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Posted: Oct 3rd, 2009 at 06:22 pm
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Dante was right. Well, sort of. Dante was suspicious, in a manner he half believed was unwarranted. But he was right. His suspicion was warranted. Other gods -were- lingering, watching. Though, Roan had little intention of mixing himself up with Dante or any of his kin. Roan, after all, was dead. Or supposed to be dead anyway. After Troy, before the parting of the family of Gods, Roan had died... or was supposed to have. Funny old world, ain't it? Their kind had a way of... bouncing back. But they were immortals after all, and it was only logical that they'd be harder to put down than they ought to have been.
Roan was lesser known than his brethren. Likely -because- of his supposed death. Mythology had decided that he would be a judge in the underworld because he'd unceremoniously snuffed it. Oops. But in all reality, the unfailingly elusive god had survived, just barely, when his room at the villa had 'mysteriously' caught fire during the day. The story was long, sordid, twisted, but in short he hadn't gone up in a pile of ash as he was supposed to have, at least not entirely, and over the years, whatever dark magic it was that animated his kind, had knitted him back together so that he was walking the earth again just about the time that Octavius turned his first broken child.
This wasn't to say, however, that Roan was exactly the forgiving type. He wasn't bent on revenge enough to go trekking over the world after the blonde-haired devil who'd made short work of his beautiful rooms with a simple candle, but he wasn't exactly apathetic about the situation. He too had loved and lost, and the memories of it, the knowledge of it, was a festering, poisoned thorn in his side, forever just out of reach but always there. Atymnios...
"Stay away from him."
"Do you love him?"
"Of course I do, not that it's any business of yours. Stay away." Apollo's blue eyes were vibrant with anger and indignation. Rhadamanthus' eyes were of cool, collected onyx, the same hue as his glossy, straight hair. He was shorter than Apollo, thinner, smaller. He'd been younger, considerably so. Forever sealed into the body of a tempting young adult. But he was no less powerful, and where Apollo had impulse and irrationality, Rhadamanthus had careful thought, quiet passion, poetic words. He was the considerate one, the careful one, the one who thought of the consequences of things before he did them. At least until Atymnios showed up on the scene.
"I love him too." His words were quiet, factual, truthful. Apollo didn't seem soothed by them in the least.
"He's mine."
"No man is a possession of another."
"Oh no? If you touch him I'll-"
"You'll what? Go berserk? How predictable. Good night, Apollo."
Roan liked port. Stronger than wine, weaker than spirits, but rich, red, satisfying. And that was what he drank as he stood at the bar. A spectre. A ghost. He wasn't supposed to be there, but there he stood. A thin, black and v-necked t-shirt showcased the divine sculpting of his snow-white collarbones beneath flesh of the same hue. Around the lean, swan-like slope of his neck hung a black cord, and from that, a cut and glittering ruby. It was the only splash of colour about him whatsoever. Fortunate then that he was in a goth club, where mortals painted themselves to the same hues. It was easy to blend into the crowd there, easy not to stand out as the stranger, the creature that didn't quite fit amongst a sea of suntanned skins and curvaceous youths. Roan barely looked a if he should be allowed into the club at all, however. he perpetually hovered somewhere between eighteen years old and twenty. Even -he- wasn't sure exactly how old he'd been, but he was certainly more than qualified to get into the nightclub and have a drink. The bouncers at the door had been no problem either. One of them, a vampire, had been only slightly more tricky to roll than the human, but it was nothing to Roan. As easy as dusting off his shoulder.
You need a Time Killer, and you don't understand
I am like quicksand; lick it from my hand.
I am your Time Killer; I let your mind expand
I am like quicksand; lick it from my hand.
The 'youth' sipped rich, dark port from a stemmed glass and leaned his free elbow back against the bar. Pants as dark as pitch clung to his flesh all the way down, skinny jeans belted at the waist with a tooled black leather belt, a silver buckle. His shoes were a pair of simple, canvas Vans, and those too were black, without adornment. Yes, he certainly fit in with the crowd if you ignored how the sweeping lights seemed to bleed over the surfaces of his obsidian eyes like headlights over an oil slick. He watched the mortal patrons jump or writhe or sway like trees on the dance floor, and he wondered if perhaps Atymnios would have been there with them, a glowing light amidst their darkness.
