Fugue State

a state or period of loss of awareness of one's identity

summer event: june 10th - August 31st
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 You're Just A Hideaway, You're Just A Feeling, @J-Chan // Jonathan
Jan 10 2018, 10:07 PM
165
posts
1309 Fae Owner @ Up In Smoke & Model for Blood Silk
Phoenix
We bear no fruit, no flowers, no life. And we get sick but never die. Walk with me to a place of trust, Death will no longer silence us.
Seelie Court
Pansexual
Professional life avoider
Oph / O

awards

sumptuous snack
Sarah
she/her/that bitch | PST | 3/3/3 | Sarahroo#5726
late summer 2004


It was a simple trip. Blocks away, half a dozen of them or so, the sort of distance any normal person would end up walking everyday without issue or fear. Just a quick little wander to the bank and then back again. It should have been as simple for Ophelia as well. A woman grown and independent and she should have had simply slipped her wrist through the loop at the corner of the bag and tucked it under her arm and walked. Not a care, simply wandered with the flow of foot traffic down the sun covered sidewalk. It was a simple trip, it'd take her little time and she'd be tucked back to work by the time the dinner crowd all poured in and she found the busy hum of the place as comforting as it always was.

I should have been simple.

Her heart shouldn't have started its terrible riot between her ribs the second her foot stepped from the lounge and onto the sidewalk.

Ophelia had walked this route a thousand and one times and it always began the same. With terror. That deep welling feel of it in her throat, like a fist around it... like a collar. It'd subside, she knew it, even as she was swept up into the traffic at large, it'd begun its slow and steady decline. The gentled click of her heels against the pavement melding in with the chorus of them that surrounded her. The soft rush of them, like the tide of a river crashing itself against rocks. Her mind eased, began to anyway, as the world surrounded her and made her something small and insignificant. As the blind eyes were turned her way and she wasn't watched or followed or made into anything but another of the potential millions of spawning salmon.

Wrist weaved through her little leather bag, its contents holding money enough she should have been nervous over its carrying--

It was never the money she was nervous over.

Not a woman who'd spent so much time leashed to a heel cruel and kicking. There was nothing so cruel as man's need to own each other, not in her eyes. Money, a secondary and nothing she needed all the readily. Nothing she longed or hurt for, would have been given freely so long as hands didn't grasp and her freedom remained intact. Nothing so easily held onto as that little life raft that had sent her into the rushing tides of the frothy river. Stopping and starting, her feet would mingle. Ophelia's frame always tucked carefully into the others, always separated and distanced. Timid and shy. She looked like a child trying to edge ehr way into the round of a group already holding conversation. Odd and out of place perhaps.

But they'd not look at her for more than a glance before turning away.

If they did, if they happened to stare or look her over, her form would shrink and her feet would edge her gently away.

At a light, much like all the others, she'd turn, her feet canting her down a side street, it was here her throat tightened once more.

Here her steps quickened and the bag at her side hugged gently in the crook between elbow and ribs. It was also here, with the lacking of the crowd, that she'd note the other and distinct footsteps gliding along with her. Heavier then hers, her own gliding over the pavement almost without touch at all, for all the sound they made. The others were heavier and her heart beat wild as she walked. Passed on the right by a jogger she'd heard before he'd rushed by. His wake catching the hem of her dress and sending skittering about her ankles in a flurry.

The others would peel off and she'd be left alone once more.

She wasn't alone thought.

Felt it like you would the stare of eyes on your skin, that soft prickling at the back of your neck. The swallow she attempted failed, once.

Twice.

Thrice.

A corner would present itself half a block up, an alleyway, it looked too narrow but the itch to claw at her throat and dislodge the boulder there was too pressing not to dip her into its softly shadowed recesses and let the fevered beating of her heart to settle and the danger, if it was at all, to pass her by.

(Dress)

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Jan 10 2018, 11:58 PM
22
posts
1001 Fae Private Investigator
Ice Dragon
The only thing that burns in Hell Is the part of you that won't let go of your life Your memories, your attachments They burn them all away But they're not punishing you, he said They're freeing your soul, relax
Unseelie Court
Heterosexual
Single // Shipped
Jon

awards

Cold as Ice
J-Chan
She/Her/It | MST | 3/3/3 | J-Chan#2637
It should have been a day like any other day. A day where he woke up as he had several times before right at the crack of dawn. The same kind of day where he poured coffee for himself before making the same meal for himself that he cooked every morning since he moved here. Eggs, over easy; sausage, ham or bacon; toast with some kind of jelly or jam; and a bit of tequila in his coffee to top it all off. In the morning he read the paper, dredging over the same ole shit page after page. He’d do the Sudoku, the word search, attempt the crossword, and sift through to obituaries in case someone he knew had wound up in there. Sometimes they did. Today, however, names he knew managed to stay out of it. But there was a story in the A section involving someone he knew. It spoke of a court case going on, the man in question on trial because he had kidnapped his daughter.

Because her mother was a psychopath, and that pretty much summed her up to a T.

He was out now, wandering the street as though he had somewhere to be. His steps were casual, though quickened, but he focused on no one in particular as he walked. The outfit he wore was simple: blue jeans, a button up short sleeve and untucked shirt, black boots, and a black baseball cap with some popular team on it. Had he not been wearing his gun, he might have been just another face in the crowd, someone you’d walk passed and not notice – let alone cast a second glance at. But his gun got him some looks, people casting looks his way, nearly as though he might draw the weapon at any point and start shooting up the place. You might not have known it just by looking at him, but he wasn’t that kind of guy. Usually he had to have a good reason for shooting someone in the face –

But not always.

He paused at a traffic light, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans. One of them was removed to press the button to cross, and then hung at his side. The sun was still out, he could see, and by its position he could have told you that it was later afternoon, probably around four, give or take a few minutes. He was never off by much. Though he didn’t need one, he wore a waterproof watch on his wrist – a semi-cheap thing he had bought just because occasionally because he did glance at his watch from time to time. Especially if he was waiting on someone, and they were fucking late. But then again, that was his luck these days. He seemed to always be right on time for whatever date he had kept.

The little neon man appeared on the cross-walk sign, and he crossed the street, letting his hands rest at his sides, his thumbs tucked into his pants pockets this time. People wandered around him, each of them with their own destination in mind as they meandered along the sidewalk. Each of them had a look of purpose on their faces, always keeping to a strict schedule. Pick up Judy from soccer practice, or meet the boss for lunch, or some other shit that didn’t matter at the end of the day. Didn’t matter when you were standing at the other end of a gun. For most supernatural creatures a gun wouldn’t hurt them much, but then again, you didn’t see muggers go around mugging vampires or thieves stealing from demons. At least, not that he knew.

Soon he came up walking behind a woman with flaming hair, a woman who looked awfully familiar from the back. His mind jumped to who he thought it was, and there it stayed, pushing the man into following this unknowing woman. Never did he try to put it into her perspective, see things from this woman’s point of view. He couldn’t do that in this line of work. Of course he’d heard a rumor, and so he had done a little digging to see if it was true – but he hadn’t expected his findings to suddenly be validated with the appearance of who he’d been looking for. Staying behind her a bit, keeping distance between them, he strayed from the sidewalk path shortly after she did, the man followed her into an alleyway. He also didn’t think of making his presence known. What if this woman was not who he was after? Just how did he think that would look? ‘Hey, sorry for stalking you, we’re cool, right?’ No matter how he played it over in his mind, it didn’t look appealing.

He looked at her, hoping she would turn around. He knew better than to try to surprise her – after all they had been through? If this was her, that is. His mind wouldn’t let that rest. But in spite of what his mind told him, he knew what his heart was saying. Funny – he hadn’t paid attention to it in quite some time. It merely beat in his chest all of the time, never jumping in excitement or fear. Sort of as though he hadn’t felt anything over the last several years.

