Realistic or Modern Lull of the Void

[simj26]

Cameron Burns
AstarothShe couldn’t say that she understood what Kayoko was mumbling about. Why was she talking about drywall? Whatever. “Yeah? We’ll just have to identify what you’re struggling at, and then beat the concept into your head. Maths is all about understanding and playing with numbers. Sometimes letters. You get the idea. All you need is to get it in your head how to do it.” The sparkle in her eyes faded as quickly as it had appeared, as her expression dulled again to its usual scowl.

The scowl deepened further when a stranger approached their table. She was trying to do her job, dammit. She didn't need more distractions for her students. At this rate, she might just be pissed enough to give this lesson to them for free.

“Hey, could you kindly fuck off?” She stood up from the seat she had just sat her ass down on. Even when she was slouching, she was still just slightly taller than the intruder. She just wanted to finish up what she had to do here, and go home. If she wanted ice cream, she’d get it on her own personal time, not with shady weirdos like this. “I’m trying to brighten the futures of the next generation here. Fuck off if you ain’t joinin’.”

@AriAriAbabwa @WhiskeyMarten gxxberkit

 

[miki]

Lola Kiss
Location: The Funhouse
Interacting: Klown BriiAngelic ​

---

​

“Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww—”

No getting through to these two. Big shame.

But her goal was completed, wasn’t it? They were totally staying.

“—wwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww…”

And all of the sudden, their reactions hit her; a sledgehammer to a brick wall. That is to say, it finally clicked. Her face fell as it sunk in. Their eyes cut unmerciful daggers, ones that matched her memories. She was not welcome in their bubble, and why would she be?

Lola always had trouble with these things.

The persona no longer fit: it suddenly felt like heavy leather on her bones.

Was this withdrawal? She felt dulled, but the buzz didn’t.

She looked up; gazed at her reflection, of which laid behind the wall of bottles that lined the wall. For a fraction of a second, she saw the scenario from beyond her own body. An intruder, and the pathogen was her.

There was nothing left to do but smile.

“Right. Sorry ‘bout that…” She cleared her throat. “Go ahead and get drinks on me. Tell ‘em drinks are on Lola. Yeah.” Not like she had a dime to her name. That’d be coming right out of her paycheck, but her wallet could take the blow easier than her heart could. “Enjoy the show! Yeah!”

Something dreadful crawled up her spine. She shuddered it off before departing with an abrupt wave.

©miki
​

 

[BriiAngelic]

• Virgilius "V" Stone | Verrier

• 
  

  Interacting With/Mentions:
  Orson ( Klown ), Lola ( miki )
  ​
  ~ Bar, 5pm ~
  A Man
  
  Weird was what this all felt like. His interactions with Orson seemed so different from the open hostility he’d watch the man give this woman. Was this the standard? Was V the outlier instead? He’d been drawn to the other for his soft kindness he’d seen in both interactions with Orson. This though spoke to something. The quick grab and release of his arm, the deep exaggerated breathing, and the resolute dismissal screamed that the other was extremely uncomfortable.
  
  If he was honest it wasn’t exactly the most pleasant to be around either. He looked between Orson and Lola as if he expected the briefest wrong word might wind up shattering something that hung in the air clearly not for him to understand.
  
  He felt a mix of awful and relieved when the woman left. It probably wouldn’t be hard to go find and apologize for it all later on especially since he was the type that couldn’t help but stick their nose where it probably didn’t belong.
  
  “So, gonna tell me what all that’s about. Or would that sour your already failing mood.”
  
  He had the urge to reach out, to pacify, yet he restrained it already seeing how that went without warning. Instead he found himself bringing his own hand through his hair from the crown of his head doing his best to leave his own body language relaxed despite the worries spinning out in his head.
  
  He knew in reality there was nothing to it but being upfront.
  
  “Like I get it if it’s personal but like that was really different from how I’ve seen ya be. At least, I hope so.”
  
  He almost asked if it was the stress of the day ready to give an out and a convenient excuse until he realized he was doing exactly what he hated again. Instead he waited, hoping to hear anything that would make any of what they’d done since walking in this place make sense.
  
  ​

 

[Klown]

L E V I A T H A N
ORSON MENDEL
______________________________________________________

location: the funhouse
status: rotting from the inside
tags: BriiAngelic
​

He was a cluster of nerves soothed beneath kneading thumbs. With each foot of distance, the fraught air followed the heels of Lola's feet. Orson watched somewhere between the gnawing teeth of relief and shame. A shame that settled in the pit of his stomach like swallowed iron, anchoring him to the floor. He turned in the stool to face the table. Its flat, steady surface was an island amid the darkened ocean where Orson helplessly paddled.

Then there was guilt. A slobbering, monstrous thing with claws and canines keen on ripping. Orson felt its hot, starved breath fanning the back of his neck; felt the tips of its nails press into his shoulders. There’s a tremble to his hands as they reach the first aid kit like it might save him, as if the remedy for decades worth of self-loathing was something he could slap a mere bandage on.

Orson shut the box as V spoke beside him—a statue might as well have taken his place. Any sign of life evaporated off pallid skin, his chest ceased as if his lungs decided they’d tired for the night. The only trace of existence gathered in a cold sweat at his nape.

He’s reminded why he doesn’t allow himself good things: he does not deserve it.

Too much of him had been peeled away. Too much of him had been seen. A disgusting, selfish ugliness that seeped out through spidery cracks.

“…that was really different from how I’ve seen ya be.”