« Last Edited by
Roan
Oct 3rd, 2009 at 06:25 pm »
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Posted: Oct 3rd, 2009 at 06:23 pm
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The pretty, blonde youth had perished in the fire. He was too young to survive it. Months old in fact, and around the same age as Roan had been when he'd been turned somewhere in the dark, rolling sands outside of Thebes. Roan -had- loved him. he'd been all Roan ever wanted. but he hadn't belonged to him, h had belonged to Apollo, had been turned by Apollo, and Apollo loved him too, with a veracity that drove him to jealous rage when he learned of Roan and Atymnios' affair. So that had been the end of that. Roan hadn't loved anyone like it since, though he hadn't been exactly solitary.
He' managed to duck under the radar of the others, however. But it seemed times were changing, and all of them with them. Ares had re-emerged, as Roan had suspected he might, and so too then had Roan emerged, though not as obviously. No doubt the others wouldn't be looking for his presence in a crowd, because it had almost blinked out of existence once, to the point that it had been impossible to detect, as if he really were dead. He'd cheated fate, but just barely, and afterwards he'd vowed to stay away from them all, make his own way, find his own love, his own family. In many ways, he'd grown similar to Octavius, save perhaps for the fact that his own family consisted of only two others, and they no longer travelled together. Roan couldn't seem to hold down a stable family or relationship, it seemed. His past was like a big black dog that followed him around and snapped at his ankles whenever he got too close to having some semblance of a normal and happy life. Gortys and Erythus had gone their own ways after Rome had fallen, and Roan had only glimpsed them here and there since, occasionally stopping to spend a few nights with one or the other before they drifted apart again, like clouds burning off in the afternoon sun.
Still, he -did- have a family. In fact, he had two families. Neither functioned particularly well, but perhaps it was time to revisit the eldest of them, let his presence be known, let them realise that he had not died all those years ago. Apollo had held a funeral for him and for Atymnios after their 'deaths'. It seemed only right that Roan repay the kind and polite gesture with a friendly note. "You failed. I live."
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Posted: Oct 3rd, 2009 at 09:38 pm
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Another night, another quarter to explore. Tonight it was the French Quarter, the one Venise had been most looking forward to delving into. New Orleans was a glittering gem of a city, multi-faceted, multicultural, but Venise had always had a certain fondness for the French, the lovers of Western Europe, the wine drinkers and the pacifists. The French Quarter was not really comparable to the country it was named after; it was just a smaller version of Paris, a tiny, hedonistic world in and of itself. Venise liked it immensely, enjoyed reaching up to run his fingers over the wrought-iron balconies and balustrades, caressing the the wild vines and tame potted plants outside of business establishments and crowded apartment buildings.
Music floated out of a smoky jazz club, crimson-lipped sirens cradling a cigarette in one hand and a cocktail in the other just outside the door, their men standing close by and laughing softly at private, intimate conversations. Venise caught snippets of them as he walked by, none of them of no great consequence. He reveled in the swell of humanity nonetheless, the pulsing overload of their emotions, thoughts and desires, their trivial small talk, their mounting excitement and intoxication.
He moved farther down the street, past a club that boomed hyper techno and spilled neon strobe lights out onto the pavement, the stoic bouncer as unaffected by the chaos as he was every other night. Venise smiled softly to himself, tucked a wavy strand of errant hair behind his ear. It had escaped from the elastic holding his low ponytail in place. The rest of his hair spilled beneath the elastic, spreading across his shoulder blades in a silken fan. The tight, collared, short-sleeved black denim shirt he wore zipped up the front of his torso, stopping just short of his collarbones to shape the neckline into a vee. The garment was denim to the touch, but it didn't look so crude beneath the orange glow of the streetlights. It was dark and inky, plastered so closely to his skin it looked like it could have been painted on with great brushstrokes. The hem of the shirt clung to his slim hips, revealing a tantalizing, bone white sliver of his lower abdomen before the eye wandered down to a pair of faded black jeans with a slight flare to their bottoms. If the shirt was flawless black, the jeans looked like they'd been run through the wash too many times to count, more gray than black really. The ensemble was capped off by a pair of shiny black boots made of patent leather, and the shells of his ears glinted in two unbroken rows of silver studs.
