Armaros

“The reaper does not listen to the harvest.” ― Terry Pratchett

[twistedxsolitude-blog]

—Inhibitions disappear.

—Thoughts that are private sometimes become more public.

—Mistrust doesn’t necessarily extinguish, but a certain degree of precaution seems to evaporate into thin air.

All these points relate to the majority of people when their body becomes heavily intoxicated by alcohol. Beth knows this because many times over since being in purgatory she has got to this stage. Yet here she was again and without a trusted friend to kick her ass and drag her safely away. Friends were hard to come by in purgatory—real friends that is. Real friends were the ones who wouldn’t let some bastard do you over and yet at the same time, still threaten to hammer your ass into the floor when they thought you were out of order.  Yeah, not many were like that at all, Beth probably only knew one—two at the most who would do that for her and none were around tonight. So was her trust placed in this new acquaintance? No. Armaros just looked like she could do with getting absolutely plastered too and forgetting whatever she had on her mind.  Beth might’ve judged the woman wrong, only time would tell, but right now..she didn’t care.

Beth couldn’t help raise a smirk at the other female’s playful taunt. “Oh sweetheart…You only think you can do better than me.” The bartender winked as she threw her humour back at her.  “Fuck it so hard…” The words alone when combined with the liquor, only added fuel to Beths already dirty mind and she thought of something really filthy. “Damn…” Giving her head a shake and blinking to dispel anything more vulgar leaving her lips, Beth focused on their surroundings.

It didn’t go unnoticed at the flicker of seriousness which appeared on Armaros’s face. Beth didn’t say anything regarding the expression purely because it was a look she herself had worn all too often when she was alone. Being out there on the edge of the city often gave cause for reflection, though being in company tonight, the bartender didn’t feel the deep pit in her stomach as heavily as usual.

"Perfection, in comparison to what?" Beth kept her dark hues on the barren lands which surrounded the city. "..or it’s perfect in the idealistic thoughts of what nothingness looks like…numbness…the reality of where we are and what we are destined to be—which is fuck all." Beths words were slightly slurred, but nothing that would make her hard to interpret. "You really think there’s nothing out there…..past all that emptiness?…or that it’s one big fuckin’ cover up to keep us here?" The brunette looked down at the ground for a moment or two and then her right foot took a step forwards onto the dry, cracked and unnourished earth. Almost instantly she could feel herself wanting to take a deep breath as the oxygen seemed to push its way from her lungs. 

[armaros-darktides-blog]

Armaros had long accepted that the most important thing in this new world she is living now is not money, nor pleasure nor power. It was distraction. Distractions in this place are as cheap as they come. But they could never last as long as she would have wanted. There's nothing like a sober mind to fuck you up in more ways than one in this place. And she knew she never would have lasted long had she not bought all kinds of distractions she could afford. Sure, it was sickening to wake up tasting foul liquor in your mouth, sneaking out of someone's bed and pulling triggers here and there. But it was slowly becoming a need. And it is no longer a necessity, it was becoming a way of survival. She never could have fathomed what would have happened to her had she not did everything in her power to distract herself every waking hour of her life spent in this place.

Sure, those kind of distractions come with a price. Look now, isn't this a price she is paying? She should be weary, she should be vigilant knowing that purgatory is the very place where every thing that is wrong and cruel could happen and every one who belongs in this place is never to be trusted. But what is she doing? Drunk of her ass not caring of what the future may hold and what kind of danger it may bring. But she wouldn't care, she knew that. It had become a tradition, a habit. and sometimes she wonders if this is what her end will be like if she ever survived the war between the princes and the arcs, her kind and the angels. There really is no way out, is it? She really is just fucked.

But the distraction she had bought didn't last long as she felt sobriety seeping through her senses. It was impossible not to regain any rational thought as she viewed the darkness in front of her. This is it. This is what she had to look forward to. A never ending nothingness and darkness. The difference, she figured, is that the liquor in her system would be non existent and she would be all alone. It was pathetic. And she's scared that her assumptions may be the truth. 

"The second one," she sighed. "This is what our future have in store for us, isn't it? " Not being able to help herself, she looked at her companion. "Any booze left?" She had to get rid of the sobriety in her system. She wanted to be drunk again and not know where she is and what the fuck she is doing. She couldn't go through the whole thing sober. It would fuck her up even more and she's not yet ready. Her demons are needed to be locked away as long as possible. And whatever is in front of her is beckoning them out.

Distractions. She needed distraction.

"I can't really afford to be an optimist in this place," she said. "And believing that we are just being kept here is as positive as I can be." Looking at her companion, she could help but wished she had drunk more. "I think there are far more worse things waiting out there." It was a scary thought but she believes it. They are in purgatory. And nothing gets better in this place. And she believes this, right now, will slowly deteriorate.

[darktidesapadiel-deactivated201]

Don't You Worry Now - Apadiel (Kelly) & Armaros

[darktidesapadiel-deactivated201]

Apadiel rolls the name around in her mind. She recognizes it, but it rings no bells, nothing to cause her either joy nor wrath. She is one of the Fallen, but that’s all Apadiel knows.

It does make her interesting, though. There is a certain boldness required to sit next to a Prince and strike up a conversation when it’s clear Apadiel isn’t working. No guarantees that she’s going to be happy about having her evening interrupted, and yet Armaros tries anyway. 

It’s tempting, to send her away, rebuff her simply for choosing to sit down beside Apadiel while she’s trying to enjoy a night off. But the Fallen makes herself interesting with her indirect answer and the obvious fascination she seems to have with Apadiel.