An image. That’s right. He had an image to maintain. A reputation to uphold. What was he doing at a bar where past mistakes and potential future ones could align? The suffocation doesn’t reach the surface. There are no tears in his eyes, or a furrow in his brows. Just a stifling calm and an occasionally clenched jaw.

Orson laughed—if it could be called that. His lungs kicked his ribcage and pushed a single, humorless breath out of him. He turned to V with a smile, one that fell short of his eyes.

“Disillusioned?” I don’t blame you. What a testament to his selfishness that he wanted to know everything about V, but only wanted V to know the parts he could stomach seeing in the mirror—of which there were few of. “Maybe we should call the night here.” Orson stood up from the stool and began to walk away, not meeting V’s eyes again. The table, the seat, the floor, his shoes, his hands. Anything but the eyes that had sparked a greedy hope within his hollowed chest. The eyes that let him deceive himself into thinking he could have something good for a change.

 

[BriiAngelic]

• Virgilius "V" Stone | Verrier

• 
  

  Interacting With/Mentions:
  Orson ( Klown )
  ​
  ~ Bar, 5pm ~
  Do I Wanna Know
  
  Was he the stupid one here? He usually was but he couldn’t help but feel it even stronger seeing the other well for all intents, disconnect. Whatever he’d drug up to the surface was doing neither of them any favors. It was already enough that he’d apparently triggered a landfill but now he was watching with no real understanding of how to stop it.
  
  It made him want to rip his own hair out. It was different, technically easier, less his fault, and far more normal than the train wreck of what he’d gone through with Wybie’s sudden change. Yet for all that it was able to be rationalized he couldn’t accept it again. Had they not just talked things through?
  
  The worst was hearing the other’s miserable excuse for a laugh. He knew a brush off when he’d seen one and for once he didn’t damn well feel like he’d done anything to deserve it. Sure he’d stepped on a land mine but he’d been begging to know how not to. Disillusioned? Who said he’d been trying to chase an illusion?
  
  “That’s bullshit.”
  
  He couldn’t get the words out fast enough before the other was walking away. He thought about it for a moment, giving up again, going back with his tail tucked away despondent and accepting this as just another sign he’d done nothing but ruin every chance Elegguá had ever given him.
  
  “Fuck it…”
  
  He rose to feet finding himself following the other behind having no real reason to stay at a bar he didn’t know and didn’t care for aside from being Orson’s haunt. Without giving it too much of a second thought he found his strides catching up.
  
  “Orson. Hey!” He intercepted the other looking straight into his eyes with both determination and pleading. “I’m not disillusioned. And I have no idea what just happened or why you’re suddenly back to this game of cat and mouse… listen, let’s not end the night like this please. You said I was the highlight of your week.”
  
  He took a step closer reaching out a hand to grab the Orson’s.
  
  “Well you being the highlight of mine is still true. Trust me I’m not disillusioned, in the span of one night you’ve already proven to be just as elusive as the kittens you feed at two am instead of sleeping. So I’m being authentic here, I just want to get to know you better. If you want me to fuck off say so to my face. But if that’s not it… let’s go back to where we met. We can grab some paint and just relax away from the stress. But either way I’m not letting you get away with just running out on me halfheartedly.”
  
  ​

 

[Klown]

L E V I A T H A N
ORSON MENDEL
______________________________________________________

location: the funhouse
status: down bad
tags: BriiAngelic
​

V spoke Orson’s name like he was casting a hook, its shiny curve lodged between armor, reaching the supple skin beneath, then pulling. His name had never sounded so compelling, so seizing. On V’s lips, the name belonged to no one else. And, God, those eyes. He could light forest fires with those. There were miracles in that deep umber, and Orson couldn’t pull away once he’d been caught.

It surprised him to hear V want to pursue their night together. To feel the proof of his words relay through the touch of their hands. Orson swallowed the dryness of his mouth, fingers reluctantly eased into V’s grip as he’s lost to V’s orbit once again.

It occurred to Orson that something this good could only be bad for him—so it was fine for him to want it. This spring of hope that sparked his heart and made his veins sing could only end in ashes. But until God or the impartial universe decided his debt was due, he’d pretend it was okay for him to enjoy himself.

He wanted to kiss him again. The sensation burned on his lips like an unyielding addiction. A kiss to say ”I’m sorry, and thank you”. A kiss to say ”This might destroy me but, fuck, I need it.”

There’s a ghost of a smile on Orson’s lips. Hollow, yearning for warmth. There were a dozen things he wanted to say, but none felt right to say under bar lights and booming music.

“Yeah…it’s suffocating in here.” He squeezed V’s hand, a quiet plea. Take me away from here. I only want to show myself where no one else but you can see.

 

[BriiAngelic]

• Virgilius "V" Stone | Verrier

• 
  

  Interacting With/Mentions:
  Orson ( Klown )
  ​
  ~ Bar, 5pm ~
  Sailor Song
  
  The feeling of linked fingers felt like the weight of everything that went wrong lifted. The unease strange air that had been building was beginning to lift as he let out a relieved sigh. With the return of the calmer air he mirrored and amplified the soft grin he was gifted back. This time he’d drag his Prince Charming away with him.
  
  He pulled softly at their linked hands before leading them into a run once again once. Both a distraction and a game to keep the other on their toes. Once they’d been far enough that the cooler night breeze passed over them once again he stopped their run releasing Orson’s hand and finding himself doubling over with a light laughter being released.
  