“Ophelia?” He took a chance.
Jan 11 2018, 01:46 AM
165
posts
1309 Fae Owner @ Up In Smoke & Model for Blood Silk
Phoenix
We bear no fruit, no flowers, no life. And we get sick but never die. Walk with me to a place of trust, Death will no longer silence us.
Seelie Court
Pansexual
Professional life avoider
Oph / O

awards

sumptuous snack
Sarah
she/her/that bitch | PST | 3/3/3 | Sarahroo#5726
It was too narrow, its walls felt suffocating as she turned the corner, an abrupt shift that would have thrown no one off that had been following. She did hope the daunting of the alley and the busy street at its other end would balk whoever it was who'd eyes followed her. Their feet were cleverly quiet, though, she'd admit as her hand reached out to press against the brick building beside her, that perhaps they weren't at all and it was simply the sound of her heart she couldn't hear over. It pounded in her ears like the war drums of an entire cavalry behind her, hooves and cries of capture nipping at her heels.

It was only after a singular footfall was heard over the clatter of her own self, that Ophelia remembered herself. Fight or flight would almost always result in the latter for the bird, not even an homage to her species but rather the easily spooked and far too cage-able woman that drove this body of hers about like it were machine and she it's captain. She shouldn't have ever been named such a thing in truth. While it wasn't her fault, she was a woman who should have had her license revoked long years before and the vehicle she drove passed off to someone who didn't jump in the face of her own shadow.

The walls felt as if they were closing in as her delicate fingers grappled with the dress she was wearing, its slit at her leg high but the fabric too billowy and abundant to make it anything apparent. It was at her thigh she needed, and so her form would pause, knowing full well she had but one real shot at this if it were all about to come to a head.

Perhaps she should have had this taken away as well, for all her hand shook holding it.

Small and delicate in her hold, its handle polished and inlaid with mother of pearl, the petite knife in her hand was gripped tight enough to see her pale knuckles white with fury. The blade, glinted softly as she straightened herself the leather satchel attached to her wrist grasped in a hand while the angry and curved blade in her other hand sat chilly against her palm. Nothing typical, it might have been argued as an item as exotic as the woman wielding it. The origin of the knife, sentimental as it was, dated further back than most she ran into had even been alive for.

A gift that never left the comfort of her thigh when her feet were anywhere but home.

Also a gift that she'd used but twice and neither of them had ever seen blood spilled, nor the actual need of it--

Perhaps the third time would be a charm for the little curved karambit dagger.

Steps in her ear, only slightly louder than her heart and she'd have only a few seconds before they neared close enough that she need make any move to defend herself.

Ophelia's frame was already tensed and her muscles already reacting when her name slipped into her ear like a little bird upon her shoulder, it'd widen her eyes and scramble her mind into a mess. A mess that wouldn't matter in the least as she she spun in a flurry of movement and fabric and strands of loose hair.

She'd note his face, her mind terrified and clumsy and it'd make nothing of it-- it as the rest of him that clawed her at her own insides. That terror rising in her throat as he stood there, bulky and too large for such small spaces, a presence oppressive. It clattered her heart like a metal dish hitting the floor. Her swing, defensive as it was, wouldn't make its target. Elegant as it might have been it lacked intent and hit a wall, not anything literal, but rather it'd stopped and not of her own making. She'd come to find moments later, after the world had stilled and dawn peeked its head over the horizon of her thoughts, that her wrist had been caught in a hold firm and stalwart.

Lungs heaving something reckless and racing. She looked a woman as terrified as the tremble of her hand gave her away to be.

But dawn would come and with it the tension in her body eased slightly, everything crashing down in a realization--

He looked different. The same, surely, but different.

The lump in her throat was finally swallowed in a gulp as the hem of her dress settled back around her ankles and she stood there, wide-eyed and confused for a moment before her lips finally trembled out a question--

"...Jonathan?"

It felt an eternity since the last she'd uttered that name with anything like conviction, and yet, seemingly... there he was.

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Jan 11 2018, 10:26 PM
22
posts
1001 Fae Private Investigator
Ice Dragon
The only thing that burns in Hell Is the part of you that won't let go of your life Your memories, your attachments They burn them all away But they're not punishing you, he said They're freeing your soul, relax
Unseelie Court
Heterosexual
Single // Shipped
Jon

awards

Cold as Ice
J-Chan
She/Her/It | MST | 3/3/3 | J-Chan#2637
Time after time he walked these streets, sometimes even during the middle of the night when sleep abandoned him. Wandered aimlessly without care, as though the world could have fallen down around him and he’d not have paid notice. Of all the things he should have been, care-free should not have been one of them. He should have been on his guard – and in point of fact he had been, right up until this very moment. He was a man with raised walls that few people in his life could ever hope to get passed. Only would let them fall when he was comfortable enough around a person, but even then they were kept up, almost as though he were afraid to let anyone close to him. No one had been close to him in quite some time. Originally that was not of his own doing. But if a man knows nothing else, as they say, what else would there be for him in the world?

His guard up, Jon wandered into that alleyway. What was he expecting? For her to see him and race into his arms? No. He knew he could never be so lucky. Not a day went by after he was let go that she wasn’t on his mind. She wandered through his mind, even when he was still a slave. Knowing that she was free gave him hope – a slim hope that maybe one day he too would be set free. Honestly he thought that freedom would come in the form of death. How lucky he was to be allowed to keep all those memories while those around him had had their minds wiped. Perhaps he should have felt some animosity that she had been freed, and he was left there to suffer and live in fear of his captors. He didn’t.

In fact, hearing that she was in the city raised his spirits, and relit that hope that he might see her again. Would she remember him, he wondered? Or was his face lost to her after so long? He’d never admit to being a particularly memorable kind of guy. He was mundane, ordinary – no different from every other man out there. Except he was a Fae, an ice dragon more specifically, desirable to his captors for his blood and to be their entertainment for centuries. And above all, he was broken. Damaged nearly beyond repair, a shell of his former self. A shell of the man who had once fought valiantly. Hard to believe that he had been ground down to nearly nothing.

But make no mistake – he could still fight. When his life or another’s life was threatened, Jon fought like the dragon that he was. Mercilessly, relentlessly – until the person he was supposed to protect was saved, and no longer in danger. He’d originally been brought out here today to check on things with the man who was on trial soon. He had no intention of running into someone from the past. But then again, things never went as you might have wanted them to. Fate always intervened. Up until a few decades ago he would have told you that fate was bullshit. Now, however, he believed in it. Things always happened for a reason. If he was supposed to see her again, he would.

He saw the blade in her hand, and of course he’d recognize it, even after all this time. Even after all that torture chipped away at his sanity, he still remembered the gift he had given her. Instantly he knew it was her. There would be no other blade like the one she had in her hand. He had one like it – only it was much newer. He carried it on him, sometimes, as a reminder of the one he’d given her. And, in point of fact, he carried it today. Folded, tucked away in a leather case on his belt next to his gun. The desert eagle glinted in the afternoon light, polished metal catching the rays. Its presence was daunting, but it was meant to scare and intimidate criminals, not frighten people he had long thought gone.

And just when he thought he was safe, she make a wild swing at him, causing him to step back, the gun on his hip being sent out of view. He put up his hands, catching her wrist in a firm hold meant to halt and not hurt her, and said, “Whoa. Careful, you might kill someone with that thing.” It was a jest, what might be taken as humor – the kind of humor that would only come from him.

She looked exactly as he remembered her. Still beautiful, still with those beautiful emerald eyes that contrasted his own dark brown ones.

He looked at her as her voice registered in his mind. Yes, it was her. He’d know that voice anywhere, a melody for his ears that no person of this earth should be able to hear. Here she was, after all this time.

“Yeah,” he said, confirming who he was, “It’s me, Oph.” He smiled. It seemed like ages since he had last smiled. “So it is true – you’re really here,” he’d say – he wanted to hold her, then, envelop her in his arms and comfort her, as if to assure her that he was really here – but he stopped himself, and let her wrist go in that next moment, sure that she wouldn’t swing at him again. “How long have you been here? When did you get here?” He knew a thousand questions wasn’t the way he wanted this to go. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to drill you like that. It’s just really good to see you after… after all this time.” He swallowed, hard, against his throat, and dropped his eyes to the knife she carried, “You still have that?” He nodded at it.
Jan 12 2018, 05:32 AM
165
posts
1309 Fae Owner @ Up In Smoke & Model for Blood Silk
Phoenix
We bear no fruit, no flowers, no life. And we get sick but never die. Walk with me to a place of trust, Death will no longer silence us.
Seelie Court
Pansexual
Professional life avoider
Oph / O

awards

sumptuous snack
Sarah
she/her/that bitch | PST | 3/3/3 | Sarahroo#5726
It was nothing she understood, the quaking in the pit of herself. The odd and tumbling push and pull of her inner thoughts. Everything was there, dulled at its edges and yet sharp when she reached out and touched it in something like confirmation, impossibly so. Dangerously so. He looked just as he had all those centuries ago, in some small part familiar.Their skin was always their skin after all. Hers hadn’t changed either, not by much, perhaps by fractions and inches but she was no different, no more than he was-- a lie, she’d claim then and there. He looked a man haunted, far more so than he had been back than, a man who’d seen the wrong side of Hell and lived to tell about it after he’d been spat back out onto his own two feet. There was a darkness to the shadows that hugged his dark eyes.