"It could be said that I do the same," Apadiel replies, dragging one finger around the rim of her glass. She doesn’t want to appear too curious about the other woman, but her answer has her intrigued. 

"Overseeing the Arena, I get the blame for most of what goes on there. I take it, gladly, happy to do Lucifer’s work when he can’t. But I also know everyone who works at the Arena, and you don’t."

She’s curious now, as her mind works at Armaros’ answer, trying to decipher it. She has her own ideas, but she wants to know more.

"There aren’t that many unnecessary… things in Purgatory. It’s a fairly spare place. Who decides who’s unnecessary? How does one become unnecessary in a place like this? And how does their elimination give you pleasure?”

Apadiel knows the thrill of pride she feels when a fight goes well at the Arena. It’s a heady sensation, the certainty that Lucifer will be entertained. But this girl doesn’t work for Lucifer, and Apadiel would like know who she does work for, or who she thinks she works for, and what they want.

[armaros-darktides-blog]

There was a certain pause in the air that Armaros knew only existed on her part. It was never like her to reveal too much. There are whispers here and there that made her business going. It was as discreet as possible and assurance and confirmation on her part was never a possibility before.

But now the truth is seeping through the corner of her lips, ready to burst out at any given time. It felt like a ticking bomb ready to explode. And Armaros hated nothing more than the thought of not being in control. But here, the situation is asking for it, even demands it.

Though the fallen had to wonder why the woman had yet to turn her away. Had she been in her position, she never would have given a lowly fallen a time of her day. But here she is, still sat next to her, the conversation still flowing, and the path was something she was craving to find out. Would this be all worth it? She hoped so.

There it was again, the pride in her voice, the joy dancing behind her eyes as she talks about her work. It was somethings she doesn't see much in purgatory, having something like that was akin to a miracle. And abominations like fallens and princes are never made for miracles.

There was a moment when she could still back out, never open her mouth and leave the truth hidden behind her lips. But the moment had gone and passed. The truth of her identity is slowly peeking through and demands to be left out. If was too late now, and the only thing she could do is brave through. 

Armaros liked to imagine that this was just like any other business deals that transacts in the dark alleys and cramped up places where the air smelled foul and the mood murky. But this time, she was the one looking for a deal, looking for a better situation.

The flow of the questions that the prince had spurred, Armaros knew she had spiked her curiosity and she was sure that this was it now. There really is no going back anymore. "There are many liabilities in this place, that I can assure you and it will be both for the betterment of our kind had we eradicate things that may be of bother in the future." The next two question made her pause, she didn't want to admit the process of her work but what can she do now?

"I think," Armaros began, her words a bit unsure. "anyone could easily pinpoint what is useless and what is not. What is to be thrown away and what to keep." She had to look at the woman beside her after the last question. It was too personal but she answered anyway. "It makes me feel better knowing that I had helped in  cleaning this place even for just a minuscule amount."

What is going through her mind now? Was this really a bright idea? "Isn't that what we should be doing for him?"

[twistedxsolitude-blog]

Beth didn’t even know the female before this evening and as the liquor flowed so easily, she really didn’t care whether she was friend or foe. It was quite unlike the bartender to be so reckless when it came to strangers. Yes, she could be reckless with the words that came out of her mouth or the way she seemed to get herself into some precarious situations, but it was rare she would get so drunk and leave with a stranger. Especially with where they were going to, the boundary of the city—the wasteland was located there and it was a place Beth usually chose to go to alone. Her thoughts were always a little fragile when she stood looking out at the barren lands and there was a chance she could be somewhat unhinged.

Yet still she continued to pound booze like it was going out of fashion as they both walked. Her mind occasionally wandered at the crap which had gone down lately, but she was quick to dismiss those thoughts. It wasn’t like they would remain dismissed, she knew once she awoke the next day—all the problems would be back again along with a splitting headache.

"Well then…I say we have a toast…"  Beth held the small bottle of vodka, the one she’d pulled out from the inside of her jacket. "Here’s to rocking those strait fuckin’ jackets should the situation ever occur!" Bringing the rim of the bottle to her lips, Beth took a hefty swig and held it out to offer Armaros some.

Beth knew her words were becoming more slurred but she was still coherent and understandable so far—at least she thought she was anyway.  She shot a look to the other female and found herself smirking. “Darlin’ your feet look like they have a mind of their own with the way you are walking.” The brunette chuckled and looked to the ground noticing she wasn’t exactly rock steady either.

"Let’s fuck it hard?—Are we on about the same thing here?…cause it sounds like you are ready to have the ride of your life, sweetheart"

She gave Armaros a playful chuckle and watched as the other brunette broke into a jog..well…something that resembled a jog. “If we get there in one piece it would be a fuckin’ bonus.” She shook her head and smirked before taking off in the same direction, her brain following slightly after her line of vision, making things look dizzy.

It was only when she was nearing the edge; Beth stopped and bent over, her hands on her knees as she regained her regular breathing. “What a lovely freakin’ view huh?” She stood straight up and her dark hues looked as far as possible that it was to see. “Even through beer goggles, the place looks like it should be home to the world’s finest fuckin’ tumbleweeds.”

[armaros-darktides-blog]

She knew that the combination of thrill and alcohol running through her system was not the best of its kind. But she couldn't care less knowing that those kind of feelings are the best kind of high she could afford in this place. And really, moments like these are the times she should be most weary. She was practically incapable of forming a coherent let alone logical thought in her mind; she's most vulnerable, she realized. And she really should try to be more vigilant. But she was at ease, she was in one of those places inside of her mind where everything is suddenly okay. Sure, there will be regrets tomorrow especially when the pounding head aches finally come, but this is the best escape she can acquire. Beth is not a bad company either, she didn't even expect that hanging out with the brunette will be this fun. And it is so much easier to trust anyone when liquor is pouring and your mind in haze.

