miss Amazonite, my words for you might have been kinder." Glancing sidelong at my companion, a ghost's smile plays at my lips as though haunting me, yet difficult when it comes to proving whether or not such an expression is actually there. "I can't help but to admit to finding that far more respectable than the dramatics of being the illegitimate product of an affair — for more than one reason." Turning a corner past the last of the wandering guests, the doors lining the corridor on either side have become as personal as anything that could be said or done. Everything in this part of the house breathes with the memory of the person whose death her mouth has been too quick to bite down upon — his study, his bedroom, his haunts of living that still remind me too violently of absence.

Staring too long at the door across the way, as though it were carved from flames that know how to reach me even from where I stand, I venture toward a less emotionally jarring room instead. There is a click as the doorknob is turned and the door creaks open, the mammoth library heaving itself amidst shadows as I step in and reach for the light. "Perhaps it's due to my half-sister that I have little enthusiasm for the follies of secret trysts and other such affairs, but —" My fingers find the switch and I freeze, my hand tightening on hers in the dark. The moment her feet cross the threshold from the hallway into the privacy of the room, I cannot stop myself from wheeling around and abruptly backing her against the wall. In the dim cast of moonlight through the far windows, I can feel her presence more than I can see her, my eyes slow to adjust, and lean in oppressively close so that there can be no room for distraction.

"If you are adopted," the voice that marches from my throat is harsh and unforgiving as our noses brush and I practically growl into her mouth, as though trying to force her to swallow my words down, "then you are inevitably familiar with loss." My tone is violent with her. "Whoever was taken from you — I say taken, not lost, because I am not a fool who will insult you as others do me by implying that a person simply wanders aimlessly into death — whoever that may be, I swear not to cross the line with any flippantly cheap verbal sparring at their expense. This may not be an engagement I have entered into with enthusiasm, but if it's of any consolation to your pride, my reasons for objection have had little, if anything, to do with any of your own particular qualities."

Slowly, my vision begins to pull detail from the darkness, recognizing the evening's reflection off the whites of her eyes and the slope of her bare shoulders as I pull back slightly upon being confronted with exactly how narrow the space between us has become. "Insult my DNA. Insult my frivolous relations — my childish mother, my ridiculous, bickering cousins, my so-called sister, or my aunts, uncles, grandparents, whoever. Insult my heritage and call my upbringing anything you'd like. However, I have no tolerance for petty slander against Xanthus. Not from you or the likes of anyone else." Throat tight, there is something quietly pained within my otherwise vicious tone. "I know very well my reputation as something of a mechanical man and I have no intention to deny such an accurate portrayal of my character. There is little within me that is sentimental and, if anything, the truth of that has only become more absolute over the course of the past year."

"Obviously, there is no secret concerning the mangled corpse that has been taken from me or by whom he was murdered, but you —" The grip of the hand that still holds hers is crushingly tight while the other reaches to tilt her chin up with the most minimal of touches from my fingertips. "— are no fool, so do not insult yourself by being tawdry with my own loss when you know it too well yourself. Despite the mechanics of my chest, allow me to assure you, I am still capable of feeling that one perpetual moment of pain," and only that, "and you surely know as well as I that life is not so easy, nor your insults so impressive, that I will mend in your silence. Xanthus is my line. Attack me by any other means for your personal amusement, but not through him."

The gears within me scream as a clot is crushed between pinions and my fingertips abandon her chin for the light switch once more, extinguishing the darkness with a casual flick. As electricity ignites the room, I step away as if nothing has been said and the only thing I've done is merely to walk into this library. "Now that you know me quite well enough, perhaps we ought to discuss one of these hundreds of terribly dull books or how my cousin Amira insists the floorboards are too dark for the leather upholstery of the armchairs. I could hardly care less, but subjects of that sort seem to keep the other women in my life occupied indefinitely." The smoke clears from my marrow as if I have just released my daydream of a gunshot from my mouth, a final wisp lingering on my lips. It is nearly cathartic and, indeed, far tidier than strangling her throat into silence with my bare hands.

chance is the only
game I play with
b a b y
we let our battles
choose us

Last Edit: Mar 9, 2014 1:36:43 GMT -5 by L△LIA

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Glory And Gore :: [Nero + Amazonite] Mar 9, 2014 2:34:12 GMT -5