  “You know we both just skipped out on the tab to your friends place right? I think I probably just left the worst impression possible on them.”
  
  He didn’t spend long on his own laughter though as he went right back to orbiting around the other. With a confidence he was determined to keep he looped his fingers in the belt loops of the other’s jeans bringing their foreheads together.
  
  “You know I’m starting to get a feel I’m a horrible influence for you. What’s next jaywalking?” The teasing in his voice was clearer than any emotion he’d worn on his sleeve all night.
  
  ​

 

[The One Eyed Bandit]

GRESSIL
Easel Franklin​

Easel's expression, dour and looking as if she'd just found a scratch on the hood of a brand new car, was reflected in the jet black surface of the coffee. Break; five letters, one syllable, fifteen definitions, but only one of them relevant to her and Cyprus's shared workday. She'd stepped out of her office because she'd wanted some air, not because she wanted to listen to this woman blab. How had she even known that she was going to be taking her break at this hour anyway?

"Mmm. Right." She took the cup from the other woman without a word of thanks, seeming entirely more bothered with her chatter than she was with the disturbance that shook the facility. She was well used to such things, after all. Her mother's home was nearby the tracks which most of the freight trains that ran through town used, and as old as the house was it was more usual if all of the lights in the house trembled when they ran by than if they didn't. Only a small, utilitarian furrow of irritation managed to claw itself into the edges of her brow, as she stewed on the moment of passing blackness.

"We should do something about it though. I don't know about the other departments, but I can't afford a power cut while we're in the middle of things. If one of them happens during a software or parameter update and something gets corrupted..." Easel took a sip from her coffee. She didn't feel the need to go into details. If there was anything good about Cyprus, it was that she could usually understand the implications of things, at least where work was concerned.

"...I don't even want to think about it. Anyway." She grimaced, and then slowly, awkwardly, started to extricate herself from the conversation. As much of a workaholic as she was, she still didn't want to be talking about it on her break. "I was headed to the roof. I only have fifteen- Or more like twelve minutes now- before I need to be back at the lab. So, if you're done..."

AzaleaWonderland

 

[Klown]

L E V I A T H A N
ORSON MENDEL
______________________________________________________

location: the bar district
status: mwah mwah mwah
tags: BriiAngelic ​

Seconds prior, Orson had wished for the ground to rend beneath his feet and drag him into depths beyond the light’s reach. Depths where all he could barely fathom the weight of his thoughts above the deafening darkness. Now, he was catching his breath from being spirited away by a jack-of-all-trades. Stifling laughter like nothing terrible lead them here. Watching V like his laugh was a marvel—and it was. Warm and free and confident. The breeze swept around them, tousling V’s hair like it was enamored by him.

His back straightened, gaze chasing V—a star orbiting the moon. Heat climbed up the side of his neck and face. The sensation wiggled oddly in its chest. Something old and forgotten attempting to find its place within something that’d changed unrecognizably. Orson, after about a possible decade, was feeling shy.

V clicked into place within his space. A piece to a puzzle that’d always belonged. Fingers in belt loops, forehead against forehead, breaths intermingled. How quickly Orson melted, completely defenseless. He was being disassembled down to nothing but the marrow, yet V teased about jaywalking.

Orson huffed out a laugh, low and warm, the tips of their noses brushed slightly. He let his hands crawl up V’s arms, scaling warm skin as if devoting each curve and bruise to memory.

“Maybe, but I think I can afford to be badly influenced. You make it fun.” There’s a fond lilt to the reciprocal tease, his hands settled on the sides of V’s neck, thumbs tracing the edge of his jaw. “God forbid I start jaywalking, though.”

He closed the gap and pressed a kiss to V’s mouth, a step forward pushing V’s back against the nearest wall. It’s unrushed, lingering, and real. Their first kiss had been an affirmation, this one was an exploration. A kiss that cradled new discoveries on the tips of tongues. A kiss that rather than assure it wanted to know more, actively sought it. Soft edges but resolute longing.

Orson pulled away with a gentle bite to V’s lower lip, an impish spark in hazel eyes.

“Now, where on earth are we going to grab paint at this hour?” A strand of V’s longer amber hair suddenly became very interesting, Orson carefully wrapping it around his finger.

 

[BriiAngelic]

• Virgilius "V" Stone | Verrier

• 
  

  Interacting With/Mentions:
  Orson ( Klown )
  ​
  ~ Bar, 5pm ~
  What You Know
  
  It was easy to melt with Orson. To catch onto the flow and match pace when tender touches turned hungry, both reciprocating with caution thrown to the wind. He ran his tongue over his bitten lip as his face flushed with color that reached even the tips of his ears.
  
  He almost missed the question directed to him as his attention was split between admiring hazel eyes and trying not to lean into the hand playing with his hair. Yet the low tone the other had just as easily fought for his attention.
  
  “Ah, right… the paint.” He trailed off thinking on whether or not it was worth it to try to catch a bus. He wasn’t particularly in a rush but it was a hellava walk from here to the edge of town. “Well, if you’re not picky and not in too much of a rush… we can grab some from my place.”
  
  Part of him was screaming internally, not at the idea of Orson coming back with him but of the inevitable ordeal of being seen. Well so long as he was making questionable decisions he might as well bring it all to the table immediately.
  
  “Just uh… don’t expect it to be too fancy. I dunno if you know West Seminole area but uh… yeah it’s definitely more backwoods than the center town.”
  