Her mind in blur, swirling with every step; her thoughts running to and fro anything nonsensical. Right here, right now, all her problems, all her worries were the least of her concern. She couldn't even form a rational thought let alone think of all the nightmares that haunt her day and night. The only thing she could think of is how to stand and walk straight without falling over and looking more like an idiot in front of the woman she had just met.

She glanced at her companion and couldn't help but shake her head as she saw what she had just pulled out of her jacket. She figured, it must had been a typicality of hers. Taking the bottle offered to her, she took a smooth swig, wincing at the taste but realized that it had become duller with all the alcohol she had consumed that night. "And for all those fucking booze we'll steal whilst inside the asylum," she said, raising the bottle to her companion, giving it back to focus more on her walk.

She had to shake her head in indignation as the woman pointed out her walk, raising her eyebrows in the process. Standing as perfectly as she could manage, she stuck her tongue out at her. "Look who's talking," she said as she tried to walk closer to her companion. "between the two of us, I bet I could walk straighter." It is slowly becoming at this between them, isn't it? the challenges and taunting  that adds fuel to everything in their system.

"Oh," Armaros said, an innuendo thick in her words. "We're going to fuck it so hard neither of us will be able to walk for a week." Funny how irrational their conversations are. And weirdly enough they are still able to follow through it.

As her jog came to a close and the distance between their destination is getting smaller by the second, she halted before taking in the view. She couldn't help but glance at her companion with a smirk on her face. But her mind sobered as intrusive thoughts come into mind. Is this the end? Have they reached it? Because really, she wasn't sure what she was expecting.

She knew the edges of the purgatory are much more shittier than what she was used to seeing. But this, this is indeed what they like to call depressing. She couldn't help sober up as she saw the whole place. Well, as far as her eyes can see. "Fucking perfection," she said thinking she should have consumed more beer. "Worth the trip, isn't it?"

[sci-fi7]

[sixteenme]

[yelyahmomsen]

[sariel-darktides]

Collision || Armaros & Sariel

[sariel-darktides]

“Just because we are in Purgatory and it is shit doesn’t mean you have to treat people like shit in return.” Sariel spat back at the other woman, starting to feel anger coming to replace the annoyance and frustration of a few minutes before. Perhaps it was that lingering bit of grace in her veins but Sariel was never part of the school of thought that preached, ‘if you feel awful treat others awful too.’ She held on to the idea that individuals could be better than the place as a whole, even if she rarely came across such an example nor did she always hold to it herself, she liked to think that even in this shit hole of a city there were people that could still be…Nice. Considerate. Kind. They were rare but she knew those people existed. She had met them and even befriended a few. But this woman was obviously not in that number.

Although what did she expect from a fallen?

That realization hit Sariel harder than she might have expected but suddenly it all made sense. Why she was being so rude, why she was acting as if she was a queen on this dirty street and Sariel had made the mistake of falling into her. That thought almost offended her in a way she did not expect. She was being disrespected by a creature who had sold off a part of her very being because she thought it would give her a better lot in life and from what Sariel could see…It hadn’t. It annoyed her that one of her own kind could get rid of her grace so easily, discard it like an old jacket and walk around with such an attitude, while Sariel had fought for and saved her own grace every moment she had been in this awful city. It offended her remaining stores of Heavenly grace that she had to hide what she was, while this offender could strut around and run into people, ruining purchases and days in one misstep.

“This isn’t a piece of crap— -“ she insisted, gripping the slightly bent and seriously scraped candelabra a little tighter in her well inked hand, “This was expensive. Its sliver and you basically ruined it.” She gestured with the piece and looked at the brunette with a frown, her expression going cool as her dark eyes narrowed slightly. “But I guess you wouldn’t know what something as quality as this looked like would you? You are a bottom feeder.” she half snarled, unsure of where the anger in her voice was coming from but for the moment, Sariel was embracing it. It wasn’t often that the angel was mad. Or at least pushed far enough to go into a place that wasn’t nice or accommodating and this woman was shoving her roughly towards that place.  

"You ran into me. That is what happened. You owe me for this," again she gestured with the piece of sliver, the patina catching the light, "Its simple. Its the least you can do. Or is that really hard for someone like you to understand?”

[armaros-darktides-blog]

'Angels', Armaros thought with an eye roll. She knew it was very unlikely to be in good terms with their kind seeming at how badly they look at them. Armaros knew why, she could clearly understand as to why they would think that. But when everything in you life had been stripped off of you, leaving you bare with nothing, sometimes the only thing you could have is pride. And pissing them all lot is something she would not refuse. She knew that this whole thing she had for them is slowly turning into hatred no matter how hard she tried  to be partial and not bias. But this angel is proving just how utterly annoying the kind can be. "Right," she said. "Niceness. You lot are big on that, aren't you? Shall I sing hallelujah now?" It was hard not to roll her eyes once again at the angel, the conversation was getting more and more ridiculous by the second. And her presence is not something she'd like to be with any longer. She just really wanted to go home and this confrontation is the last thing she needed.