Post by ✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ on Mar 9, 2014 2:34:12 GMT -5

[presto]

[/presto]

He looks at me as we stand in tandem, my hand still in the air, his reaching for me, more out of habit then want, I should expect. Our's is a childhood regimented by lessons on manners and the rituals that are performed at functions such as these. For that one long moment, there is something in his eyes and it throws me off only the tiniest bit. It is genuine, maybe that is what confuses me. His face remains blank, careless, cold. Yet in his eyes, I can almost see a hint of surprise, as if maybe he was thinking the same thought and he was not expecting it from me. Whatever I think I have spotted, it is gone in a flicker as he takes my hand in his. The hold he has is delicate, careful, the way a gentleman should hold a woman's hand. The only thing lacking is warmth.

As we begin to exit, I can almost feel the eyes that glue themselves to the back of my head. I wonder what the crowd behind us is thinking. Is it unorthodox for a young couple, newly arranged, to be going off on their lonesome? I would not know. I look to my left and flash a small smile at one of the Shores, more for their benefit than anything else. It occurs to me that I have become so excellent at feigning each and every reaction I am expected to give, that I am not even certain what I might really feel in this situation. I look inwards and I can feel that familiar burn in the pit of my stomach.

I am still burning to take something sharp, anything at this point, and shove it into his back, carving my name into his inner workings. Not that Shore name they saddled me with. I want to carve Athens into his eyelids so that every time he blinks he feels it. Yet, I watch his back as he leads me into the house, far away from the party until they are simply a blurred noise in the background. His muscles work beneath the confines of his jacket and I cannot help but admit his beauty, even if it kills me to do so. When I think of the face I want to hurt, it is the one of someone who has been dead for many years now. His body would be rotten by now.

However, my sisters will be nothing but flowers now as well when they might have been so much more. I press my nails into my palm and grit my teeth, reminding myself why I am here. My father did not raise some fanciful teenage girl with ridiculous hormones. That was my sister, I was raised to be his heir, to flush out all sense of familiarity and feeling. He would not feel pride for me in this moment. I have forgotten already, the beauty of the Grimm household distracting me when it should only be fueling my fires. They were allowed to be raised in such wealth when I lost everything I ever owned, locked away until I turned nineteen. My own grand estate sits silently, waiting, no one to care for it but for three faithful servants. I have to remember what the Grimms stole from me.

For many years, I have thought of the Grimms and how many ways I would like to end them. Those long hours I spent in hospital, demonizing the Grimms as a whole. They have been the monsters in my closet for so long that I forgot that they belonged to personalities, faces, families. I wonder if this changes things, if it bothers me. I believe I am more bothered by the fact that the anger is not dissipating.

It is odd how one look that was held for too long can put me so out of sorts. I barely nod when he speaks, so intent am I on my own revelations. However, the tone he gives to the conversation is one that I have had yet to hear. It is light, presented with far more generosity than his other comments. It tempts a small smile to my lips, but I put it back before he sees it. My hand reaches up to caress my own throat, lost in confusion. I can feel something there, like the pit of a fruit. I cannot swallow past it and I wonder if this is what it always feels like when one finds out that the evil they thought was lurking in the shadows was simply a teenaged boy with a beautiful smile.

I never was a teenaged girl, I never was a little girl. I was always meant to be a boy.

I feel it as his grip begins to tighten around my hand and suddenly I am so tired of this game we are playing. I have too much to think about and no time to compute this rebellion of my own self. The world is moving too fast and I don't know what I am doing here anymore, I need to remember what I am doing, I need to think.

Suddenly that becomes even harder as he shoves me against the wall, not very gentlemanly at all, and I realize I cannot hear the party anymore. Darkness surround us, I do not even know what room we are in, I know the house, I have studied the map, I have not been paying attention. I curse my stupidity. He is a Grimm, an enemy and I let myself be alone with him. My hand flies to my thigh and I can feel the knife in i's sheath beneath my dress. I wonder if I'll have enough time to get it out before he does whatever it is he is about to do.