Venise wasn't averse to other colors, but he felt that most nights black suited him the most. It enveloped him in hues of velvet darkness, complemented the lighter shade of his umber hair and provided a startling contrast to his lovely, ivory pallor. When he was feeling adventurous he decked himself out in the manner of an 80s glam rock star, clothed in shiny purple and silver, ragged fishnets, or a 60s vagabond voodoo child wearing flowers in his hair. Another reason for the black tonight was his destination, a dark, delicious little club past the strip of blinding neon and flashing beer signs. It was one of Dante's establishments, catering to the goths of the city, another modern subculture Venise was fascinated by. They were morbid, hopeless romantics with eyes smudged in kohl, arms covered in scars, thoughts full of bloody kisses and breath fragrant with clove smoke.
He wasn't paying much attention to where he was going after a while, and he came upon the place suddenly, alerted to its presence by the low, throbbing, cancerous music he could hear coming from inside. Venise cocked his head to the side slightly, let the sound caress his ear drums with a flutter like rose petals. He stood still, mouth pursing quizzically, casting the net of his mind over the ones trapped inside. They were all similar, almost indecipherable in their likeness, brooding children in love with the night and already half in love with death. All but one, one who should have been dead, who had been thought to be dead, even more so than Ares.
Venise gasped with laughter and childish delight. All of them really were coming out of the woodwork, weren't they? Apollo, Ares and, now, Rhadamanthus. Venise wondered what name he was going by these days. He crept forward, moving closer to the entrance, debating on whether or not to go in. He didn't have to in order to make his presence known. It would eventually steal over Rhadamanthus like opium smoke, an intoxicating, familiar fog that he would understand could only belong to one person.
« Last Edited by
Venise
Oct 3rd, 2009 at 09:43 pm »
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Posted: Oct 3rd, 2009 at 10:07 pm
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Roan knew.
Roan knew and felt the presence as surely as his half maddened mind had felt the passing of his blonde-haired lover. As surely as he had heard the screams. As surely as he had felt the inescapable and searing agony of the fire. Pain embodied. There was nothing delicious about that particular kind of sensation, though Roan had been no stranger to the possibilities of pain and pleasure combined. However, being burned alive left the senses wanting as far as pleasure was concerned, which was a lot more than could be said of Venise's lingering presence by the doorway of the club.
The dark-haired young man at the bar seemed undisturbed by the new arrival. And more, he couldn't yet even spot the beautiful creature. Was Aphrodite shy, or was he just playing a game, biding his time? If the latter was the case, then that was just fine. They had all the time in the world, and Roan found it prudent to simply take another sip of his drink and continue to watch the dancers for a while. Aphrodite would either come forward, or he wouldn't. They hadn't seen each other in such a long time that it hardly seemed like a few more minutes or a few more nights would make much of a difference. Roan was in no particular hurry about anything these days.
But he did eventually move, even if it wasn't towards the front door exactly. He'd finished his port, and the coiling tendrils of clove smoke on the air of the club were like lithe, beckoning hands that drew him to the slowly moving dance-floor. Still aware of Aphrodite's lingering presence, he gave himself to the crowd, sent out the barest hint of invitation to the waiting vampire. No words, just a feeling. He was moving with the prone, mortal bodies that folded in around him, and his delicately sculpted hands -that could have belonged to a statue or a ballet dancer- stretched slightly towards the ceiling as he turned his face up, let the sweeping lights bleed over the surfaces of his eyes again like mercury. A single silver ring glinted on his right thumb, and old thing, many-times repaired, many times thickened. By now, all detail had worn off of its surface, in fact, not much of the original ring remained at all. But it had been a staple on his hand back then too, back when it had been adorned with engraved Egyptian lotus flowers. Now it was smooth, as unremarkable as a wedding band.
* * *
Apollo's lips were as sweet and deep pink as cherry candy, glossy agaisnt the powdery fineness of his face. His first meal of the week. He didn't -need- it, but sometimes desire had to be given into, and he was long past the point of feeling remorse for the beautiful creatures he killed. He swayed as he walked, blonde curls bouncing above his shoulders, blue eyes snapping in the darkness, cherry pink lips just ready for kissing. He was heading towards Haven, because he fancied that Dante might be there, that he might be able to entice him out somewhere fun. He wasn't expecting who -was- there. He hadn't acknowledged the presence yet, just blocks away from the club.