  ​

 

[Klown]

L E V I A T H A N
ORSON MENDEL
______________________________________________________

location: the bar district
status: happy
tags: BriiAngelic ​

Another portion of the puzzle assembled—The Mystery of Virgilius Stone, hardly a quarter completed. West Seminole. Orson turned the name over in his head as if it would spark some long-forgotten memory. But he’d never been to West Seminole, only knew the name.

Orson barred himself from putting too much thought into the invitation. Should patterns follow, an offer to a date’s house often leads to being tangled up in bed, learning each other beyond what words could carry. Orson wouldn’t have minded, but there was sincerity in V’s eyes when he mentioned simply grabbing the paint and leaving. Obliviousness, naivety, or simply a man of his word.

A barely disguised insecurity chipped at the edges of V’s words. The same backpedaling someone does when trying to brace another for disappointment. A small smile twitched at the corner of Orson's lip.

“Did I give the impression that I was expecting fancy after vandalizing a wall with you at the ass-crack hours of night?” He rubbed his chin pensively, falling into stride with V. “Or was it after we ran away from the cops—you actively bleeding and me covered in—what was it? Strawberry Daiquiri.” There’s a softness in his eyes. Loose, playful. The bags lighter by virtue of the smile on his lips. “As long as your lawn isn’t infested with gators, I think we’re good.”

 

[BriiAngelic]

• Virgilius "V" Stone | Verrier

• 
  

  Interacting With/Mentions:
  Orson ( Klown )
  ​
  ~ Bar, 5pm ~
  My Honest Face
  
  Insecurity had never been welcome long in his life, yet it seemed to never get the goddamn hint and piss off at the fragile moments. So perhaps it was best that Orson had already seen him at his most recent lows. The tension brought with the idea that he had to keep up a facade faded away as the other comforted him with soft teasing.
  
  “I don’t know eau de daiquiri apparently is very popular and in fashion nowadays. Though I gotta say I don’t know if I quite have enough sanity or funds to be raising gators in the backyard. Sure technically it’s swamplands but our land’s mostly high and dry. Mostly.”
  
  Even as he led the way down the path that he’d usually take staring at the stars he found his eyes drifting back to Orson’s. Eventually the draw of the stars could hold his attention for far less time than the other beside him. Whether that was due to the blooming crush he’d developed on the other or the nervousness of being mere strides away from baring the easily most easily visible quirks of his life he himself couldn’t tell.
  
  The plot came closer as their walk began to end at their intended destination. The metal fence around the property was old and weathered but still easily serviceable. While the proper house was far back into the plot his own shelter was separated from the main house. By all rights it was a barely legal separate dwelling due to their insane zoning laws but a home was a home, and his hadn’t been with his mother for years now.
  
  “Ah, it’s umm, I live in the smaller side building.”
  
  It wasn’t too rare for people his age to still live with parents but he’d never felt quite comfortable with the idea of considering himself living with his mother considering she’d long since been more of a landlord than a parent to him. Either way the freedom of being able to be in a technically seperate dwelling was all the better for him.
  
  “Sorry if it’s a little cramped.” He spoke approaching the door which had no less than four separate door sequin beaded decorations on it. The doorway opened revealed a small hallway with a table set to the side with a shoe rack underneath and a cement and cowrie idol of Elegguá on the table next to a dish of keys and charms.
  
  He kicked off his boots sliding them into the little shelves and walking through the hall to enter the dining room of his little abode. While the room was clearly clean, near every surface that wasn’t a direct table or floor had some form of trinket held upon its shelf or wall or lampshade. Even the walls themselves screamed V as the various bare parts were covered in painted scenes that would likely make more sense less covered in posters and pictures.
  
  “Hey let me know if you’re hungry. Feels like we’ve been running around for goddamn hours and I don’t know about you but I’m not keen on keeling over from lack of carbs.”
  
  Without explaining much he opened up the cabinet behind the dining set looking around for where the heck he’d last left his cans. In the cabinet was various combinations of games, art supplies, books, and trinkets.
  
  “Whoops, not here I guess.”
  
  ​

 

[Klown]

L E V I A T H A N
ORSON MENDEL
______________________________________________________

location: v's house
status: curious, careful
tags: BriiAngelic ​

It was somehow everything Orson had expected, and none at all. Small, comfortable, and personal. Bursting at the seams with character. A wall burgeoned with the glorious cataclysm that was Virgilius—vandal, artist, musician, Orson’s undoing. He slipped past the threshold like crossing the gates of a shrine. A shrine to everything V has been or will be. Everything Orson had yet to discover.

His hands move apart from him, piloted independently while removing his shoes. Every nook and cranny were scanned, absorbed like he might miss something that was previously there. Curious, reverent. He teetered slightly before catching himself, fingers just a few inches away from a stone idol he didn’t recognize.

Shoes tucked beside V’s, Orson trailed behind him unsure of each step he took, like he was intruding upon something sacred.

“You cook?” He asked—half genuine half teasing, but wholly amused when V opened a cabinet to nothing kitchen related. He caught a laugh with the back of his hand, something disguisable as a cough. “I’ve heard crayons are a delicacy in some parts, but unfortunately I think I might be allergic.”

Orson picked up an oddly shaped ceramic figure, which upon closer inspection revealed itself to be a cat with sunglasses painted over a flattened face and a painted shirt wherein small, barely legible text read: party boy. “There a story to this one?”