She was getting dizzier by the second she had to shake her head to bring focus back to her surrounding. She really needed that coffee. But the woman in front of her is still blocking her way and it seems like the whole confrontation thing would not end very soon. She knew she's bound to meet a few angels here in purgatory and she is bound to clash into one of them. But the timing was just really perfect, isn't it? Just when she was having one of the shittiest time, this just had to occur. And she had to admit, it was getting harder to be in their presence any longer now with the war just waiting by their footsteps. This meetings are not necessary and she knew this kind of confrontations will play a part in that war. And this confrontation is definitely not going to help either of them because all it would fuel is hatred for each others kind. And she can clearly see in her eyes the disgust she had for her and it irks her to the bone. She is so fucking self-righteous as though she is everything that is pure. And she is sure that she thinks she was lowest of the low. But look here, their both in purgatory. And they are very likely to perish in the same war. So really, what makes them different? 

She once again glanced at the material in her hand ignoring her offensive words. Isn't this great? Of all she could clash into it just had to be a foul mouthed angel. Oh, the irony. Looking at her straight in the eyes, she gave her a bored look. "Understanding is not really your thing, is it?" Gesturing at the supposedly silver material, she raised her right eye brow. "It was a freaking accident. Is that really hard to understand? Shit happens." She almost laughed at her words. "A bottom feeder?" Taking a step closer to her, she gave her a smile. "Is that the best you can come up with?" She was being taunted and it was getting harder not to take action. Does she even know what kind of person she's going against with? "Be careful, now. Picking a fight in this place with someone you have never met before; is that really wise?" It had been her business, isn't it? It would be too easy.

"I ran into you," she felt like she was repeating everything. "We ran into each other. It's an accident, how many times do I have to say that?" God, this is getting nowhere. She's getting nowhere.

"Someone like me?" Her eyebrow rose at that sentence. "Just so you know, comprehension is not exclusive to just one kind. And yes, I completely understand. You're the one who seems to not be getting the situation."

[yelyahmomsen]

[effstonemm]

[fubbu13]

[fubbu13]

[cirruswhispers]

Sharp Claws for a Kitten // Armaros and Remiel

[cirruswhispers]

"Sex is a biological construct enabling mankind to reproduce. Heterosexuality is normative because it allows the species to continue but love is not necessary. Homosexuality is a variation on what is common to attraction, souls more focused on love than on furthering the population. Even you should know that much,” his eyes narrow, straining to see what lies beneath her petite frame. As if his gaze alone might burn out the darkness she holds. His mouth twitches and a sly sort of smile slips onto his lips. He cannot help himself. His pupils contract to something almost feline -the beast which once roamed the ice bitten heart of a great forest. 

She will not have known him like that. Before the war. Before his descent to Purgatory. She will not have known him. Wild. Relentless as the rain. Unwavering in his duty but distant from those under his command. She will have no idea. But all the weight of his entire existence is pressing at the corners of his mouth. Predatory. He could rip her throat out with his teeth and who would stop him? 

"Those who join my fight do so because they have made a choice. Because they have faith in themselves and in light overcoming dark. Because even a sinner with nothing to his name but the lies he’s told can be forgiven and welcomed into the Garden. I do not use fear or threats or violence. I am not like you or your kind. If someone chooses the way of God, it is not because I have made them but because if I have done anything, it is to show them that such a path is possible. Where those like you would try to erase and destroy any sign that a greater love exists than the love you hold for yourselves. Pride is a fault, Little Dove, and it has clipped your wings," he stands up into his six foot one inch frame, only now really noticing how small she is. Little Dove is perhaps an accurate description after all. Soft features and wide eyes and once there were wings too. 

But none of the angels have wings anymore. Not in purgatory. Not when they are so close to mortality. 

"Justice for the sake of justice," he confirms, with a bemused smile, "it’s not something you’re likely to understand. One must do what is right because it is right. Not because there is a reward. Not because there is some cosmic score sheet keeping track. If I kill a killer, that still makes me a killer. My justice will not be heaven. Maybe it’s Hell or maybe I’ll be condemned to this place. Don’t know. Don’t much care. Because I have a job to do," his hand lifted, as if to show her the box of bullets one more time and illustrate his point, "and maybe one of these bullets is meant for you. Maybe not. Maybe you’ll get to me first. Doesn’t much matter. But the war is one your doorstep Little Dove and you best be ready for what it means." 

[armaros-darktides-blog]

It was a peak in her curiosity as to what is running through his mind. Armaros was used to puzzles and games to play, of little mind games to figure out. It had been her playground ever since she had fell. She held a scale of her own, balancing lives in her hands, toying with them, playing god. She was so sure of herself that she had the game all figured out, that it is now an expertise of her to piece together what is making anyone tick. With this arc, she can see bits, just bits of himself. And that's what made her curious. If she were to be confronted by the supposedly enemy, a stone facade would be in order. But not him, the emotions, the anger was as bright as day, it was as though he was almost sure of the consequences of his actions and couldn't give a damn. But truthfully, it irks her skin just being this close to him, of being reminded of the past that she had tried to conceal, of being slammed in the face on where she is standing now. But there was some consolation to it all. She had fallen, smacked to the ground with wings ripped from her. But look at him, the supposedly righteous ones, standing right in front of her as well, wingless and miserable.

He has a sense of humor, that she could give him. "Funny. And here I am, thinking you would think people like so are abominations like me." But the whole self pity, self importance and self righteousness irritates her to the core as though the values his mouth spouts about was something she had never heard over and over before her wings were ripped off.  And that is what she found most pathetic, that she can understand his footing because she had once been there. She never realized how easy it had been to sometimes forget all that she had learned when she still had her wings.