* * *
Roan turned in a slow circle on the floor, letting his limbs move as if through water. he had turned his face towards the door, waiting for Aphrodite to join him or not. The familiar presence was like a warm, opium hewn blanket, it made him smile slightly, dreamily, dark eyes like green and purple oil-slick. But there was something more to it, wasn't there? Something tugging at his subconscious, soemthing dissipating the happy daze from his mind like smoke caught on a sudden breeze. Apollo. He righted his head like a man come awake from a floating dream. Venise was approaching with customary and enrapturing feline grace, and Roan's eyes fell on him, half way between a dreamy smile he couldn't fend off, and the clearer realisation that Apollo was heading their way. Still what was the worst that could happen? Would Apollo hate him still, want him dead? Or would he not really care anymore? No use dwelling on it.
The sharp, darker clarity of the moment left Roan's face when he chased it away with a dismissive wave. he opened his arms to Venise then instead, and gracefully accepted him when he approached, embracing him and laying his head against the other god's shoulder as they picked up the sway of the music. Home. Or something like it. He smiled at Venise's familiar scent, curled his lean, delicate fingers around the vampire's shoulders, and hummed appreciatively, almost a purr.
"Apollo's on his way," he murmured in afterthought, lifting his head to smile at Aphrodite. There was faint concern behind his eyes, but for the most part there was just acceptance, relief, fondness, and perhaps a dash of carnal desire, though Roan was never quite as easily open as the other gods. He laughed softly, perhaps at his own ironic joking, or some thought, and then simply leaned up to graze his lips against each of Aphrodite's cheeks in old greeting.
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Posted: Oct 4th, 2009 at 06:39 pm
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If there was anything Aphrodite wasn't, it was shy. He could be modest when he wanted to, when that was the sort of game he was looking to play, but boldness was often the easier route to go by, and the path of forthrightness was more his forte. He hadn't earned his name by being coy and aloof, after all. Poised outside of Haven, he was biding his time, in a way, but not on purpose. He simply wasn’t in a hurry; he never really was. And to what point if he was? Life was meant to be slowly enjoyed, leisurely savored like a chocolate melting between the teeth and on the tongue.
Boots planted firmly on the sidewalk, Venise curiously leaned forward to steal a glance through the swinging door as a heavily-pierced couple – a guy and girl with matching mohowks and modified leather jackets – made their way out, arms companionably wrapped around one another’s waists. As they passed him by, they both looked at him in tandem, raking their intoxicated eyes up and down his form. Venise smiled, flattered as always, but he didn’t spare them another thought or a second glance. He was politely indifferent to their attentions, purposely blocking off his mind so as not to unintentionally attract them further. He did that without even trying to sometimes, but he supposed there were tougher burdens to have. Besides, humans were comparatively weak creatures; there wasn’t much they could do to control themselves and their impulses, and they usually sought Aphrodite out first. They invited him in, and it was hard not accept that invitation even when he wasn’t looking for it. That was his nature, for better or for worse.
Still, he could exercise restraint when he had to, restraint that led to the indifference he was feeling now. If Rhadamanthus hadn’t been so nearby, sipping his glass of port inside the club, Venise might have been tempted by the couple, but since a fellow Olympian was about there was no contest. The mortals went on their way, unbothered by his evasion of their regard for him. No harm, no foul. The lights shifted and swayed in the club, and for a moment Roan was illuminated, his hair dark as pitch as it absorbed and reflected the sweeping strobes, before the lights slid away and spilled over other bodies. He was not looking Venise’s way, but he knew that he could sense him nevertheless. Sure enough, before too long he finished his drink and set the empty glass aside, moving to the dance floor to be with the bulk of the crowd. Roan’s silent invitation brushed along the surface of Venise's skin, beckoning him forward, and he finally moved again, accepting without hesitation.
Venise had eyes for no other but Roan as he approached him on the dance floor, feeling as though he were moving through a dream to see the long lost Olympian’s face. It could have been a dream too; the atmosphere in Haven was surreal enough, the fog machines casting a serene sort of haze on the scene, the smell of liquor-laced breath, clove smoke, and dark, musky perfume sweet on the air. Venise's own perfume was complicated; his hair smelled like spilled rose petals, his skin like spicy musk and heady incense, his breath like crushed red grapes, the finest of Italian wines. Somehow it all came together like magic, his scent a part of him that was no less beguiling than any other.
Smoothly, Venise glided into Roan's arms, let the other's head fall against his shoulder without breaking the sway and spell of the music. Venise moved his body in time with it too, and in time with Roan. He held Roan's hips with a slightly possessive touch, but it was not smothering or unwelcome; it was a light, familiar touch that echoed without words the same thing Roan was thinking: Home. Family.