A man who never slept, coveted by poltergeists.

His voice wasn’t the same-- same enough she recognized it, but it wasn’t the same. Following suit with the rest of him, it was darker and rang with an odd sort of hollow that she didn’t rightly understand.

This was also a lie.

She would. It was within her capacity to, but without details, without some lovely little sit down over tea where they compared the depth of their scarring she’d remain optimistic and ignorant over the reasons for it all. Over the shadow of his ever feature and the lines that seemed to have only deepened where maybe they shouldn’t have. An itch built in her fingers as they stood there, staring at each other like lion at a child, separated by a layer of glass and not long to interact at all-- an itch built then, to reach out the press her fingers to the glass. Memorize every soft ripple that had since wound its way through the clear barrier.

Ophelia would not.

Her breath caught in her throat and she’d settle herself there in the realization that the man following her had nothing like fangs, nothing like eyes as red as the spots behind your lids if you looked at the sun. He was familiar but he was nothing dangerous-- her mind knew this, but it wanted nothing of belief. Struggled, as it always did against the past. What she knew to be true and what was true were not always the same things. When she believed the former--

Her neck itched, that uncomfortable cloying feeling like wearing a wool turtleneck. A ghost, wrapped ‘round her throat and she was sure in that moment he would see it in her eyes. No matter how beautiful it’d been, that collar she touted like it were her savior for centuries, no matter its gold or jewels or the way it draped like necklace made impossibly long and wound round to choke her. No matter any of that, it’d still been a cage. It’s still suffocated as well as someone sat on her chest.

Eyes cast themselves away than, to her hand, the one holding the delicately made blade as he spoke to her of truths she knew,but truths she couldn’t rightly accept. Not when her hand still trembled and her pulse yet raced. The breath lodged in her throat was swallowed, the demons gone from her eyes and she’d note his smile was something faltering upon his face, a rusted weapon he’d not taken proper care of. She’d not attempt one herself, terrified it’d turn out something that made her look as she felt; a woman shattered and beyond hope.

”Yes,”

Soft, a whispered breeze if you trusted her lungs had spoken at all.

The answer was obvious, as much so as her standing there before him, all the same he deserved more than her silence. Jonathan Walker, a man she’d depended on for a lifetime, aman she’d left behind, deserved more than her suffocating silence. Her chest would squeeze as he let go of her wrist and the knife lowered itself without intent to see it thrown at him again.

Her hand still trembled.

Questions, numerous many of them, were handed to her like candy on Halloween.

”...I--”

Features calm, pinched together then in a soft furrow which belied her time spent worrying. The lines on her face too ready to contort to such notions as the frown that tugged lightly at her mouth. ”It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?” Her concept of time was nothing she’d bank on, though the thought was spat out to fill the space while she attempted to gather her whits. ”Yes, of course,” it was only than, their eyes on the subtle shake of her hand and the weapon it held, that her mouth would finally lift into something of a smile. Faint but there all the same. With a shift and without thought, a hand would sweep her skirt back over a leg to slip the weapon back into the holster at her thigh. Everything small and dainty and tucked well away. She’d think nothing in that moment of a simple flash of leg. Something that would likely later haunt her-- her mind a mess, the sort of thing that latched too readily to the idea of a man she knew well enough… perhaps not to think nothing of it, but surely not to act upon it.

The same couldn’t be said for most.

”A while now. Two decades or so?” She spoke as she righted herself, fabric falling back into place and woman straightening to peer back at man. ”I...,” her head would shake than, a struggle internal no doubt. There was pain in her eyes when they finally found his once more. Deep seeded and apologetic.

”I never meant to leave you behind… I tried--”

It spiked pain through her better than a pair of fangs had ever.

”When did you… ?”

A hard swallow would interrupt her question, thinking better of its asking as arms encircled her in a self-soothing manner, defensive and cautious.

”I’m sorry. I know it’s nothing easy to talk of. We needn’t…,”

Slaves standing around talking about their freedom sounded such an odd thing, a dangerous and threateningly painful thing to be sure.

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user posted image
Jan 12 2018, 09:40 PM
22
posts
1001 Fae Private Investigator
Ice Dragon
The only thing that burns in Hell Is the part of you that won't let go of your life Your memories, your attachments They burn them all away But they're not punishing you, he said They're freeing your soul, relax
Unseelie Court
Heterosexual
Single // Shipped
Jon

awards

Cold as Ice
J-Chan
She/Her/It | MST | 3/3/3 | J-Chan#2637
He would have told you that she looked better without that collar around her neck – and then he would have slapped himself for mentioning such a bad memory. The man was certain she wanted to put those days long behind her, to never speak of them again. He would have said that that would be almost saying that they hadn’t happened. That was a lie he wished he could believe. Somewhere deep inside him were wishes of what life would have been like had he not been taken captive. Would he have a family of his own? Would there not be that shadow that hung around him - a looming foreboding thing in itself, a constant reminder of the things that had been done to him? Wishes that would have never come to be, they were there nonetheless in the part of him that had clung to hope over so many years.

So many slaves gave up past a certain point, accepted their fate and what was done to them with each passing day. For many years Jon had kept himself from breaking, and he succeeded, right up until the day that Ophelia had gone. As much as he didn’t want to admit it to himself, what had transpired after had happened. For days after he had tried to block it out – and he succeeded there, too, in the form of blacking out. Those dreamless moments were welcome back then. The day Oph had left he was taken into a room with just him and his captor. He was tortured, cruelly and relentlessly, right up to the point when he couldn’t take anymore. He broke then. Broke right in the center of the room when it was all over. However low he had been in his time as a slave that had to be his lowest point. Part of his sanity left him that day, and what little remained was held by the hope that tomorrow would be a better day. Wasn’t always – but the hope remained in spite of it all.

He didn’t see the collar in his mind, strangely enough, when he looked at her. What he recalled was a beautiful woman as the center of attention, surrounded by men who weren’t good enough for her. They enjoyed her company – yet he recalled her not enjoying theirs’. He also remembered the hatred he felt for them, and that defiance against his captors whenever another man touched her. The vampire who held him prisoner caught onto his feelings for Ophelia, and exacerbated those feelings on purpose. She was Jon’s weakness, the vampire knew. Jon loved her – and he kept right on loving her after she was gone. Perhaps it was that love along with the hope that kept him going. He couldn’t have told you.

Yes, she told him, confirming what he said. Of course she was here, he told himself. She was standing right there, feet away from him. He could have closed that distance in a couple strides. Didn’t because he didn’t want to scare her. If her time as a captive had any effect on her as it did him, he shouldn’t have made sudden moves around her. Like him, maybe she had her own triggers that brought the past flooding back. For some odd reason the past flooded back now, but not in the way you might think. He thought of the nights after the lavish parties when quiet became a welcome thing. Seeing her, there in the moonlight at night, sitting by a window – he recalled how that made him feel. Knew that he loved her, but it was a forbidden love that he had to keep to himself. If he had succeeded in that endeavor, perhaps the vampire wouldn’t have beaten him. Maybe the man wouldn’t have drained Jon to the point of feeling weak.

But the ‘what ifs’ and the ‘maybes’ just didn’t do it for him anymore. This was his life now. This city, for all the crooks and criminals in its underbelly, proved to be a place of sanctuary for him. A place where he could start anew, and live the way he wanted to. It felt strange to wake up in an apartment that was his, surrounded by things that were his. A few decades was not enough to rid him of how strange these things were to him.

