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Post by VALLIS on Jan 27, 2016 13:52:56 GMT -5
[attr="class","sv1"] [attr="class","sv2"]  [attr="class","sv4"] [attr="class","sv3"]O how he loves you, darling girl. O how, like always, he invents the monsters underneath the bed to get you to sleep next to him, chest to chest or chest to back, the covers drawn around you in an act of faith against the night.
Only when the moon is full does he find himself shuffling down the path inebriated and lonely. The cobble and stone under his feet the clicking of his heel it's all too familiar for his taste for a god who obsessed over spontaneity the walk was infernal. Even in this 'altered' lifestyle their fates were far too interlaced for any kind of change, together they dance on the edge of 'intertwined' and 'star-crossed' both taking care to remain stagnant never daring to tango any deeper into the abyss.
Fortune and fate were cousins and she controlled both when it came to his existence. Or at least that's the consensus after the millennia and a half they've been dancing this dance. There were breaks some longer than others the dance never ended. He doesn't know if he could ever truly live if he wanted to without her. He's dependent and that single truth burns his core more than any other. It was disdain... rage that she both inflicted and tempered as she pleased pulling at the strings that drive his person. That isn't to say he's undeserving of her ire as well.
He's tried to leave, tried to forget, and tried to replace.
leaving her touch, impossible. Her scent, unforgettable. and her wit, irreplaceable.
He hates the amalgamation of feelings that wash through him as he stands at the gates. He hates passing through the gardens wanting reach into his jacket pocket for a smoke, if only because he knows she hates that. He hates climbing through the second floor window into the room he knows is hers, the windows unlocked so she knew he was coming. He hates the fleeting hope that maybe this time it'll be different that he'll gain something from 'this'. He hates that even after all these years he's still a neophyte when it comes to anything involving her...well anything of substance. Perhaps it's because he was never genuine from the start. He hates how when he leans against her bedroom wall presenting a bottle of fine liquor none of it matters anymore.
"Ey' care for a drink?" He hates how she can see the loneliness behind his shitty smile.
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Post by ARYA on Jan 28, 2016 3:08:04 GMT -5
Brace for it, I'd rather be a riot than indifferent  "Beat you to it, Val."Arya is sprawled on a sofa located at the foot of her bed, a half-full pint glass in one hand and a bottle of Domain Leflaive in the other. At this point, it's compulsion, a force of habit. Like the shortening of his name or the accidental warmth in her voice. One would think that after a good century or two, she'd learn to stop spurring him on at every reunion. Maybe next time, she thinks. Lazily, she gives him a once-over through half-lidded eyes; he's as put together as the last time she saw him — meaning, not at all — and Arya is positive that he left her wearing that same pitiful smile. All in all, it's a frustratingly familiar picture and, right there, she almost tells him to go eat shit. In spite of the unpleasant bubbling in the pit of her gut, she pulls her legs into her chest, leaving room on the seat for Vallis to sit if he'd like. If he isn't afraid to, the fucking coward. The grip on her glass tightens, and it takes every ounce of self-control to not aim for his head, or spit at his feet, or claw at his face. "I have to say, I'm disappointed," she says, her mouth curling into something that could be mistaken for either a snarl or a smile. And here Arya had been doing so well, feigning a pleasantness that didn't suit her. "You're as predictable as ever. Through the window? Just knock next time. You know me, I like my surprises."Of course, there are more, less trivial grievances she could name, and it's not as if she won't, but she enjoys biding her time. When someone has a millennium's worth of dirty, unfolded laundry, it's best to wait for the right moment to hang everything out to dry. The result will only be made all the more satisfying. |
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Post by VALLIS on Jan 28, 2016 11:49:32 GMT -5
[attr="class","sv1"] [attr="class","sv2"]  [attr="class","sv4"] [attr="class","sv3"]O how he loves you, darling girl. O how, like always, he invents the monsters underneath the bed to get you to sleep next to him, chest to chest or chest to back, the covers drawn around you in an act of faith against the night. Irritating, but not surprising. "Damn, and here I thought this old dog didn't need any new tricks." A short staged huff follows as he pushes himself on the wall placing his own bottle on her nightstand. He accepts her offer drunkenly moving toward the couch in an attempt to seem at least somewhat sober, the stress of his visits always killed most of his buzz anyways it's why he drank when he came. "If I didn't know any better I'd say you were waitin' on me, just hope i'm not too late." He can never just say, 'I missed you.' after all. He falls into the familiar piece of furniture spreading his arms wide against the couch his eyes moving from her to the ceiling now. "I haven't