"Apollo's on his way," Roan said by way of greeting, leaning up to brush his lips lightly against each of Venise's cheeks. "Apollo." Venise's eyes carried a dreamy, faraway expression as he purred slightly at the warmth of Roan's lips on his face. "Yes, he is." He could feel Apollo drawing nigh as well, and he could almost see him in his mind's eye, walking with a customary bounce in his step, a satiny pink sheen to his pretty lips, a pleasing spring to each of his immaculately-fashioned blonde curls. "Let him come," Venise murmured in Roan's ear. "Let there be no bad blood tonight."
« Last Edited by
Venise
Oct 4th, 2009 at 06:49 pm »
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Posted: Oct 6th, 2009 at 11:17 pm
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Aviel was through the front door of Haven before he realised it, before he sensed it. He wasn't sure his senses were correct when he did catch that familiar old presence. They couldn't be. Rhadamanthus was dead. Everyone knew that. Aviel specifically knew that... didn't he? His step faltered over the threshold, walking him right into a woman exiting the place. It was a novice mistake for someone as old as Aviel. The gods didn't simply -walk- into people. They drifted through crowds like spectres. people got out of their way, or they slithered between bodies. They did -not- walk into people.
Aviel and the woman both muttered their empty apologies as he advanced inwards, and she out. His eyes were keen, darting from face, to face, to face. Rhadamanthus? here? It couldn't be? Was he angry at the fact he could still be alive, or relieved? Did it matter any more, after so much time? Did any of it matter? Aviel's eyes came to rest on Venise's head of lustrous, wavy hair. Roan had lowered his head back to the other vampire's shoulder, his face turned away from the door, but Aviel knew it was him through instinct, through gut feeling. Alive! He shuffled on his feet, almost stumbling to a stop at the edge of the dancefloor. Roan only stirred faintly, brushing his cheek against Venise's shoulder affectionately, his eyes closed for a moment, perhaps recalling the softness of another shoulder, the warmth of another embrace, the timbre of another voice.
he didn't know how he would react to Aviel's presence. He couldn't say if he would be complacent or relieved, angry or indifferent. He'd imagined the scenario a hundred times over, and every time it had gone differently. But the time to find out had come upon him recklessly quickly. There Aviel stood, and the heat of his presence was like firelight against Roan's side. he could already picture him, see him through the eyes of the mortals who turned to glance at him. Flaxen curls, perfect lips, astonished expression. Aviel. Apollo. The traitor, the murderer, the one who never thought of consequences and never paid them either.
I know what you did...
"Tick tock, tick tock, madness comes tonight.
What's reality compared to me?"
Roan lifted his cheek from Aphrodite's shoulder softly, grazed his oil-slick eyes over the other vampire's face almost tenderly. But there was soemthing behind all of that too, something that to any younger vampire might have been instinctively chilling and frightening. behind the cool exterior was a writhing and thrashing darkness that had seemed to come awake all too suddenly, fuelled by some unknown source. Dante, who -was- at Haven, could even sense the change on the wind from his office above the main floor. below him were gathered three gods, in -his- club, and something about the situation seemed to crackle across his skin. Expectation. he set his pen down and turned his head towards the door.
Apollo stared from the corner of the dancefloor, and Roan's head turned slowly, almost mechanically toward him. I know what you did... His hands fell away from Venise's shoulders, limp to his sides, and each god met the other god's gaze unflinchingly for some time, as if they had each turned the other to stone, as if they each possessed the powers of Medusa.
I know what you did...
-That was a long time ago...
What does time matter?
Like gazelles sensing the approach of a pride of lions, the mortals on the dancefloor seemed to grow tense, start to part away from the space that lay between the two formidable forces who stared at one another. Dante's curious form appeared at the top of the winding, spiral staircase that led up from the main floor to the offices above, and he glanced between each god, oblivious of a small, female form sat at the very same bar, her presence cloaked carefully, smothered under the crowd of moving mortals. She sipped a ruby-red cocktail and hummed along with the music, watching the floor behind her thought he mirror behind the bar, with dark, technicolour eyes. Dante's hands closed around the stairs railing harshly as he realised the potential of the situation below him. Not in my club. Don't do it here, for the love of god.