“Yeah, it has.” He didn’t need to say it, but he said it anyway. “It’s really good to see you again, Oph.” He didn’t need to say that either. Knew that it was written all over his face. His expression as soft, the softness on his face and in his eyes, which was strange on a man who rarely knew kindness that might cause such a reaction. She smiled, then. Good. He knew it was genuine, even though he had scarce recollections of what a genuine smile was on her. It wasn’t that fabricated curvature of her lips that she put there for other people when they both were passed around at parties. She tucked the knife away, and he chanced a glance at the flesh that was bared as the weapon was stashed away. Oh God. Quickly his eyes went back to her face, his face hot, but no color would stain his cheeks. It was a feeling he pushed down, and away.

“Yeah?” He’d been here that long, strangely enough. Instantly he wondered why it had taken so long for them to come into contact with one another, though his mind wouldn’t dwell on it. There were factors beyond his control that were at play. Things would keep them apart, he knew, and he didn’t blame her for not seeking him out. How could she have known he was here?

“Don’t do that to yourself, Oph. I survived, okay?” Yes he had, albeit barely. Though he’d not tell her that. Leaving him behind was not her fault, and he said that, adding, “It’s not your fault.” It really wasn’t. When it came down to freeing someone, he of course would have wanted to see her freed. He could endure whatever the vampires had in store for him. And he had.

“Ten years after you. I was let go, eventually, along with several others who had their memories wiped. Lucky me I got to keep mine.” This was meant to keep the conversation light – yet the smile faded from his face when she apologized, and started to say that they didn’t need to talk of this. He approached her this time, cautious in his nearing of her – yet confident enough that he believed she’d not try to attack him again. Upon reaching her, his gaze on her eyes, he reached for her hand and took it in his, saying, “It’s okay, Oph. You can ask me,” he then said, “It might be better to talk about this elsewhere, though. Somewhere safer. I have an apartment now. We can talk there, if you’d like.” He knew it was a stretch, asking her to his place like this – but the things he wanted to say were not meant for public places. His apartment was enchanted to where no noise would escape it, spelled by a friend of his in his line of work, so he could live a private life without anyone listening in.

He stepped a half-step away, seeing if she still trusted him enough to follow him - though he wasn't at all forceful.
Jan 16 2018, 03:15 AM
165
posts
1309 Fae Owner @ Up In Smoke & Model for Blood Silk
Phoenix
We bear no fruit, no flowers, no life. And we get sick but never die. Walk with me to a place of trust, Death will no longer silence us.
Seelie Court
Pansexual
Professional life avoider
Oph / O

awards

sumptuous snack
Sarah
she/her/that bitch | PST | 3/3/3 | Sarahroo#5726
"You too," it urged from her tongue, like a child's quiet voice reaching out to someone turning themselves away. He wasn't, he stood there yet-- perhaps the reflexive action of a woman uncertain. She'd not been the one left behind but even if she'd gotten away, even as it'd been her who'd been freed that night, in many ways she'd left everything behind. She'd lost just as much in her running as Jonathan had in the same action. Her running had robbed her of the only life she'd known for what seemed like a forever, of her friends, the few she'd huddled herself with over the years, taken solace in and enthused of a brighter future with. She'd gained a freedom-- it wasn't much of one if she were being honest,not for long whiles, but it was a freedom. Ophelia had no right to claim herself unlucky, no matter the loss, she had gained something that evening that the rest of them hadn't.

It didn't mean it pained her any less as she stood there in the stark reality that someone she'd figured hadn't made it... had in fact.

A piece of her she'd long since laid to rest in the ashes of herself and yet, he'd not perished so readily as she herself might have, she should would, time and again. Ophelia had long since set aside the thought any of them had made it, a blame she'd carried on her shoulders since and yet here one was. Arguably the one that mattered most. The very one she'd been entrusted to and therein had entrusted herself to some while after.

His words were kind and all the same she saw nothing but her own folly. A failure in herself when she could have tried harder, she could have pushed further and done more. Perhaps she'd grown too comfortable in her gilded cage after the fact? It was everything she'd kick herself for in the face of it-- the face of him. Even as he soothed and even as her soft smile returned, half as believable but there all the same-- even as he poured kindness upon her now, when he had every right to be furious in the face of a woman who, for all intent and purpose, seemed perfectly fine. Even in the midst of her smile and his words, she felt the cold creeping hold of trepidation and that warm feeling of the downtrodden.

"Yes, of course,"

Her tone was everything believing, was also a farce but she'd no more energy to stand and make the moment about her own misfortune. She was fine. Alive and as well as could be asked of her, a phrase that fluctuated with the day, but all the same was true. The welling of feelings, everything that tasted of regret was swept beneath a rug to be dealt with when she wasn't stood there in the face of it.

A woman who suffered best on her own.

"They just... let you go?"

Confusion. It fluttered across her face like sakura petals and sounded her in everything like disbelief. The furrow of her brow was quiet but her gaze was thoughtful as it drifted, losing her temporarily before she'd snap back and apologize for brining up the least comfortable subject for the pair of them to discuss in an alley, after decades apart. She couldn't help but wonder why, and beyond that why'd they'd not take from him what they had the others. Even beyond their cruelty, it made so little sense.

Jonathan drew closer then, his hand both cold and warm against her overheated palm.

Some part of her, the one skittish and not yet settled into his face standing before, tensed in every want to pull away. Ophelia stayed herself, though her heart beat something wild, a rabbit rushing through the underbrush. It pursed across her features then, the smile upon her face, saddened but genuine once more, as slave entrusted fellow slave with the safety of questions they'd not have been able to answer for anyone else. Questions no random person would have asked of them.

Difficult and painful.

Entrusted all the same.

Her lips parted then, in a soft thoughtful breath. Her soul splintered into two then, the one that longed so wildly to trust him, and the one who trusted no one, not fully. Not ever.

The weight at her wrist was suddenly remembered as he stepped back and away in offering.

"I... I'm actually on my way to the bank," it was in the opposite direction, according to the cant of her head and the half step of her feet. "It's not far, if you'd like...," another step, an inching she had hope he'd follow along with. His time seemingly not pressing as his offer yet stood. "I'd like to. To talk. After," A side step and her fingers would slip from his palm in a movement that felt all too familiar as she turned them back towards the sidewalk and its bustling people.

Felt like every moment they'd spent standing upon a terrace before she was inevitably tugged from his side to do as she was meant. What she'd been there for. Always returned some time later, weary and disheveled, or huddled against in the dark where everything was relived too easily. How many tears of hers had he been granted? Had his shoulder seen? The best healed slave by proxy alone, they'd had, she was sure of it.

"How have you been?"

Stepping out onto the sidewalk, they fet beside one another once more, like not a day had gone by, let alone decades of them.

--------------------
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Jan 16 2018, 01:05 PM
22
posts
1001 Fae Private Investigator
Ice Dragon
The only thing that burns in Hell Is the part of you that won't let go of your life Your memories, your attachments They burn them all away But they're not punishing you, he said They're freeing your soul, relax
Unseelie Court
Heterosexual
Single // Shipped
Jon

awards

Cold as Ice
J-Chan
She/Her/It | MST | 3/3/3 | J-Chan#2637
It was good to see her after so long. Anything that he might have felt that was resentment or animosity towards her was pushed way down deep – in reality he didn’t feel that much resentment. Did in the fact that the world got to have its beautiful bird back. He envied the world for it having gotten to see her. Perhaps he should have some anger that she had been freed, and there he was still, a slave to an iron will that was not his own. That small part of him envied the freedom she got to have while he clung to the small hope that one day he might be free. Never did he truly accept the idea that he wouldn’t be free again, particularly after she had been freed. If one of them was, who was to say that he wouldn’t be?

He could hate the world for taking Ophelia away from him, and he did. Envied the world itself in his delusional state he’d slip into after a beating, or after he was drained of blood to the point of exhaustion. In those last ten years he knew pain and loneliness as the two closest friends he would ever have. The friends in humanoid form were kept at an arm’s length, and they were few in number. Jon didn’t confide in anyone after Ophelia was freed, didn’t let anyone get as close to him as she had been. Wouldn’t open up to people outside the vampire that tortured him due to his own willingness to survive. Self-preservation and all. It wouldn’t stop the beatings, these truths that fell from his lips – but he felt as though he could have endured them better. Or the vampire was easier on him.