Fear shocks it's way through me as he moves in close, too close, far too much to be polite. I skin is so close, I can feel the cool heat radiating off of him and I wonder how I would ever be stupid enough to think that him being half man, half machine, would make him cold. Everyone knows that machines left running only get hooter and hotter. Like anyone, his skin is warm and I can feel it jumping in the space between us. My breathing comes faster as he growls into my ear, a primal fear growing in the pit of my stomach. For all of my deadliness, there is so much strength in his grip and I feel like any girl that has been pinned by a boy. Fear races through me.

I am Asai, I am Asai, I scream internally, five years old again, standing in front of the mirror and trying to keep myself from sobbing at my own ugliness.

Strength fills me and I allow my eyes to narrow, I look at him, full in the eyes, unflinching. I do not care if he finds me more tolerable now that he knows I am adopted. I do not care for hit snooty views on the world, what makes a person desirable or not. I do not care if I have hurt his singular feeling by mentioning his cousin's death because everyday of my life I have to live with the fact that I do know what a mangled corpse looks like, four of them, up close and personal. This boy, this proud little man is nothing. He is a fly that I will tear the wings from an crush. The familiar righteousness courses through me and I hate him.

His fingers touch my chin and I do not twist away from him. I simply stare into his eyes, learning them, wondering if Corbet Grimm's looked the same. I will not give him the satisfaction of me looking away because I am not some young fool to be tempted and teased. He is more than correct when he guesses that I am familiar with loss. He is more than correct when he says that I know how it feels. Yet he cannot know how it feels to find yourself full of bullets, laying on the pavement midst your sisters, the only one to survive. He may be full of metal but he could never understand what it is to be the only one left. Even as he lists all of his extended family like a taunt, I know he has no idea of real pain. No, a man who sneers at his own flesh and blood could never know what it is. How dare he spit in my face and treat me like some insolent child. He presumes too much.

"You know nothing, Nero Grimm," I whisper to the darkness. He has a scent, cologne and the mustiness of a workroom. "You are a little boy, pretending at pain. You mock me." He moves away from me and flicks on a light. I stay against the wall, sleek and angry. For him, maybe it is something he can turn off and on like a switch for now he seems quite calm and collected. I am only just beginning to seethe. I wonder if it will always be like this. He will say what he wants to say and then switch the conversation over to a different topic as if the weather or the books in the library mattered so much more than our own intertwining lives.

"Very well," I purr, as if the past few moments have disappeared. We are very good at that, the rich. Dancing around the gore left from our own actions is our specialty. "Shall we converse about a novel? What about 'Peter Pan', the boy who never grew up? Or possibly about Mr. Darcy, proud and so prejudiced he could not see past his own enormous nose. No? Maybe we should speak of Coriolanus, so up himself that he brought about the death of his own country. We could discuss Heathcliff, Gatsby, Hamlet, Macbeth, all stories of men. Stupid, intolerable, idiots who thought they understood and knew everything but never could. We could converse on that. What do you think about that?" I want to say. In all my short comings, I am female. That is what made me small in my father's eyes.

However, he was wrong. Men are the poor ones, the tiny ones, the weak ones. Empires were formed and destroyed by the hand of man, kingdoms burned, people, land, life, all by the hand of man. If forcing a seventeen year old girl against the wall and growling in her face makes him feel strong, I should not be surprised. I will not let it bother me.

I move away from the wall and perch on the edge of one of the aforementioned armchairs. "However, it does not please me to speak of such small things. Come tell me something of yourself, we are too estranged Nero Grimm." I give him a look that speaks of nothing. I am a rock, unfazed, uncaring towards his rudeness. I am strong, I am Asai. He will not move me

[presto]

[/presto]

Last Edit: Mar 9, 2014 17:16:56 GMT -5 by ✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

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L△LIA
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Glory And Gore :: [Nero + Amazonite] Aug 22, 2014 19:58:14 GMT -5

Post by L△LIA on Aug 22, 2014 19:58:14 GMT -5

Disclaimer: Due to alcohol-induced illiteracy, this post is not canon, seeing as how I accidentally replied to a whole bunch of stuff Athens didn't actually say out loud. My bad. I'm gonna leave it up anyway, because why not. For reference, canon is that they sassy small talked for a bit about nothing in particular and then went back to the party. Time to move on to a new thread. XD

light will keep your heart
beating in the future
keep your heart beating in the
keep your heart
keep your heart beating