It was Roan who took the first step, drawing away from Venise with slow dedication. Apollo didn't move, his feet rooted to the dark hardwood below. A waking apparition, Rhadamanthus, back from the dead it seemed. They each knew what Apollo had done, but only Roan remembered the way the flames had tossed the fine, golden hair of their lover. His hands coiled into fists at his sides as he took another step forward, and Dante was already moving down the stairs, a half run, a half skip to his steps. Maybe he could talk sense into them! Or maybe pigs might fly. It was worth the chance though, for the sake of his home, his business.
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Posted: Oct 6th, 2009 at 11:17 pm
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The small, dark-haired, female form at the bar kicked her feet back and forth like a little girl, perched atop her barstool, and sucked another mouthful of her cocktail through a straw made of interesting loops.
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Posted: Oct 7th, 2009 at 01:47 am
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Venise did not think about how Roan might feel once Aviel actually arrived at the club. For the moment, he was lost in the pulse of the music and the simultaneous sway of their bodies. It was as if he truly believed it had been enough to tell Rhadamanthus, "Let there be no bad blood tonight"; as if it would be so easy for any of them to forget what had happened between Rhadamanthus and Apollo over Atymnios, and how long Roan had been thought dead along with him. It was an affair Venise had preferred to stay out of himself. After all, he couldn't rightly side with either Aviel or Roan, because they'd both loved him ferociously and truly. It was beyond Aphrodite to pass judgment on any of them; in his eyes, love was never wrong, even if it was damnably difficult and complicated.
Venise knew the moment Aviel entered and scented Roan's presence on the air, could hear the polite murmur of his voice as he apologized hastily for clumsily colliding with a departing club-goer. If it hadn't been for the seriousness of the moment, Venise might have laughed, wishing he could have seen it. It was true that gods simply did not walk into people, and it would have been a once-in-a-lifetime event to see the impeccable Apollo accomplish such a feat. Aviel was stunned, there was no doubt about it, and Venise's hands clasped Roan a little tighter to him - out of protectiveness, perhaps? - because he did not know what to expect next, and he liked Roan where he was, whole and alive. He'd thought him dead for so many years, had resigned him to the section of his thoughts reserved for those long since departed. Couldn't they have more than one song together before the feud flared up again, as hot and bright as if it'd never been extinguished?
He didn't want there to be any conflict, but he could scent it on the air the way a shark smells blood in open water. There was going to be some sort of reckoning unless someone intervened, and Aphrodite had never been good at settling quarrels between gods, even if they were lover's quarrels. If the two had been human, such a spat might have been easily reconciled, but they weren't, and so he had no dominion over them. They would act as they saw fit, and there was nothing Venise could do to stop them. He knew better than to purposefully invoke the wrath of his fellow gods unless it was a life or death situation, and he sincerely doubted that Aviel or Roan would kill each other...at least not in Haven. They wouldn't dare take it that far, would they?
Roan lifted his head from Venise's shoulder finally, meeting his eyes with an intensity of emotion that couldn't be properly expressed in words. And maybe there were no words after all, just those feelings and the consequence of actions they demanded. Venise's head turned toward Aviel in the same instant Roan's did, and he looked at him rather mournfully, knowing how he, too, felt. The most frustrating thing of all for Venise was that there was no choosing sides here; due to his nature it was nearly impossible. Of course, he could choose a side if he really wanted to or felt strongly either way, but he didn't. He felt for both of them, for each of their most intimate hurts and betrayals, all of which he'd seen, even when they didn't think he'd been looking.
Venise fell back as Roan's hands left from his shoulders and he made the first move toward Aviel. He was frozen, torn between letting them alone and trying to keep the peace. In regards to the latter, he wasn't sure it was his business to interfer, and maybe he shouldn't have cared whether or not it was, but for once he did. This could all end badly, and he wasn't sure he wanted to have a hand in it if it did.
There was a slight noise from up above their heads, and Venise's chin jerked up to see Dante approaching, flowing down the stairs already. He could feel waves of desperation emanating from him, and there was the silent plea too. Not in my club. Venise twitched, a brief flicker of the eyelids, a clenching of fists at his sides. "Don't..." he whispered softly. "Whatever you're thinking of doing, not here, not right now. Please. Nobody needs to see this." He made a tentative step forward, glancing between Aviel, Roan and Dante, waiting to see if the boat would hold its own or capsize on the roiling, tormented seas of the past centuries and their deeds.
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Posted: Oct 7th, 2009 at 02:20 am
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Was there really any way to avoid it all? Was there anything that would quite quench the fire that had flared so brilliantly inside of Roan? As far as gods went, it seemed unlikely. n the plus side, -as- gods, they could take a hell of a beating with hardly a bruise... But what of all the mortals around them that seemed to sense the imminent threat and shrink away.