“Yeah. I couldn’t believe it myself. Maybe they felt with you gone they had no use for me?” It was a thought, something he had thought about for a while now. If there was no Ophelia around for him to protect, then why would they keep him? There was more to it than that, yet he didn’t have any idea the reasoning behind their decision. Maybe someone had caught wise to their operation, perhaps even threatened to have them exposed? Easier to let the slaves go, he thought, then to have so many bodies to bury. He knew they could have killed them all without even batting an eye.

He’d always ran colder than most due to his reptilian blood – and being an ice dragon certainly didn’t help matters any – yet there was a warmth to him still. Still, he had missed the warmth Ophelia had, whether it came from what she was or the kindness she had showed him when they were still slaves. It was his most missed memory. And here she was, giving off that warmth as he held her hand, reminding him of all the reasons why he had loved her.

Stayed his movement when she said that she was on her way to the bank. It didn’t take much to get him to follow, and follow along he did. “Don’t let me keep you from the plans you have today, Oph. I don’t mind tagging along, if you don’t mind that I do.” He’d tell her. “Good.” He replied to her wanting to talk after she was done at the bank.

Whenever there was a beating in store for him, it was her tears that healed him. How strange had it been when she had gone, and another Phoenix was brought in later for the same purpose. It wasn’t the same. Knowing that he had had part of her to make him well amplified his hope. Being healed by someone else made him feel hollow and empty. No tears were shed when he received the iron scars on his body right after Ophelia had been taken. Not a drop would be used on him to heal them. They were cared for to the point where he would survive them, and no more. Now he bore those scars as a reminder of the vampire that gave them to him, and of his time as a slave. You’ll never be free as long as you have these, slave, he was told. In truth he hadn’t felt free, even though he was. Those words rang true these days. It seemed always that someone would hold his leash. If not the vampire, then the police station where he worked out of as a Private Investigator. If not them, then the clients that utilized his services. And if not them, then the empty world that held no promise of a truly happy life.

Seemingly lost in thought as they walked, Jon was brought out of his thoughts when the question that she asked him registered, finally. “Okay,” he said, “I have a job now. Work as a PI. I like it. I get to pick and choose my clients as I want, and very rarely do people tell me that I have to do something.” It was a good job for him in all actuality. “And you? How have you been? I take it you have a job, too?” It felt odd, having jobs. Strange in that as slaves they weren’t entitled to have anything, not even the clothes on their backs.
Jan 17 2018, 04:03 AM
165
posts
1309 Fae Owner @ Up In Smoke & Model for Blood Silk
Phoenix
We bear no fruit, no flowers, no life. And we get sick but never die. Walk with me to a place of trust, Death will no longer silence us.
Seelie Court
Pansexual
Professional life avoider
Oph / O

awards

sumptuous snack
Sarah
she/her/that bitch | PST | 3/3/3 | Sarahroo#5726
"Shh, don't say such things," it whispered from her lips like a fear, a hissed secret in the dead of night.

They might as well have been back in Greece, huddled in their corner as they watched the curtains flutter in the warm breeze. She remembered the smell of it, fresh and tinged with exotic flowers. It'd been nothing she enjoyed then, weak, exhausted, but all the same Ophelia remembered the fit her just as well, the fit of her against his side as she was lorded over like a dragon would have his hoard. Their voices hushed as the house grew dim and silent in the hours just before dawn--

"I'll see us free, Ophelia. I'll see you free, even if I can't--"

"Shh. Jonathan. Don't say such things. There wouldn't be any me to free, without you."


It felt a forever ago, sleeping huddled in a corner. A confession on her tongue made at the exasperation of exhaustion. A blasphemy in any other peering eye. Slaves couldn't love one another-- and rightly, she'd never. In all her years prior, shackled or chained, she'd never once felt such kinship with another in her same position. Jon hadn't been the first to stand beside her like a wall, bound together at the ankle in shackles heavy and iron. Even as they weakened him little, her constitution wasn't his, her strength wasn't either. The weak link between them and it'd been centuries for him, bound to a living, breathing, shackle. She wasn't immune to the notion of fault--

All the same, she had loved him, in her own way. In a way that hadn't balked her at the presence of his touch. In a way a wounded animal might a man who places a bowl of water out for it. A timid, skittish, untrusting sort of love.

At least in the beginning and for long whiles.

Her hand would squeeze his, a soft thing before it slipped back to her side, that same coy creature from their beginning. Freedom, if she were being honest with herself, wasn't a notion she knew well enough for it to treat her with any lasting kindness. A woman who'd spent most of her life in one cage or another, and given the wide open spaces suddenly, found her feet hesitating and the world scary and far too vast.

Ophelia was doing well all the same, as shown in this moment (not the one before when she attempted to stab him) when she looked and spoke of a woman doing a simple task as if it were just as simple in her mind. "No, of course not," her voice soft, that extoic mix that settled her easily into the lands they traveled, but set her apart from the people of this land. A whispered thing that bent people to hear her, shy and soft. Just a warm breeze from her tongue and they were off.

It'd been decades, a century maybe, after they'd been tied together before they were trusted to wander. Even still, she weighed him down. Even still, he was kinder to her than he had ever been expected to be or should have been if she were honest once more. They had a freedom, of sorts, even surrounded by the loyal of their captured, they were yet allowed to roam the streets during the day. They looked nothing suspicious, she'd tell herself in mantra, as she wound around his arm and clung. There was something wild in his eyes, something missing now, as they wandered through squares packed with people and goods. Like he'd every intention of tasting freedom in those moments.

He never would, loyal to his shackle as he was, a thought that pained even now, as freedom was theirs and their eyes grew dull and the life dimmed a bit.

"That's good to hear. You never did well with authority,"

Her smile was soft, eyes darting and weary-- a prey animal settled alone into a world of predators.

"Mm, yes. I own a little lounge a few blocks from here. It's what She'd always wanted... and after we'd moved-- well, no better place to start again, I suppose."

Her tone was cautious and skipped over details,this illusive we.. and a She who could have been none other than her mother. Ophelia wondered then if Jon remembered her--

That raven haired woman who always stood on the far side of the square, a boy clung to her leg, wide-eyed, his mousy curls streaked through with red too distinct to not know whose he was. Surely he did. Surely he remembered her tears as he stopped her feet and cautioned her from rushing to a boy she couldn't claim as her own without endangering him as well.

"I keep to the other realm, my home is there. The city is... still unsafe. But things are well enough. Life is comfortable."

Her smile was encouraging as she glanced over his gruff and familiar features. Pausing at the corner with foot traffic, the bank looming just on the other side. Ophelia's frame encroached upon as the natural inclination to push forward tightened her throat and inched her feet closer to a notion that still stood as a safety in the basal portion of her mind.

Stood herself, skittishly and impossibly close as she worried over the end of her sleeve and waited impatiently for the light to change.

--------------------
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Jan 18 2018, 11:51 PM
22
posts
1001 Fae Private Investigator
Ice Dragon
The only thing that burns in Hell Is the part of you that won't let go of your life Your memories, your attachments They burn them all away But they're not punishing you, he said They're freeing your soul, relax
Unseelie Court
Heterosexual
Single // Shipped
Jon

awards

Cold as Ice
J-Chan
She/Her/It | MST | 3/3/3 | J-Chan#2637
He gave her a soft smile when she said not to say such things. Knew what she was hinting at – yet still he said it because he had been wondering that for quite some time now. No scenario where she was gone implied that he needed to be kept around. But kept he was – for another ten years. He recalled those nights in Greece when she was by his side, huddled close to him. During those silent nights he had his arm around her, hugged her close to him, when the eyes of their master weren’t on them. It was the only time of day where he could be close to her. Not in the way he wanted to be, but at the time it had been enough.

Remembered what he had said to her, even, his memory recalling most of the conversations that they had in the wee hours of the morning when sleep had abandoned them both. Their master had caught onto his feelings for the phoenix a long time ago, yet he never let on that he had known until after Ophelia had gone. At least, not let on to anyone other than Jon. Taunted for centuries that ache never did flee, no matter how close or far that Ophelia was to him. It was always with him – even now when they were close together in the alleyway. Part of him had that fear that their master was lurking around the corner, a phantom of their past come to haunt their futures with his presence. Was he even still around, Jon wondered. Time was a fickle thing.