 

[BriiAngelic]

• Virgilius "V" Stone | Verrier

• 
  

  Interacting With/Mentions:
  Orson ( Klown )
  ​
  ~ V’s Home, 5pm ~
  Ottawa Rockstar
  
  Did he cook, well yes he hadn’t exactly been meaning he’d cook right now but a insessent idea burned into his mind of winning the other over with a good homemade meal. Which promptly left as soon as he thought about how much more awkward everything would be if his cook sucked. Sure he wasn’t awful but he’d only cooked for himself, the two idiots which eat everything, one who’s name and opinions always changed to fit vibes, and the only one who ever gave him honest feedback at least some of the time.
  
  “Allergic huh, what a real shame and here I was thinking I’d find a way to make a new form of rainbow pasta. No but seriously, uhhh things are just around I guess. Most food things are in the kitchen.”
  
  He didn’t feel the need to mention that the pans would find their way into any cabinet he managed to make it fit in or sometimes hung from over the door towel racks. Though when Orson went to pick up a very familiar looking statue his entire face turned red. Ah right that one.
  
  Shots
  
  “Haaaa yeah that one. Well yeah. So basically it’s two fold. See Lance came for my life saying it was insane that I’d known what it was like to be on LSD but not how to get drunk and party.”
  
  He paused for a moment realizing that this story was going to be very telling one way or another. He grabbed a chair at the table and patted the surface to motion for Orson to sit down with him. With luck the other hadn’t been one of the party goers who had to deal with his drunk ass. Then again maybe five years difference had made it more endearing.
  
  “So he thought it’d be the funniest thing to go and throw a house party at his place before we had our first college day. He somehow got like seven cases of beer and bottles of spirits even though everyone and their mother around here knew he wasn’t over 21.”
  
  He did his best to remember the order of events, even the preset up had been a bit hazier considering he’d gone and managed to maintain a buzz for the entire goddamn night.
  
  “I don’t remember much on who all came. Basically though Lance’s parents were outta town and so we planned to take shots and perform and just generally party. Technically it was only supposed to be like a group of seven. But Zero was trying to tease me about my crush back then, and instead of just inviting them like a normal person he invited the whole block and then some. No one knew he had it in him.”
  
  He paused, finding himself grinning at the memory before remembering how tense shit was now. Momentarily shaken he did his best not to show it and just continue on with the story.
  
  “Heh anyways so the worlds biggest wallflower is over here inviting anyone who will listen, and once it becomes clear there’s way more than seven people Lance starts sliding me shot after shot like he was gonna run out of liquor when everyone was bringing bottles in. It took me… six shots before I was plastered. Keep in mind none of us knew what type of drunk I was at aaaaaall. Turns out I was the extremely friendly type. I didn’t know even a half of the people I was out there asking to dance with me. Apparently I went out and went inviting the neighbors as they passed to come join us.”
  
  He let out a chuckle at the bits and pieces of the memory he had left remembering one of Lance’s neighbors just managing to agree with a ‘sure kid get back inside though’.
  
  “Me being overly friendly was luckily not taken poorly. But by the end of the night I was being treated like everyone’s favorite puppy. I wound up wearing the stupidest fake pink shades, a set of cat ears, someone’s feather boa, and a jacket that wasn’t mine and I still have no idea who owned it. I think Lance still has the photos of me singing into a remote with the whole get up.”
  
  He gave the other a cheesy smile when the story had mostly concluded hoping the story of his stupid antics wouldn’t color Orson’s view negatively.
  
  “The cat itself is one we painted after to remember it all. Lance and Zero have funny ones as well. Pretty sure the neighbors complained about that party for ages. He said he even got chewed out for it in church by some older woman. We went from the troublemakers to the delinquents apparently. Though I think it was worse in middle school personally.”
  
  ​

 

[Lumina]

When Marlaina Finnegan found herself bored, Min Park was where you were likely to find her. It was one of favorite places in the city. It wasn't anything fancier than any other town's local park, but for Asmodeus, it was the perfect place to lose oneself for a stretch of time. Somehow, the combination campground and walkable park contained plenty enough interesting subjects for her photography. The saving grace for doing her rounds of the bike trails, as someone that would definitely not be described as outdoorsy, was how easy the paths were to follow.

And today, Marli was bored. It was a nice day and she just needed to be somewhere that wasn't home. Mom breathing down her neck about finding a "real job" was starting to get really old, really fast.

The bike trails were immediately uninspiring, and the veggies in the community garden had the nerve to all be not done growing yet, so today seemed like a good enough time to practice People Photography^TM. Humans had never quite made it onto her shortlist of preferred subjects, but nothing else was calling to her today. So she found a bench and began to scan around. The park wasn't too busy, so her choices of who to photograph were somewhat limited, but eventually there was something that succesfully caught her eye.

"No. Fuckin'. Way." Azzie laughed incredulously and let the auto-focus settle on what had piqued her interest. The shutter clicked, and the figures of some rando from the gas station and a longtime friend glowed brightly together for a couple of seconds from the camera's screen. Another couple of seconds passed and the screen returned back to a live view of the lens, leaving Marli watching as Brandon and... John? began to somewhat head in her direction, following the stream. At one point, she watched the doe-eyed man she was far less familiar with locate a backpack from the ground, pluck a waterbottle from within, and impressively toss the rest back into the stream. Well, now she had to know what that was about... and also maybe ask Brandon about who this guy was. They seemed pretty familiar with each other, from what she could tell. She probably wouldn't have a hard time getting it out of him.