Dante didn't run faster than a mortal would, though he cursed at how slow that really was. But he wouldn't slip up, not in public, not if all hell was about to break loose. He wouldn't be labelled as whatever the mortals might label the gods. He had to keep up the masquerade. His business and his family depended on it.
"Aviel!" He barked over the thundering music still drooling from the PA system. the blonde didn't turn his head from Roan, and Dante didn't dare call the other god, since he'd only ever glimpsed him before. he didn't know who he was or what he was capable of. But one thing was for sure, and that was that there was soemthing churning in him that didn't bear thinking about.
Dante elbowed quickly through a crowd of gathered goths, and he reached Aviel just about the time that Roan neared the other god. he skidded to a halt between them, turning his back to Aviel, his face to Roan. The rich, dark wine of his suit was very becoming of the flawlessly sculpted 'Italian', and anyone might have thought it had not that very same 'Italian' now sandwiched himself between two unstoppable and angry forces. Roan's impossibly dark eyes -somehow darker than Dante's- appraised Hector in warning, but what he got in return was a pleading look and Dante, amazingly, holding his hands up to show he meant no harm, that he wasn't armed. He looked pretty desperate.
"I don't care what you both want to do, but don't do it here." Whatever you're thinking of doing, not here, not right now. Please. Nobody needs to see this. The 'Italian' eased a breath in and out, shot the same slightly pleading look at Venise. Dante could -not- fend off one of the gods, let alone two. But maybe Venise would have a chance.
"Get out of the way, Hector." Roan said quietly, his words old, ancient Greek, exotic on the tongue. Dante backed up a step into Aviel when Roan took another forwards, and the slightly less angry, blonde god, Clasped his shoulders in sturdy hands and forceably moved him to the side. If it -was- going to come to blows between them, and it -was- going to happen in Dante's nightclub as it seemed it might, Dante had no place getting in the way, endangering himself.
"Nonsense! This seems as good a place as any if you ask me. What use a fight without witnesses?"
Eris sipped from her drink again through the curly straw. She stood a good head below everyone else around her where she emerged on the edge of the dancefloor. "After all, he -did- burn you alive, and pretty little Atymnios too, as I recall." She shrugged a set of lithe, pretty shoulders. Dante glared viciously in her direction. It was as if she'd just materialised out of the ether. "Shame the poor boy wasn't so lucky. Still, your funerals were very pretty, weren't they, Apollo?"
Roan's fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. Eris' presence at his side was like a chilling breeze tumbling blanched, winter leaves over muddied snow. She was provoking him, he knew that. He also knew he hadn't needed any provoking, and despite what seemed might happen with the addition of chaos amongst them all, Roan paused. he'd always been the sensible one. He'd been the reason to her chaos. He'd been the words and rules and laws. Eris smiled, almost unnoticably, around her curly straw where it was caught between glossy, crimson lips. Dante, tense and worried, glanced between the face of each god urgently, quizzically. Roan had stopped, though he was still staring Apollo down. But he'd stopped... And Eris had made him stop.
Roan's gaze was darker than pitch when it finally swept Dante, briefly skirted Eris, and returned to Aviel for a moment before he took the last few steps and skirted past him, their shoulders barely brushing one another. He was headed for the door, and Apollo turned a head of lustrous curls to watch him go. Dante blinked, and blinked again, diverting a sideways, questioning glance at Eris. She shrugged slightly again, not meeting his gaze, turned back towards the dancefloor, and sifted through the crowd back towards the bar.
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Lasciate Ogni Speranza Voi Ch'Entrate
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Posted: Oct 7th, 2009 at 02:20 am
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Aviel raked a hand back through his curls and glanced also between Dante and Venise. What had just happened? Was anyone sure? Had chaos just come in and set things back in order? What were the chances? What did it mean? From the looks on everyone's faces, it didn't seem that anyone was even remotely sure. But wasn't that the way of chaos? To leave them guessing, to be unpredictable? Dante let out a long, slow breath and adjusted his black satin tie at his throat, seemingly speechless for the most part.
"Well, who's buying the first round?" Aviel broke the awkward silence, though his brow was still slightly darkened.
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Lasciate Ogni Speranza Voi Ch'Entrate
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The Olympians: Open to Olympians - (Read 58 Times)