"You know nothing, Nero Grimm." This is a highly questionable argument on her part, taking my education into account. Wealthy children tend to be excessively literate, after all, and she's not so thoughtless as to discount such common knowledge, not when the same ideals of success surely raised her just as they did me. Yet, while I may know more than nothing, such a fact does not mean I know much. Man is inherently foolish and even a pride such as mine can acknowledge the basic fact of her implication, although her mouth may fumble with its eloquence in this particular moment. "You are a little boy, pretending at pain. You mock me." Despite all my edges, the most quiet corner of my lips curls at her accusation. Yes, little girl, I dare to mock you and you —

You are quite skilled at pretending not to be bothered by my mocking, yet not so skilled as to fool me.

She is almost picturesque in her offense and I cannot look away. "Very well, shall we converse about a novel? What about 'Peter Pan', the boy who never grew up? Or possibly about Mr. Darcy, proud and so prejudiced he could not see past his own enormous nose. No? Maybe we should speak of Coriolanus, so up himself that he brought about the death of his own country. We could discuss Heathcliff, Gatsby, Hamlet, Macbeth, all stories of men. Stupid, intolerable, idiots who thought they understood and knew everything but never could. We could converse on that. What do you think about that?" Amusement rumbles deeply within my chest, the quake of my muffled laughter the only part of me that shakes in response to her verbal tirade.

This girl, she secretly fancies herself an Austenian heroine. Rightous. As proud as any man, with twice the worth. Life changing. Oh, she is a force to be reckoned with, to be sure, but if there is a woman upon this earth capable of moving my mechanical ghost of a heart, then surely I have yet to meet her. While I may harbor no particular objections to her face or the apparent integrity of her personality, beings of such unfathomable consequence belong only to frivolous fiction for a reason. No such woman exists within reality. Whatever incredible accomplishments Miss Amazonite's approval may be capable of, the revolution of my soul will not be one of them. "However, it does not please me to speak of such small things." ~~Such small things as my thoughts~~. "Come tell me something of yourself, we are too estranged, Nero Grimm."

The mask of my contemplation flicks its eyes across her face, daring her to speak of larger things if she possesses an idea within her head that I have yet to speak to her of anything of substance. What a disappointment I must be if my professed misery over the murder of my cousin has left her completely and utterly unaffected. "Whatever you'd like to know, Miss Amazonite, please, feel free to ask. I will answer you honestly. After all, I am not much for secrets — if you have yet to derive such a simple truth from my obvious countenance." Flicking my fingertips at an imaginary spot of dust upon the arm of my chair, I shrug absently and continue. "While you may be an unwritten protagonist of literary legend, I prefer inventions that can be held with my hands to those that will only ever belong to the imaginations of giddy girls. I do not mind small things the way you profess to. All things of true value within this world begin small, growing into power, and I do so hate finding myself guilty of underestimation."

"Perhaps that's why I can't take you lightly. I don't believe for a moment that you would bother to give such a speech on anything you truly deemed small. Peter Pan? Mister Darcy? Only men far more ignorant than I would interpret these comparisons as insult, not when the words come from a mouth as careful as yours." Pulling myself up, I reach out to the rows of books that line the shelves, fingertips trailing across countless leather-bound spines. "However, if you mistake me for a hero, I'm afraid I'll only disappoint you. You really ought to call me Hook or Wickham if you mean to insult me, rather that showering me with accidental praise." Tugging a thinly bound book from a shelf, I drop a copy of Where The Wild Things Are into her lap without missing a beat. "To be honest, I much prefer pictures to that sort of senseless typography. Terrible claws and terrible teeth —" I grin for her, kind and scary and promising, all at once. "— the world all around us is the place where the wild things are. You only get to be king if you become the most terrible, wild thing of all, Miss Max... but I think you know that already."

Plucking another random book from its slumber, my fingers absently flip through the pages, treating it with little more care than someone shuffling a deck of playing cards. "Then again, I've been told I'm a man who knows nothing, so perhaps you shouldn't bother to make mischief with me."

Last Edit: Aug 22, 2014 22:59:24 GMT -5 by L△LIA

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