Jon hadn’t known what to do with the freedom he was given. It felt so odd not being chained when it had been the whole of his life since he was a youngster. He’d wandered for a few years after he’d been released, unsure of what he should do with his life now that he had no master. Logic dictated that he might have gone back to the Fae realm – but he found that he couldn’t live with himself if he went back. He had learned his parents had gone back. How was he to explain his years in the human world? It wasn’t dignified to be a slave, and to not be the master of your own destiny. Part of him was wrought with fear at the idea of going back. To make a short story seem not so short, he had decided not to go back. That didn’t mean that he’d avoid the place forever. Eventually he’d have to go back, much later down the world when he couldn’t hold his glamour. Another part of him longed for the time when he’d become one with nature in the Fae realm. Then, and only then, would he truly know peace and freedom.

But now was not that time – nor any time soon, or even centuries down the line.

“That’s an understatement.” He’d tell her. In truth, he hadn’t done well with authority, even when they were bound to each other by iron shackles. He had always fought against his captors, which was why he was so often compelled into doing something. For the first few months of his guarding of Ophelia, he’d been compelled then, too, at least until his feelings for her demanded that he stay near her when he could. Protect and guard her with his life, a notion that still rang true, especially now that he had found her again. Even now he stood close to her as though she were a piece of his hoard, and he had to guard her like the jealous dragon that he was. She wasn’t a part of his hoard – yet he felt protective over her all the same. That part of him had never abandoned him.

“Oh? That must be an exciting job. I bet you meet all sorts of interesting people there, yeah?” He spoke as though he were fishing for information – but that was really just how he sounded most of the time, particularly because of the job he had now. In truth he did remember Ophelia’s mother, and he remembered the times when he had to keep Oph from endangering the lives of her mother and the boy at her mother’s side. He knew how much she wanted to hold her family, and be near them again. He wanted the same for himself, but he didn’t know how to go about seeing them again. Ashamed of his imprisonment, as though the whole thing had been his fault. He’d let himself get caught, he told himself. Even if a boy had traded him for gold, he still told himself that he had let that happen. Jon shouldn’t have been as trusting of people as he was back then. These days were different, however. Trust had to be earned. It wasn’t passed around like the collection plate in the church. Oh hell no.

“I haven’t been to the Fae realm in – well, since I left. I don’t want my parents to know what happened to me here. I know my mother would be distressed over my – over what happened. She wouldn’t be able to handle it.” Who knew how his father would react. “I may go back, one day.” He’d say, although he wasn’t thoroughly convinced of that. Perhaps if he went with Ophelia, maybe things would be different. It would be better than going by himself, he was sure. “Wouldn’t say my life is comfortable – but I have what I need now, so I can’t complain.” He looked at her, then, as if to say that she was what he had needed.

They waited at the light for it to change, and his eyes wandered around their surroundings, scrutinizing and judgmental, as though he had expected someone to pull a gun on them. His hand wandered to his side where his pistol was in its holster, and it rested there on the leather, a thumb hooked over the handle. His eyes would wander back to the light just in time to see it change, and he crossed the street with her, keeping pace with her and staying near enough that she could latch onto him if she needed to. Once they were on the other side, he kept walking with her, right up until they reached the doors of the bank. “This the one?” He asked, though he went to the door with her and opened it for her.
Jan 20 2018, 03:35 AM
165
posts
1309 Fae Owner @ Up In Smoke & Model for Blood Silk
Phoenix
We bear no fruit, no flowers, no life. And we get sick but never die. Walk with me to a place of trust, Death will no longer silence us.
Seelie Court
Pansexual
Professional life avoider
Oph / O

awards

sumptuous snack
Sarah
she/her/that bitch | PST | 3/3/3 | Sarahroo#5726
"It's... a job," Ophelia's trepidation was a palpable thing as she wandered them on. A conversation to pass the time and she couldn't rightly claim she'd ever been much good at them; conversations. Certainly not now that she wasn't forced to converse on a regular basis and about things she cared nothing about. How did one detail their daily life as a slave upon the entrance to every group at a party? She'd become a better liar, if those years hadn't taught her anything else, she at least knew the art of telling a wonderful story. Something close to the truth, but wild and fantastic. "It keeps me busy and my life grounded. I need it... you know how it is though. People and dealing with them," It was nothing that gave her any great joy. The constant fear that she might know any of the faces that walked through the door. It was a fear founded and had come true on several occasion, not nearly enough for her to fear--

She did however, she feared even this, wandering about in the flow of public.

As an entity that was largely defenseless, such things came at the price of her life and its freedom.

"I appreciate it all the same and the balance it brings,"

Added in a soft haste as if to banish the idea that she wasn't thankful for what she had, a woman humble and she was ever thankful for even the next breath of air she took.

"No?" Faint it pressed from her mouth as he spoke of the fae realm and his lack of visiting. "That's understandable," against ehr voice was soft as they wove through foot traffic towards the light. "In truth I didn't return to my flock. I'm on my own there as well... it's nothing they need fret over and nothing I'd like to burden them with. But it's still safer than it is here. At least for myself," it was oddly refreshing, she'd note then, to have someone to talk to that understood. Yuu understood as well, but not the details, not in a manner she could say one simple word about a specific moment and he'd have understood without her needing to explain. For all the love she had for the man and his softer side, it'd not be until the moment that Ophelia fell into the realization it'd been this she'd needed all along.

Someone who truly understood, not because they were broken too, but because they'd been there.

A part of her wanted to question, to lay to rest the vague notions he played homage to.

"Hm, I suppose that makes two of us," her gaze would meet his then, as they piled into the group at the light. Anything insinuated was lost in the seconds that followed as her skin itched and feeling of fingers around her throat tightened around her airway. Her feet shifted her closer just before the light changed and the group rushed on forward. Ophelia stayed her proximity, one that felt oddly natural, a rib slipped back into place after itd been floating about listlessly in her abdomen for some time. The brush of their elbows and the soft catching of her dress against his calf was nothing she'd note as anything odd in that moment.

Old habits rediscovered in some sense.

A soft hum and the door was swept open in a bluster of chilly air that beat back the heat they'd been swathed in.

The cool marble floors beneath her feet clicking gently as they met her feet, slipping her up to a teller with a quiet smile as he greeted her by name-- Ophelia was suddenly conscious of the fact she wielded a different name than she had, her maiden where the other had been given upon purchase. It trumpeted her heart, like a secret revealed she'd not remembered keeping.

"Ms. Nazari~ Welcome, daily deposit?"

"Nathan," a quiet nod and the small satchel tied to her wrist was slipped from with a quiet ease.

"Those pesky cash users, making your day all the more hectic,"

His eyes were weary as he watched Jonathan beside her. It'd mean nothing to the teller-- another habit she'd slip into effortlessly in that moment, her hand bridging the distance between them to press lightly over his forearm. "Yes well, some things can't be helped," a means to soothe a man who watched from afar. A code long lost int he annals of time, back when her touch was rarer still and only given to those who she feared nothing from.

"Indeed. Deposit only then? Would you like anything else?"

"No, no, nothing else."

"Receipt with your invoice as usual?"

"If you would, please,"

Cash removed and stuck in a counter and the small leather envelope was re-zipped and slipped across the counter with an accompanying smile.

"You're all set then. Have a nice day, the both of you,"

"Thank you. Shall we?" Slipped back over her wrist, tone soft and wispy as her feet shifted to slip them back towards the door and the too warm outside.

--------------------
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Jan 21 2018, 11:27 PM
22
posts
1001 Fae Private Investigator
Ice Dragon
The only thing that burns in Hell Is the part of you that won't let go of your life Your memories, your attachments They burn them all away But they're not punishing you, he said They're freeing your soul, relax
Unseelie Court
Heterosexual
Single // Shipped
Jon

awards

Cold as Ice
J-Chan
She/Her/It | MST | 3/3/3 | J-Chan#2637
“Do you feel safe there?” That was the bodyguard in him talking, always concerned whether or not people were safe in the environment that they had chosen for themselves. Perhaps it was an unfair assumption that she would pick a place that wasn’t safe; he still asked because he cared about her. It was his desire, as it had been back then, to see her safe and cared for – even if he wasn’t the person allowed to see either of those things accomplished. Wanted her happiness in spite of his absence. It was a silly notion, seeing as how she’d been safe up until this point; who was to say she wouldn’t continue to be as such with him in her life? “You don’t have to answer that, I was only curious.” Yet there was still that part of him that wanted to know – that almost felt as though he needed to know. Old habits die hard and all.