So with the confidence and attitude of someone with *far* too much audacity, Marli nonchalantly began to make her way over to intersect with Brandon and Jean's path.

At least, that was the intent, had the bottle thief not been suddenly grabbed and seemingly be accosted by someone looking far more wet than they wanted to be. Marli sped up her pace to make sure she didn't miss more than she already was. Being close enough to listen in meant also making her own presence be known, but she didn't really care about that. Rather, she opted to add an unprompted comment into the mix, feeling no need to find a natural segue into joining the conversation.

"Don't mind me. Just pretend like I'm not here."

At that, Marli raised her camera to chest height, and casually snapped a photo of the water bottle altercation. Her eyes slid to find Brandon and she gave him an unbothered smile before glancing back down at her camera to see if the shot had actually come out well.

Extra Info

Location:
Min Park

Mood:
Nosy, pleasantly surprised, amused

Status:
Intruding on an altercation

Objective:
Take some pictures, maybe fuck around, maybe find out?

Interacting with: Beelzebub, Verrine, Berith

Tags: angel doe IDKnuggets Roda the Red

​

.- ... -- --- -.. . ..- ... // -- .- .-. .-.. ..​

 

[Klown]

L E V I A T H A N
ORSON MENDEL
______________________________________________________

location: v's house
status: the math is mathing oh boy
tags: BriiAngelic ​

Orson sat where he was urged and listened as V painted a kaleidoscope of wild, reckless youth. Of crushes, liquor, and overcrowded parties. V smiled like the memory was alive in the room with them, greeting him like an old friend. He watched the edges of that joy taper into something melancholic, muted. A precious charm lost, or a remnant changed.

Orson was a guest to the memory. A tourist only privy to the brightest parts of it. He recognized the name Lance from a night cupped between the gritty palms of Lockhaven’s alleys. An orange shark across a spray of color. There’d been other names that night—Jean and Cam. But not a Zero. He thought of the crooked mouse, how V abandoned its shape in favor of something else. Maybe it had been nothing.

V's story, a bundle of explosive color and music and extroversion, deepened the shadows of Orson’s own past. Of sharply wrought iron fences, bricks of leather tomes too big for children’s hands, supervised parties of whose guests were painstakingly handpicked. Orson was a whimpering leaf feeling the sun for the first time.

The side of his hand bumped into a pen as he delicately set the cat statue down. He picked it up. Even something as simple as a pen was inundated with V’s light. Stickers wrapped around its stem, colorful and mismatched, the cap already lost somewhere.

“Your heart’s all over this place.” There’s something craven laced between his vowels. A realization that crept around corridors, its tiny fingers wrapping around the corners just short of a revelation.

He vaguely assembled the timeline, counted the numbers, the years. It dawned on Orson that V’s youthful carefree spirit was exactly that. Youthful. Each year of Orson’s thirty-five dropped like boulders on his shoulders. There’s a quiet, nervous laugh that pushes past twitching lips. If his math had been right, the charming artist who looked like he carried eons of experience under his belt was only in his twenties. Orson felt his brain taking a tumble.

“V…” He touched the pen to the other’s arm distractedly, a comfort, almost. Gently moving the black ink along his skin in a kindergarten rendition of a cat’s face. “How old are you, exactly?”

 

[BriiAngelic]

• Virgilius "V" Stone | Verrier

• 
  

  Interacting With/Mentions:
  Orson ( Klown )
  ​
  ~ V’s Home ~
  At a Glance
  
  Your heart’s all over the place.
  
  A sentence that by all rights should terrify him. He’d been told before he was a bleeding heart but it was always a toss up of whether the one who said it would try to maul or mend. The care the other took in handling his precious memories told him as much as he felt he needed to know. There were no barbs thrown about his ‘hoarding’ or ‘sentimental idiocy’ like he’d gotten in the past, instead it almost seemed like Orson was genuinely curious.
  
  It felt right in a way very few had managed to carve their place into the very walls of his home. Every part of him wished for something tangible to add to his collection, a reminder of the man who had appeared twice and kept his attention without even trying. Perhaps it was because of the attention he’d funneled into trying to leave his own marks on the other that he noticed just the softest wrongness in the quiet laugh. It wasn’t the ease of the laughter he’d been treated to before but it wasn’t the god awful fake one he’d known was just as possible. He wanted to ask, what thoughts had you tangled up this time?
  
  His answer came quickly at the question posed. It reminded him back to when they’d met in the alley. The comments of the black hole of a town, the question of why he returned. There was familiarity in the other but the two had never met before in this small town. Then the answer was clear with the question, Orson was older.
  
  “Twenty-thr- no twenty-four. What about you? You’re a Lockhaven native too. Never saw you in middle or high school from what I remember so you’ve got to be older than me. Twenty-seven? Twenty-eight?”
  
  He could have been assuming too much. As much as the other held his interest now he could easily see himself missing the other if he was as quiet in school as Orson was now. He’d come to appreciate the other’s calm but he was a hellon in school chasing every next high. He gave a soft smile as he glanced at his arm which was quickly becoming a canvas for the other, perhaps this was another token he’d get immortalized as a permanent fixture.
  
  “I mean, I hope it doesn’t matter much to you.”
  
  ​

 

[Klown]

L E V I A T H A N
ORSON MENDEL
______________________________________________________

location: v's house
status: crisis number 4 of the day
tags: BriiAngelic ​

Orson huffed softly. Relief, disbelief, some untethered gravity. The number hung between them, a phantom interposed in the heavy air, though its weight only pushed on Orson’s shoulder. That much was obvious when V innocently tossed out his estimates. At the very least, it earned a proper laugh. Genuine, if a little strained as he rubbed his eyes with his fingers and squeezed the bridge of his nose. He was about the same age as Evan.