She fought off the urge to roll her eyes at his little nickname for her, scrunching her nose a bit. Here he is again, speaking of wars, of goodness and evil and choices that she knew she would have very little to do with. There were expectations needed to be fulfilled and maybe she is prideful as he had said and maybe that is her fault and maybe it is one of the very reasons why she is no longer in heaven but she'd rather not be coward and come begging for forgiveness to the very people that had pushed her over the ledge. No, so maybe she has a choice but the whole purgatory is a visual representation that sometimes, choices are already made even before they were laid out for choosing. "Maybe you have a choice," she should just keep her mouth shut but here she is, opening her lips, speaking without thinking. "But some of us where never given one. You think you are giving me a choice right now but that is a lie, a trap being laid out. Even if it isn't, there are punishments for betrayal. I had paid for it once and I don't know what will be the consequences had I done it again." But she had to admit, there was a part of her tempted to say yes to him and let him lead the way because the truth is, she is tired and life in purgatory had been cruel and cold. She was tortured enough and sometimes she just want to give in. Temptations are hard to resist but not him. She could not find it in herself to fully give in, to trust him not when the thought of him in front of her mangled body is almost vivid in her mind.

He was preaching like a preacher with bullets in hand rather than the words of God. He was treating her like a little girl unable to comprehend what is right and what is wrong, as though she was some idiotic first grader who cannot understand a basic term. She hated it, oh, how she hated it. She wonders if he realizes how much as fucked up he is as her. And she wonders if he can see that she can see him bare: all justification, righteousness, martyrdom and values that will soon cause self-inflicted pain; like a masochist masking the pain he craved as sacrifice. Her gaze was fixated on his lips that slowly shifted to the bullets in his hand. "A job to eradicate a whole specie that condemned your beliefs?" She knew of his reasons, of course and she could completely see his point but she is part of the casualty and maybe she was not righteousness enough to wish for the supposedly greater good because isn't that her right? To exist? And maybe they had been hay-wired to clash and collide and smash even though understanding was proven to be there. "And they gave you the best seat, didn't they? For I am sure you would be in front of the line." But when it comes to it, it is a wonder, for in the end, who will be the one to end the other? "And do you?" She was picking, trying to pick up more bits of him for curiosity had long past and the need to know had taken over.

[darktidesapadiel-deactivated201]

Don't You Worry Now - Apadiel (Kelly) & Armaros

[darktidesapadiel-deactivated201]

Apadiel can see the struggle behind the Fallen’s eyes as she looks at her. Rebellion had come easier to some than to others, and even now there are those Fallen who would fight against anything that looks like authority, even the Princes. These have no respect for the work that the Princes have put in to the city, making it safe for them, giving them opportunities to use their particular talents to thrive. No, those Fallen want only anarchy, and will fight against anyone in order to get it.

This dark-haired beauty, on the other hand, chooses the wiser path. She is respectful without being unnecessary deferential. Kowtowing does not win points with Apadiel the way that it might with another Prince, and certainly not from a Fallen. 

The newcomer nods, as if Kelly’s name calls up memories. Kelly, for his part, seems rather unaffected by her presence, though the girl’s assurance that they’ve met ‘a few times’ makes Apadiel wonder, given his lack of interest in her now.

"There can be a lot of pleasure to be gained from business," she agrees. "Here in the city, we’ve made it into something of a practice, I suppose."

Her thoughts move from Prince to Prince. Asmodeus and his love of the pleasures of the flesh. Mammon and his love of money, of risks. Ba’al, devoted to order and justice even after all this time.

Apadiel herself has tried to combine the two with limited success. Her love of music has led to concerts at the Arena, but they are not what draws crowds. With time, she’s found she likes her compartments. Work is work. Play is play. She moves between them easily, but keeps them separate when possible. 

"What is your business, then, that it gives you such pleasure? And what is your name, dear?"

[armaros-darktides-blog]

It was getting harder to hide her wonderment of the prince sitting right next to her. Apadiel was the first prince Armaros had ever met and she was not sure how to act around the woman. Arcs and angels, she realized, she is far more at ease when given the chance to be encountered with. But with princes, she realized that she was rusty and she felt like she was peddling on musky water. But she braved through, knowing that this moment of discomfort and awkwardness may reward her with something greater in the future, or lack of thereof.

She nodded her head as she agreed to the prince, glad that she had understands it. "Yes," she said. "You are right." Because what more can this place offer aside from having the freedom to bask in pleasure? Isn't that the only good thing in this place?

There was a moment of hesitation on her part when the prince had posed the question regarding who she is and what she does. Her mind raced for a moment, wondering if she had heard of her before.

Sure, the anonymity of her identity had been a security blanket as well as a shield and a weapon she was able to use multiple times throughout her stay here in purgatory. But shedding that facade to reveal her true self was something she had tried to avoid as mush as she could.

But there are decisions that needed to be made especially in a place like this and with the war looming in closer and closer, she had to make a decision where her allies shall lie. Her previous meeting with an angel and an arc had proven to be a foreboding that they are not the team she should be with and they are the very people she should be wary of.

Though the princes and the fallens in this place had proven to be something you cannot trust, at least they do not have the hatred the supposedly the light side had for her kind.

There was still hesitancy on her part but she tried to conceal her emotions as much as she could, it was easier to shed yourself when no one can see what you truly feel.

"I am Armaros," she stated with a quiet pause. "And I... eradicate the unnecessary." It was vague enough and it made her wonder if it was clear enough for the prince to understand. For aren't they the ones who knows the most?