knocked on a door in at least five... nah, six-hundred years. Call it a character flaw." One of many. "But you haven't gotten rid a' me yet, so I'm pretty sure you still find me at least 'mildly' entertaining Ari." She's given him the once through now, judged him seen exactly how bedraggled he and bitter he is. How he had the gall to appear before her like this time and time again not even he knows. Perhaps it was as they say, 'Fortune favored the bold.' if nothing else. He doesn't waste time asking for a glass instead reaching for the already opened bottle of wine. "Always the fancy french shit with you." The smile's faded entirely at this point as he takes a swig making sure to seem entirely uncivilized. Hazy eyes gloss over the woman as he sets the bottle now. She's still just as beautiful and fiery as she was when they first met all those years ago. What was once a meeting of chance over the eons transformed into 'this'. If he could go back to that first night in the realm of the Gods, if he could take back that first drink... He wouldn't. he knows he couldn't bring himself to. As he looks the woman down, the only person who'd ever managed to steal anything from him he can't help but chuckle as sardonic as it is. "You know you're the worst right?"ARYAmade by bonnibel [newclass=".sv1"]padding: 25px; width: 325px; border: 1px solid #eee; background-color: #ffffff; color: #949494; font-size: 11px; font-family: calibri; line-height: 16px; text-align: justify;[/newclass]
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Post by ARYA on Jan 28, 2016 20:12:09 GMT -5
Don't get any closer, I have no self control, no Watching him slink closer, deeper into her bedroom is surreal, dizzying; for a moment, Arya swears that he is just another trick of the light. But Vallis removes the bottle from her grasp with a simple pull. He shares his completely unasked for opinion. He's there, but for how long? It's a question that asks the inquirer to wait things out and see. She has to remember to act offended. "Please," she scoffs, "at least I'm not the one who's the worse for wear. What'd you do? Beat yourself up on the way here? You could have let me do that."Throughout their dalliance, Arya has come to notice that he always looks this worn to the bone whenever he appears in front of her, like a soldier returning home from a war. Briefly, she imagines him treading down a dirt path, donned in uniform, and her waiting by the gates with palpable anxiety. How nice. How picturesque. She doesn't even bother to muffle the scornful laughter that emits from the back of her throat, a loud and hearty sound. Them playing at human is a joke, the punchline to the entirety of this sordid affair. Is that really what they're doing? Pretending to be weeds that can be easily uprooted with the gentlest of tugs? "It''s the alcohol," is all the explanation Arya gives to Vallis when the bubbling dies down. Actually, that reminds her. Murmuring something too low to make out — it might have been a cheers! — Arya tips her head back, downing the rest of her glass. Swallowing her drink is easier than swallowing down whatever is coming next. "Now that you've made yourself comfortable and overstayed your welcome all in the same five minutes you've been here, tell me, Val. What the fuck do you want?" |
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Post by VALLIS on Jan 30, 2016 19:16:30 GMT -5
[attr="class","sv1"] [attr="class","sv2"] [attr="class","sv4"] [attr="class","sv3"]O how he loves you, darling girl. O how, like always, he invents the monsters underneath the bed to get you to sleep next to him, chest to chest or chest to back, the covers drawn around you in an act of faith against the night. "I like to think I got into a fight with some stray feelings on the way here." He tilts his head forward leaning in close hazy eyes sharpening only for a second, "i'm not opposed to lettin' you take a swing or two. " A gift she's long overdue, and one that was more impressive than any spirit he could ever afford. He briefly wonders how many hits he deserves over the last millennia. Even her laugh as scornful and mocking as she plays it is music to his ears, a tribute to exactly how much he's missed her, or perhaps it was just a testament to exactly how intoxicated he was, who could really say? As she downs her glass he takes another swig laying the half empty bottle on the floor. The look in her eyes knows what's coming next and for a moment he falters his heart or whatever remains flickers for half a second, His smile shakes the edges weakening and breaking as she finishes the question. It was a question she knew the answer to. He owes her a straight answer, he's owed her a straight answer for eons now, any sane woman would have ended it by now, but still she lets him exist in her presence. A parasite to insignificant for her to get rid of. He sighs taking a moment to steady himself to recreate the layers of bullshit that barely concealed the core of 'Vallis' not only as a God, but as a living existence in general. "What I don't have." It was the best answer a thief could give. "Care to indulge me?"ARYA made by bonnibel [newclass=".sv1"]padding: 25px; width: 325px; border: 1px solid #eee; background-color: #ffffff; color: #949494; font-size: 11px; font-family: calibri; line-height: 16px; text-align: justify;[/newclass]
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