“Thirty-five.” The rip of a band aid, except without flourish. He finished the whiskers on the cat, three little lines on each cheek, before finally looking up at V. “I’m thirty-five.” The underline. The clarification that there wasn’t a hidden joke somewhere. Excep for maybe the long-standing joke the universe was playing on Orson, pie slopping down his face.

He leaned back in the seat, arms loosely crossed. A relaxed posture to juxtapose the inward spiral of his psyche. The bridge hovering over the ravine between him and V had snapped, leaving it to dangerously dangle.

“Though I’m flattered, really, that you thought I was still just barely in my twenties.” He smirked, rubbed the line of his jaw like he might feel that supposed youth at his fingertips. His gaze then melted into something sincere, grounded. “Now, where do we go from here?”

 

[BriiAngelic]

• Virgilius "V" Stone | Verrier

• 
  

  Interacting With/Mentions:
  Orson ( Klown )
  ​
  ~ V’s Home ~
  Shut Up Kiss Me
  
  In any other case he’d think he’d gone and temporarily gone deaf. Thirty-five? He didn’t know how to hide the confusion in his expression at the initial number. There wasn’t really a polite way to say wow I would have never guessed that. Or maybe there was but it certainly wasn’t on V’s mind at the moment.
  
  Then there was the traitorous part of the back of his mind that whispered hot which he did his absolute best to beat down as the thought was wholly unhelpful until he recognized where this was going. Especially when the words were repeated with such finalit, most certainly when Orson considered Twenty-seven barely twenties.
  
  His demeanor shifted from the relaxed melting into Orson’s space to a bubbling anxiety sitting right under his skin. He stood up abruptly when the other leaned back half ready to chase the other once more only calming down as his hand grabbed at the hem of his hoodie sleeve.
  
  Fuck. He probably looked like a basket case or worse he was actually going to start looking like a kid to the other. He smoothed the confusion out of his expression, catching the sincerity in Orson’s gaze and falling back into it headfirst.
  
  Where did they go from here? It didn’t matter right? God he hoped it didn’t matter to the other. He let out a little sigh moving closer letting his actions speak where words couldn’t. He took the little space left on the chair to have one knee propped between Orson’s legs as he put his weight on his left arm propping on the dinner table hovering slightly before the other.
  
  “You tell me. I already knew you were older than me. What is me being twenty four a turn off for you? Because if not quite frankly I think right here is where I wanna be.”
  
  ​

 

[Klown]

L E V I A T H A N
ORSON MENDEL
______________________________________________________

location: v's house
status: ooh la la
tags: BriiAngelic ​

V was something curated by inspired hands and wild daydreams. The most enticing, torturous vision Orson had ever been subject to. The number hadn’t been the problem, but rather, the depth of time that spanned between them. Of experiences had and missed. Of lives so categorically different that it didn’t make sense to see one beside the other.

But to have V so near to him, hovering above him like some wild cat challenging its prey. It made the sides of his neck burn; the inside of the hoodie grow hot. If he were still wearing a shirt beneath it, he might’ve taken it off. All that daring fire ignited Orson, one match rekindling another. It was hard to think of anything else. It was hard to want anything else. Challenge or not, it wouldn’t go unanswered.

When words found him, his voice escaped as something smoky, hoarse. A delicate fervent urgency, like if he hesitated for a moment longer, V might slip through his grasp. “You’re driving me crazy.”

Orson’s hand hooked around the nape of V’s neck and pulled. Smirking lips met V’s halfway, unwilling to wait a second longer. His other hand rose to V’s hip, fingers dipping beneath the fabric of his shirt where his palm dragged itself to the small of his back, reeling him closer until V sat atop his lap. Until all that was left between them was breath and heat. Until all that was left between them was the understanding that right there was where Orson wanted to be, too.

Hands that had wandered onto V’s thighs gently squeezed before he parted from the kiss. Breathless raw lips carried into a blissful smile. He planted a kiss to V’s jaw, then another, and another. His mouth climbing along its edge.

“I think you’re too persuasive for my own good.” Orson chuckled huskily, warm breath softly fanning V’s ear. “What did we come for again?”

 

[BriiAngelic]

• Virgilius "V" Stone | Verrier

• 
  

  Interacting With/Mentions:
  Orson ( Klown )
  ​
  ~ V’s Home ~
  Impossible
  
  If there was any question on where the sparks were heading between them it was put to rest the moment he felt Orson drag him into his lap. Orson’s touch managed to bring shivers down his spine as he let himself melt. His hands moved to Orson’s shoulders feeling as though that was the only thing managing to ground him in the moment, to remind him he was here in his shack of a home. His infinitely shrinking willpower to not wind up immediately falling into bed with Orson was taking hits as the other trailed kisses up his jaw.
  
  It was only the whispered question in his ear that made him remember yes he wasn’t trying to make this a just one night stand. Which was damn good because if that was going to happen they should damn well at least move to his bedroom lest he fucking scar Jean whenever they got home.
  
  “P-paint. We came here to grab paint.”
  