“My job, I think, keeps me sane. It’s like I need a certain level of chaos in my life in order for things to go as they should,” he didn’t need to – but for conversation’s sake, he’d prattle on, “I get to pick and choose my clients, though. I never had a choice like that before. I often pick the cases that no one else will, the ones with a level of danger that no one else dare touch.” Think what you would about that kind of decision – it was his alone to make. No one else would make it for him. He never had choices before he was freed, other than if he wanted to go to bed bleeding or not. The mundane choices, too, were something he treasured. Like what kind of breakfast he wanted to have that day, or if he wanted to go to the beach for the day or not. Simple things that people took advantage of.

How sobering a thought it was to have that all snatched away. Often he wondered what these people he worked for would do if something like that happened, if their worlds were shaken badly enough – well there was a simple answer to that now wasn’t there? They called him, and he made everything right again. Their pockets would be a little lighter – or a lot lighter, actually – yet they would have their lives. They would get to see tomorrow, and all the joys or problems it would have. When he was a slave Jon didn’t have a promise of tomorrow. There was only the here, and the now – at least until he was certain that he was more valuable to them alive than dead.

There was something about Jon that not many people knew. He was – and always had been – a living, breathing weapon. And not just because he was a dragon. He’d fallen in with a crowd that was used to raiding and thieving. They were a band of mercenaries. That was part of why he was sought out, he knew, and that sort of training continued after he was released. Jon recalled stories that he used to tell Ophelia at night when it was just the two of them. He’d spared her the gory details for both of their benefits. Never did he want to scare her or frighten her into requesting another bodyguard. It was also this reason that he chose to stay out of the Fae realm. There was an unbridled freedom there, more lax than here he knew. Who knew though – maybe it had changed. Maybe the chaos was reigned in; maybe it was better; but he wasn’t willing to take that chance. Not now – not when things were looking up.

“Do you think you ever would return to your flock?” Merely curious, he knew that she didn’t have to entertain such a feeling.

He hummed in agreement as she said that that made two of them. By all rights he had every reason to complain – yet it just wasn’t in his nature. Feeling how close she was to him caught his breath in his throat, yet he swallowed it back and pushed away any tense feeling that came with the proximity of their bodies. All the same he wondered if he gave her the reaction she did him. As quick as that thought appeared in his mind, he pushed that too away. He’d just ran into her, after all.

Jon slipped into the building after Ophelia, his hands going into the pockets of the jeans he wore. He detested banks – hated any place, really, that had a show of security at nearly every entrance. They always flashed him looks for the gun he carried on his hip, their tense and stern looks sending a feeling of unease through him that wouldn’t vanish even if they looked away. Merely he stayed at Oph’s side, keeping his focus on her, and occasionally glancing at his watch. Nervous habit. He only relaxed when Ophelia touched his forearm, and he flashed her a soft smile, as though he was trying to reassure her that he was fine.

He’d remain silent for the time that Ophelia conducted her business, and then he gave a nod to the teller once Oph was done. Walked out with her, a breath leaving him once they were outside, as though he had been holding it when they were in the building. “I hate banks. A necessary evil, though, I suppose.” He muttered, mostly to himself, yet he was within ear shot of Ophelia of course as he fell back beside her. “So, to my place? I can - ” he whistled, then, a sharp sound given as he waved his hand in the air to flag down a cab. One was hailed, and he walked with Oph to the curb, allowing her entrance into it before he settled in the seat beside her.

He gave the guy behind the wheel his address, which was in the Downtown part of the city. He had reasons for not living in the NW part, and reasons for not living in Soma. Downtown seemed like a nice balance. They drove for a while, and not too long later the cabbie would pull up beside the curb outside the intended destination. It was a nice place in all actuality. A little too upscale for him, but it suited his lifestyle just fine. Up to the third floor he’d take her, open the door for her, and he’d follow her inside. “Home sweet home. Make yourself at home, Oph.” He said, setting his keys on the kitchen island, “Can I get you something? Coffee, maybe?” He had a batch brewed from that morning, yet there was little left in the pot so of course he’d move to go about making a new one, letting Oph get settled in to her heart’s desire. It was cool in the apartment – he always kept it a little cooler than most people would have liked. He always did, whether it was the peak summer or the dead of winter.
Jan 22 2018, 05:02 AM
165
posts
1309 Fae Owner @ Up In Smoke & Model for Blood Silk
Phoenix
We bear no fruit, no flowers, no life. And we get sick but never die. Walk with me to a place of trust, Death will no longer silence us.
Seelie Court
Pansexual
Professional life avoider
Oph / O

awards

sumptuous snack
Sarah
she/her/that bitch | PST | 3/3/3 | Sarahroo#5726
His job sounded like something that he'd have enjoyed, something that offered him freedom but also structure, however self-made. A job that allowed him to come and go and do everything he'd always been good at. It seemed a match well made, something that would brush a quiet smile over her lips as they wandered. Thoughtful and kind, to grow more thoughtful as he questioned her over her flock. The dark behind her eyes was telling, though lost in the bright vibrancy of the day. Shadows she knew would haunt his eyes if she'd asked the same of him. Ophelia had never been privy to lying and so she'd not, her voice something small and fragile as she answered him with a pale, "No." that she'd let sit there for a long moment before continuing.

"Too many memories for me, and too heavy a weight for them,"

She knew well the weight of her burden, she'd carried it for decades now. They might not have pried it from her and she might not have openly offered it, but it would have haunted her, and then them by proxy and all the same. That was nothing Ophelia could saddle any of them with. Not without heavy regret, and if she were being quite frank with herself, she had enough of that as it was.

The bank was a breeze, soft and gentle and over with just as quickly, pouring them out onto the sidewalk where Ophelia would catch his words. They'd quirk her lips, though she knew not why and wouldn't ask (prying went along the same lines as lying for the bird) but the idea that he disliked the authoritative bearing of a bank and its security as much as he did shackles was something she found oddly and quietly amusing. A soft dip of her head and a hum would see him hailing a cab and in the wake and shadow of it, she'd study him.

This man she both knew and didn't at the same time.

He looked the same and both different, a note she'd make again and again.

They'd slip into the cab, her skirts gathered before Jon slid in beside her and gave the driver his address. She could have easily called her driver, but then that wasn't anything she'd divulge in that moment. A small phone was pulled from the pocket of her dress (modern marvels those) and with a subtle excusing she'd make a quick phone call. The woman's voice on the other end would be labeled with a quiet pet name of Bluebird before Ophelia explained she'd be a while in returning and if they needed anything to call. She seemed unfussed, this Bluebird, over the inconvenience and hastened the woman off to live her life sans the tether of her job.

It'd take them very little time before they arrived at the building downtown where the dragon housed himself. It was not so unlike her own downtown apartment, something she rarely used but did stand there as an option for her when the nights dragged on too long and travel through the fae realm wasn't safe for a lone traveler. In the lift and to the third floor they'd go, spat out and hastened to a door where they'd enter into an apartment seemingly a edge too modern for the man she entered with.

"Coffee's fine,"

Her tone was soft and wispy as she wandered a bit, examining while not touching anything, careful of herself and her placement therein.

"To answer your question from earlier... I feel safer there than I do here. In the city, I mean."

Whirling around she'd press her hands gently to the other side of the kitchen island from where he stood.

"The man who sold me originally is still around, as are They. I was... cloaked for a long time, after I was freed. I lived with the man who freed me, he and mother had seen to it. An archdemon, which sounds menacing I know, but he's really not so much. He kept me safe in New York and then we moved out here and I stepped away from the cloaking. He's still here, we see each other regularly and he does watch over me... but this place is hardly safe.

"Nowhere is, honestly, but the fae realm tends to protect its own, where this place..."


The mortal realm didn't care about them in the least. Her head would shake gently as she fidgeted her fingers over the surface of the island. This realm was cold and unforgiving in a very different manner than the fae realm ever would be.