[dunamisly]

Hard Out Here || Shayne & Armaros

[dunamisly]

Shayne tilted her head, considering. “Nah, I believe you. Probably better for aging than fighting,” Shayne had no delusions that what she did was easy on her body. Like any other athlete, there would likely be a point when it just couldn’t take it anymore and her usefulness as a fighter would run its course. Getting a gift would put that off longer, she thought, but that would take time to get, if she did.

"I’m not that bad.” She scoffed, feigning offense. She exaggerated being bumped slightly. “Yeah, yeah, bless her wherever she may be.” She rolled her eyes a little. The idea of moms and families didn’t hold much weight when it had no bearing on anything here. It wasn’t smart to dwell on or be nostalgic on something she couldn’t even remember, so she just didn’t. Lamenting what was or what could be wasn’t her speed and it never would be. If others did that, well, that was their business, and they could continue with it as long as it didn’t mess with what she had to do.

Shayne does remember how Armaros and her met and the stark difference between now and before. In her weak defense, she hadn’t known Armaros was a Fallen when she had mouthed off. She really shouldn’t have in the first place, but what was done was done. She was still walking around, and with Armaros as her friend to boot.

Shayne smiled wider when Armaros smiled. “Good. You know where I am if you ever need some heads knocked around.” She winked before taking another drink. She hoped Armaros didn’t think she was implying that she couldn’t do it herself but that she’d do so with her. Shayne had..colleagues, for lack of a better term and some semblance of a boss, but that was as far as interpersonal relationships had gone. Armaros was her first friend in this city, and loyalty wasn’t something she considered lightly. She wasn’t friends with parts of Armaros, she was friends with Armaros. All of her. Whatever lay behind her or stretched in front of her, she’d have Shayne next to her.

Shayne snorted. “Believe me, I was careful.” Her expression was still edged with humor, but most of it was sobered. Serious. “She wasn’t angry with me. She was..praising me. For beating that blood junkie, Felicia. Like I said, she’s really something. The whole place was fucking fancy as hell. I probably irritated her being late and soaked, though. I’d be miffed if it was me.”

"But what about your sparkling charm and wit? What’s not to like?" Shayne wasn’t stupid, there was probably a lot the two sides disagreed with. She didn’t really want to be a part of it. She disliked politics, and navigating grey areas was never easy. She knew she wasn’t shiny and clean. Blood and dirt had stained her hands plenty of times, but she never claimed a moral superiority with it. It was simple, not tangled like war and political battles. She wondered how involved Armaros was involved in that sort of thing. They never really talked about what she did. "I believe you. Never met one, so it’s not like I can speak about that."

[armaros-darktides-blog]

"Dear God," Armaros groaned chuckling quietly, shaking her head at the peculiar image that surfaced in her mind. Looking at Shayne, she wrinkled her face in disgust. "We're gonna grow into old wrinkly hags!" She exclaimed, humor lacing her every word. There she was, sitting with her friend, a vivid memory of the two of them looking crippled like raising burning under the sun. She never thought she would ever imagin herself and Shayne as such. It was too..weird.

Laughing the memory and mental images away, she shook her head to sober herself up. The idea was something she had never thought of before, it was new and refreshing. For her, the future is not a long term thing to loom forward to, it would be a short  and discreet course that will soon end. And by the end of it, so shall she. Armaros would never admit it, but this is what she loved about Shayne the most. Sure, the girl wasn't rainbows and butterflies, she could kick your ass in a few seconds flat and she tends to get into more trouble than anyone she had ever met. And they were in frigging purgatory, for pete's sake! But this is what Shayne is, she is refreshing. And there was nothing more welcomed in Armaros' world that a bucket load of cold water that splashes off the heat that burns her skin. 

Nodding her head in an exaggerated manner, she stared at her with doubt. "Sure," she said, "The woman must've been so proud of you." Whoever she is. Armaros sometimes forget that people like Shayne had a past that they cannot access. This made her recall the conversation she had with Beth. That their lack of memory had been their punishment and hers, the opposite. It was a curious thing, really. She was surprised that she actually wanted to know of her past. But it also made her ache on the inside, knowing the secrets she had buried herself in. 

Armaros can take care of herself. That is one thing in this world, in this life that she was sure off. Throw her in the wild, in the desert and she shall survive. But never had she ever thought she would crave the kind of affection the girl was giving her. She remembered all the humans she had watched from above, how she thought them ridiculous for caring too much, to have so much regard for someone else's well being. "Oh, you're my number one when it comes to back up." So this is why, she thought.

She was surprised that a prince such as Apadiel would do such thing. Shayne is an amazing fighter but for a price to praise, it was overwhelming. And frankly she was proud of her. But with the rest of the story untold, she couldn't help but laugh. "Typical Shayne," she murmured before grinning at her. "You just had to turn the whole frigging thing around, don't you?"

The memories of the fateful encounters she had experienced are not treasured but there was something she liked about them. For one, they stand out. And two, she always liked to be challenge. And those two? Oh, how challenging they are. "I know!" She exclaimed. "Aren't I the sweetest person anyone can ever met?" Getting back on track, she chuckled a little. "Good," she started. "Don't go frolicking with some dude with wings. They're bad for you. Just stick to nice little people like me." Funny, if she wasn't bias for her kind, she would have told her friend to run the other way around.