  Of course it was both the correct answer and the incorrect answer. Yes they had come here to grab paint and bail to do some minor vandalism again but if that was still the plan was highly questionable considering he felt like he’d like to become a permanent fixture on Orson’s lap. In fact he was half sure if Orson managed to push him off and still think of ending the evening with painting some random wall on sixth street instead of spending the night he was going to be participating in even more lawbreaking and ending the night with a public indecency charge.
  
  “I mean, unless you’re more content to keep using me as your canvas but considering I’m pretty sure my Sibling from the woods is getting off shift soon so we definitely should not be doing that here.”
  
  Haaaa wait shit. He didn’t mention that at all did he? Wonderful they moved from names to age to congrats my little gremlin in the closet may cockblock us.
  
  "Right, uh forgot to mention I have a little gremlin that lives with me."
  
  ​

 

[Klown]

L E V I A T H A N
ORSON MENDEL
______________________________________________________

location: v's house
status: relaxed, curious
tags: BriiAngelic ​

Paint…That’s right. Orson’s mouth had found itself by V’s throat, tasting how it tremored against his lips while V spoke. It was intoxicating having the other melt into his touch, to hear the willingness in his breaths as each kiss wrapped around the end of a loose string and tugged. Unraveling, revealing.

His hands endeavored a slow, deferential path up V’s body. If given a pile of clay and told to mold art, he’d smooth V’s likeness into its surface relying solely on the memory paved by his palms. His fingers tangle into V’s hair, softly pulling to urge further space for his lips to claim.

The mention of siblings slammed the brakes.

Orson blinked, steam clearing off a mirror, a dream swallowed by consciousness. He leaned back to look at V, brow arched in a subtle question, mouth tilted into a half-smile. A face to say he wouldn’t be surprised if V was harboring a real gremlin.

“Better I found out now than later, I suppose.” Orson sighed, yielding, hands dropping to play with the hem of the other’s shirt instead. Regulating touch to just the tip of a thumb, rubbing slow circles into V’s hip beneath the fabric.

“The two of you in this small space, though?” It was more sobering realization than a question. Orson remembered the entire house on the same property, the one they’d completely glossed over. “Who’s the house for?”

 

[BriiAngelic]

• Virgilius "V" Stone | Verrier

• 
  

  Interacting With/Mentions:
  Orson ( Klown )
  ​
  ~ V’s Home ~
  Pluto
  
  A smarter man than V would stick to his guns and move off Orson’s lap at least while inhabiting a very public part of the house. V never claimed to be a smart man so he stayed right where he was content that at least some of the steam had cooled enough that he’d probably notice if he heard the sound of the door. Doing his best to not focus on the hands on his hip he focused more on the words being said. Which almost made him want to go back to the potential of scaring Jean rather than address the real question underlying the situation.
  
  “The house’s ma’s. ‘Sides it’s not too small. Sure it’s nothing grand but it’s not like two people need that much space.”
  
  His words came out quick and stilted telling how little he wanted to speak about this. V found his own hand aimlessly fiddling with the string of Orson’s hoodie twirling it as a method of keeping his own sanity.
  
  “What about you? Do you have siblings? Cousins-”
  
  He almost continued with ankle biters thinking of the little gremlins that would follow him and Lance around when he went to visit him at work. Yet for a brief second he realized there was a real possibility that Orson might have a kid. Thirty-five wasn’t really that old but with the conservative assholes that made up a good portion of the community he could only imagine the other had heard the push for kids before.
  
  “Quick last insane question that should have probably been asked back at the bar but you don’t have a kid right? I mean if I’ve already heard that shit I’m sure you have too.”
  
  Would that be a dealbreaker for him? Maybe he should have put a little more thought in. They definitely needed to have at least three more conversations at the rate of light considering Orson’s touch was still being a goddamn distraction.
  
  ​

 

[Klown]

L E V I A T H A N
ORSON MENDEL
______________________________________________________

location: v's house
status: relaxed, curious
tags: BriiAngelic ​

The avoidance read like a flag swinging in his face. A vibrant yellow yield sign at the end of a road. Orson wouldn’t pry—he wouldn’t be forthcoming if asked about his mother either. If it was something V needed to distract himself from by toying with the drawstrings of his hoodie, he’d be patient. If they parted ways before he ever found out, he’d understand.

Orson blinked to process the abrupt topic of children. The question waded through a pool of molasses, not entirely lucid to what was being asked at first. It struck right on the fresh bruise of their revealed ages. The only thing keeping his parents from pressing about marriage and children was his priesthood. The expectation would fall onto Evan and Eloise, who Orson was certain his parents already had prospects for.

“No kids.” He chuckled wryly, fingers aimlessly wandering, unthinking. Occupying themselves with memorizing the path up V’s sides, then his stomach. Slow, meticulous. “I do have siblings though. A brother and a sister. Both younger.” Orson thought of Evan, who dedicated himself to his faith to the degree that if stripped of it, there’d be little of him left. He thought of Eloise, who spent every living moment rebelling against their parents for all the years of Orson’s youth that he hadn’t.

“Eloise would love you.” The words escaped him as an afterthought, unintentional. In equal essence, a smile. Worn with enough fondness to warm a cup, completely disarmed. The same warmth that accompanied rays of light pouring through a crack in the drapes. Orson caught himself, and the slightest wall built along that tenderness. Not defensive, but cautious. He met V’s eyes again, hands sliding across his thighs. “My sister,” he clarified. “She’s at that age where expression becomes explosive.” A smirk tugged the corner of his lip, head tilted slightly as he regarded V, a look that said “you seem like the type to know exactly what I mean.”