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Jan 23 2018, 09:25 PM
22
posts
1001 Fae Private Investigator
Ice Dragon
The only thing that burns in Hell Is the part of you that won't let go of your life Your memories, your attachments They burn them all away But they're not punishing you, he said They're freeing your soul, relax
Unseelie Court
Heterosexual
Single // Shipped
Jon

awards

Cold as Ice
J-Chan
She/Her/It | MST | 3/3/3 | J-Chan#2637
Into the cab they would go, settled beside one another. Jon kept his hands to himself, though the one closest to her rested near her. The other looped his thumb through his belt loop that was above the pistol. His eyes were ahead, watching the cabbie. It was in his nature to be suspicious of those he ran into that he didn’t know. Just because someone was a stranger, didn’t mean he was going to be comfortable around them. He’d let his guard down before, and look where that had gotten him? Right into the hands of vampires, and kept a slave for years – no matter how hard he tried his mind still wandered the halls of those thoughts, particularly now that he was with Ophelia after all this time.

Ophelia excused herself to make a phone call, and he nodded his head wordlessly, eyes turning to look out the window. To see the world pass them by, to see all of the free world outside their cab window – they were things that others took advantage of. Did anyone know how truly lucky they were to be able to breathe the free air? To not have to worry about anyone but themselves? So many people would be unable to part with their modern conveniences that they had these days. Until you had nothing, you never appreciated the things you had in your life. This was a hard thing to fathom for most, yet for him it was as easy as breathing.

Though he heard bits and pieces of the conversation from Ophelia’s end of the line and the woman on the other end of the line, he said nothing and attempted to tune it out. It wasn’t easy to do so in all actuality. He’d trained himself to eavesdrop, a skill that he was certain kept him alive these days more often than not. When the call was over, they pulled up to the building. In the elevator and to the third floor, it’d be only a few moments longer until Jon said another word. He didn’t trust the walls that kept him separate from his neighbors, unless they were the walls of his own apartment. His place was spelled to prevent sounds from escaping the apartment, his own paranoia driving him to asking his witch friends to do him favors from time to time. If you took a look into his drawers of his dresser, you’d find charms for various things that looked entirely mundane to the wrong person. The right person would know that they were special, given the gems that were used here or there.

“Coffee it is.” He said, and then he went about making a pot for them both. The coffee he used was nothing special, none of this mocha macchiato nonsense or caramel cream dream or what-the-fuck-ever. It was Folgers, in case you were wondering. He usually drank it black with a bit of sugar to stave off the bitter taste, but not always. Some days a bitter taste was required to match his ultimately bitter, angry mood that he wore like a glove nearly half of the week. The machine set to gurgling as it brewed the coffee, leaving them a few minutes. He’d get mugs out of the cabinet above the coffee pot, and set them aside before turning to Ophelia once more, his arms folding onto the island as he leaned there, watching her.

“I know what you mean. The city can be a pretty unforgiving place from what I learned, which is why I nearly always carry a gun on me now.” He had the one on him at all times – but he had several that were in storage, locked in a part of town owned by a trusted friend, ironically a fellow dragon. Luckily they hoarded different things, otherwise there would have been many problems and Jon would have to find some other place to put his guns and other various weaponry.

He listened to her as she spoke, hearing the part about an Archdemon, and that was the moment when his brow quirked a bit, the only motion he’d made since he’d started to lean up against the island. “I didn’t have any kind of cloaking capability, and had no friends to speak of that had that kind of capability. I figured that they let me go, and they weren’t keen on getting me back, so I was free to do what I wanted,” oh but he wasn’t really free, was he? Not then, and certainly not today. Back then he had been a slave to the fact that they might come for him again, poor Jon having to look over his shoulder constantly. “Things are better here, but you’re right. Nowhere here is safe. But you must have your reasons for staying here? However short or long of a time?” He asked her, posing the question because he had his own reasons as well.

Finally he said, “I didn’t think I’d get to see you again…” He looked into her eyes, then, and finished his speech right about the time that the coffee finished brewing. It took the space of a few seconds for him to realize that it was done. He tended to their cups then, bringing out powdered cream and a small bowl of sugar to set them on the island. He then filled their cups with piping hot coffee, and carried her cup to her, handing it to her as he said, “I’m really glad I did though. I missed you.” He locked his eyes with her again, his eyes chocolate in color and as warm as the cups of coffee in his hands. When she finally took her cup, he asked, “So… now that we’ve found each other again, would you let me watch over you again as I once did? I have the whole Private Investigator thing, but I can watch over you still. It would be my pleasure.”
Jan 25 2018, 12:47 AM
165
posts
1309 Fae Owner @ Up In Smoke & Model for Blood Silk
Phoenix
We bear no fruit, no flowers, no life. And we get sick but never die. Walk with me to a place of trust, Death will no longer silence us.
Seelie Court
Pansexual
Professional life avoider
Oph / O

awards

sumptuous snack
Sarah
she/her/that bitch | PST | 3/3/3 | Sarahroo#5726
Ophelia would nod then, a soft slow thing as her gaze fell to her hands, one tarrying over the hem of her dress sleeve. She'd say nothing over the gun, it wasn't her place to judge nor would she. Guns were nothing she fancied for herself, nor was she all that handy with a knife, as they'd both seen. In actuality Ophelia's best protection was her dependence. She usually went nowhere without someone around. She chose not to drive, and her driver was someone loyal and trusted whom she'd been with for a very long time. She worked with people of the same, and rarely, when she did go out, was it ever alone. Her stint to the bank was a daily hour that she had on her own, but the rest of the time the phoenix was with someone she knew and trusted to watch over her.

Her eyes still on her sleeve they were soft and quietly pained when she happened a glance up and across the island at the dragon who stood there without any of the good luck she'd been bestowed. But it was just that, it was nothing of hers in a manner permanent. Her words would mimic his mind then, a quiet kind of thoughtful she likely wouldn't have spit out if she'd not known the man. "But you weren't free," soft and lilted. "Neither of us were... or are," a truth that was not an easy one to swallow in the least. "I was cloaked but even then I wasn't free. A gilded cage, not one I regret, but it was a cage all the same." No collar the second time around but it was nothing that allowed her freedom. Stuck in apartment or at the side of a demon and there was even less she could do then than there was now.

She'd still not complain.

"Yes, of course,"

Her agreement was soft and hesitant. Regardless of who she was talking to there was never anything comforting in talking about the people she cared about. It often lead to their own lacking safety and if not them, it elaborated on her own weaknesses in the people that held pieces of her heart and her attention. "There are plenty of people I've grown to care for over the years that are here," a quiet sigh would purse from her throat her eyes training on the percolating coffee a moment. "And really, if nowhere is safe, then there is really no use in continuing to run. Perhaps it's the old age," her mouth would curl then, her smile soft as she glanced back to the dragon. "But the thought of running as I once had, is a weary one. I'd rather put down roots and chance it, and here is as good as anywhere else," there were plenty of people surrounding her here, enough of them that she had little to fear in actuality.

Breath caught in her throat as his voice shuddered in confession.

His eyes dark and sharp like she'd remembered them, a contrast to the vibrant and demure set of her own, colorful and quiet.

Lips pursed and she'd remain quiet for a moment as as he poured coffee. The cup handed and their fingers would brush, the quiet pale rose of her cheeks there and then gone as her attention flickered to the dark liquid as she processed the moment. Her insides a mess of emotions she wasn't entirely sure how to rightly sort through. She'd not get there before he spoke again, her mind a mess yet and his question would widen her eyes slightly and flick them back up to meet his own.

"I... ," her lips would twitch in a manner pulling and to the side, thoughtful and softly stressed in a manner she wasn't sure how to rightly put into words. "If you'd like. Though really, I'd much rather... we simply spent time together and forgo the whole thought of watching over," her smile was soft, genuine and stretching. It'd wane as her previous thoughts filtered back in in a rush.

"I missed you as well, Jonathan."

Her smile was quietly pained.

"I actually... I saw one of them, a few years ago, they were in the city briefly. I wasn't alone so they posed no harm, but he told me... he told me they'd killed all of you. In the wake of my freedom, they'd simply... I wasn't expecting this, today. I'd mourned you, all of you, years ago."

Fingers curling around her coffee and she'd absorb its warmth, the other would reach, hesitating just before though she'd curl them over the side of his hand, pressing fingertips to his palm.

"Please forgive my hesitancy, I'm glad they didn't, but I really didn't expect to ever see you again. My mind... isn't a steady place to begin with, and it's been mourning and writing off all possibilities for some five years now."

She'd not meant to for her voice to squeeze or shudder. With a deep breath she'd switch gears.

"You must have a reason for staying as well, yes?"

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