[cirruswhispers]

Sharp Claws for a Kitten // Armaros and Remiel

[cirruswhispers]

His green eyes narrow as she coos her mockery and insults. If she fears what his position means, she show no sign of it. Which is a pity for her. The grip of the princes on the city have left the all of those damned to hell, cocky and arrogant. Has allowed them to forget their place. But a day will come when bullets rain down and the princes are kicked off their thrones. He will be there. He will be pulling the trigger that unleashes some of those bullets. Even if he is the only one. His eyes narrow, but they hold the promise of retribution in them. Of paying the debt she, and those like her, have accrued against the souls of humanity. His gaze is feline, predatory, like the tiger he once used to take shape as -blood on his muzzle. 

He smirks when she has finished talking and there is something inherently darker in his gaze. She is young. Even for an angel, he can sense it. Petulant, warring, eager to prove her own bravery. She wears death like a crown. She does not know death the way he does. She does not wear the burdens of this city the way he does -as if they’re weights around his ankles. He cannot know this, not truly. He’s never really met her before. Couldn’t place her face anywhere. Doesn’t know what she does or where she lives. But all angels, such beings of divine energy, of light and growth and creation, all of them are as tangled in blood and death as the wars they bring. That’s the truth of an angel. In heaven and on Earth they could make entire forests grow, but more often than not they are given axes and told to destroy in the name of righteousness or for their own pride. He does not know how long or how deeply she has been involved in the chessboard of death, but she is involved -every angel, good or bad, is. 

His voice is controlled, smooth as unmarred snow over an open field. His gaze bores into her and he leans just that much closer. Close enough that they share the same air, that she’d be able to count the freckles sprinkled across his cheeks which are a cruel mockery of the sunlight they never see, close enough that he can see her black eyelashes and count everyone of them. “No princess. Justice is peeling every inch of skin off your body slowly enough, you’re alive for the whole ordeal,” his head tilts ever so slightly, inviting her into the dark world he is carving out for her. “Justice is water boarding you with the blood of everyone you and those like you have hurt. Justice is leveling the playing field so you suffer as your betrayal of heaven has made others suffer. Death would be a mercy. And. I. Am. Not. Merciful.” There is heat in his exhale. 

He rakes his eyes across her face again. Hungry in a way he wasn’t before. His tongue flicks out over his lips moistening the skin. His voice is heavy, heady -c a r n a l-. “It will not be a war. It will be a blood bath. Maybe my bullets won’t be enough, but still you will drown. One way or another. You’re so young, tainted with the promises the princes have given you. With your own pride. Maybe you’ll survive for awhile. But eventually your legs and your arms will give out. You won’t be able to swim anymore and you will drown. Or should I be righteous and say if your repent now I’ll sweep you up in my arms, bless you with holy water and all will be forgiven. You’ll be welcomed back into the arms of heaven.” And he doesn’t know why he says the next part exactly. Maybe because she’s a stranger. Maybe be cause he can. Maybe because he’s already said so much and what does it matter if he says anything else? So he whispers it, in a gritty tone from the back of his throat, “because I fight on the side of God and not even I will return to heaven.” 

[armaros-darktides-blog]

The little quirks of her lips are easier to conceal this time, with the air between them getting thicker and thicker, the distance diminishing inch by inch; her facade shaken a bit but she held still. How many times had she done this? And only for an arc to break her? But it wasn't hard to realize that this whole charade was a show of dominance. Invading her space, making her feel smaller by the second, a quiet attack on his side, sneaking on her nerve endings, finding cracks and holes in her words, her face, her emotions, even from her eyes. But there was something more.  She wasn't sure if this whole thing is till about the forthcoming war between their kinds or if something had run deeper. With his eyes,  ablazed and stature, stiff; she figured there must have been more. 

But with his closeness, the heat radiating off his body lurking on her skin, mingling; she couldn't help but think that she had done it. She had triggered something inside of him and he had finally exploded. And just as she thought just earlier, the only one in vicinity is her. And the casualty? Her mangled body in the middle of the raging war. Funny how it hasn't even been a few minutes since she dared herself to close in on him. And here she is, being cornered, threatened. And she was sure that in the upcoming war, her face was not something he will easily forget. Now, she was sure that he will swept the crowd and look specifically for her. He will be the one the will bring forth her end.

With the way he was looking at her, she wonders if he was already thinking of ways to cut her to pieces, to fuck her up in the most torturous and meticulous manner as though she was a shiny new toy made for destruction. So this is it, the danger her gut is telling her. She should just walk away before he shed her facade further, she should run about, flee and forget about the whole ordeal and pray, even though no one is listening, that he is not as sadistic as he seems. But she had been through hell and back. She had walked in and out of the fires of hell and had tasted the smell of her burning skin. She had her wings stripped to the bone, mangled into pieces and thrown like trash. No, she had tasted worst. And he wasn't it. But the anger in his eyes, blazing like fire that refused to be put out, it was so bright she could practically feel her skin scorching under the scrutiny of hie every gaze as it swept all over her face. The rage within him was almost palpable and she couldn't help but think that this is his flaw. This is what made him vulnerable; this is the very thing that makes him almost weak. He was so reliant, so dependent to the code of his beliefs, something that had seem to have turned constant inside of him. It was unwavering, almost as if he was stuck with that ideology. With that hatred. With that rage.

Funny, how he spouts of justice as though he was a fore-bringer of what is just and what is right. He looked at the world in a gray scale, never caring of what is black and what is white and what is in between. The whole thing was gray and here he is, supposedly someone who is righteous, speaking words like he was the father above. No, this is not justice, justice is balancing opposing forces, the good and bad, on a metal scale to know which is more, which is less and which is to eradicate. But in his eyes, justice is razing the whole kind and passing it as rightful judgement. But this kind of anger that zinged through the air, this rage radiating from within him. No, no, this is not something one had learned. This anger is something carved deeper. He was too bent on destruction. This is hatred being sowed.

"Justice, righteousness and now forgiveness?" The amusement in her voice was hard to filter out, the situation was too absurd for her to even comprehend. He was push and push, stringing her along like a wooden puppet, easily brainwashed, easily manipulated. "Tell me," it was getting harder to hide her smiles. "Are you going to preach about homosexuality next?" This, this is why the princes had the upper-hand. They are all business; professionals. Arcs, they think on the bigger scale, as though you can control a country with nothing but speeches and a few guns tucked under their belts. It was pathetic. "Is this how you coerce people to join your side? Promising forgiveness and free heaven passes?" She had already made peace with herself that this is her life now. Her wings are gone, stripped to pieces and there is no getting them back. She'd rather go down fighting for no cause at all than to hold someone for empty promises. "What is this?" She asked, confused. "A kamikaze?" She almost laughed, she should have figured out that the whole act was a pretense of a masochistic martyr dedicated to a lost cause. "You speak of justice when you know you were never to be a recipient of it?"Like she said, pathetic.

[twistedxsolitude-blog]

Beth quirked a brow and gave a smirk. “You’re another one who is plagued by shit when it comes to sleep huh…hm..”  It was quite understandable that peaceful sleep didn’t come to many, but funnily enough, she hadn’t heard too many declare it that often.  Sometimes Beth craved and desperately needed sleep because her body was so tired it felt like she was fit to drop, yet her mind never switched off. At best she was that worn out she wouldn’t rouse from sleep and fall so deeply but not soundly at all. Many different nightmares haunted her and one particular one repeated itself over and over but still as frightening and still as realistic.

"I think we would end up in strait jackets you and I. We would be the resident loonies and when we weren’t in a padded cell we would be storing our own stash of moonshine or some shit.."

Beth grinned at the thought, but that’s all it was—just a light hearted look at a very heavy and intense situation they were both in. It was quite alarming when she thought about it. A whole city of potential crazy people who each had their own problems and reasons for finding themselves in this hellhole. The worst part was nobody could remember why they were there and nobody else seemed to know why they were either. So from experience Beth found that you could be talking to someone who was some psychotic murderous asshole and you wouldn’t have a damn clue—ironically, they might not have a freaking clue! Purgatory sure was some jokers mind fuck.

“I don’t know what makes me feel better…The thought that they placed us here because they don’t know what to do with us yet or they placed us here because that’s exactly what they had planned for us.”

Beth gave a contemplative look and pondered for a moment. “Personally…and my own opinion entirely…I think they fuckin’ planned it and not cause they don’t know what to do with us yet. It’s all part of some warped plan…” She shrugged and looked at the people that surrounded her, whether they thought themselves of higher standing or lower—they were all in the same boat—fucked.

Out in the open, the cool air seemed to just add to the intoxicated feeling that was already washing over her. She couldn’t help but smirk, her usually stand-offish attitude being dulled by the liquor. Beth looked in mock shock at Armaros’ words, her hands on her own chest.

"Oh how thoughtful of you…how….compassionate to not judge me if I decided to take the cowardly way out…" A playful grin emerged as she spoke quite refined, but it didn’t last long at all. "I won’t judge you either—but what I say is…FUCK IT and let’s go at least dip our toes a little…be adventurous maybe?" Her brow wiggled as they continued to walk towards the boundary of the city, the potential danger becoming less significant as the alcohol worked its way into her system. 

[armaros-darktides-blog]

"We're in purgatory," as though the reminder was ever needed. "I doubt anyone here had ever had a good night sleep in a long while." The place they were currently standing in, the so called purgatory. May it be a gateway to hell or the boundary among heaven, hell and earth. The very essence of life, of whatever that had made it worthwhile to live had been sucked off by some unknown being. The whole place was bleak, and there was the ever present feeling of a foreboding doom. She wasn't sure if that is how everyone sees it, as depressing as that is but that is the whole place in her perspective.

"I want a padded room!" she exclaimed, the thoght getting better by the minute. "You could bounce about and run over the wall without getting hurt" She laughed. "And really," she gestured over the two of them. "" We could so rock the straight jacket thing."

Conversations with Beth, Armaros realized, is like riding an emotional roller coaster with an unknown destination and loops that go round and round just for kicks. They skirt to and fro from light to heavy, from deep to shallow, from silly to serious and there was something so pressing about the manner that surprises her that she wasn't even dizzy of it. It was somehow natural. Or maybe the liquor is more alcoholic than she thought. And it was nice to actually have an intelligible conversation, even though the two of them are afire with booze and crazy thoughts, with anyone in this place without it turning into a fiasco of who had it worst and had been inflicted with more pain and so. She had grown tired of it.

This, this logical thoughts and theories, she could deal with. That even though in their mind, they're prolly some lunatic, at least they are trying to make a sense of the situation. It was easier to handle than brandishing miseries around the room, searching for pity and mercy as though the whole place was some evacuation area for the victimized. 

The playfulness of the whole scenario, the silliness the air around them had brought, it was something Armaros knew she would like best. It was better than getting drunk or kissing or even fucking. She missed being a child even though she was too far from it. And here she is, slightly tipsy, with a sway on her feet, her lips fixed on a real smile. This is better. It felt more authentic than she had ever felt.

Obviously, with childishness comes foolishness. But that was far from her mind, she was too busy enjoying herself. Repeating the words of the brunette, she grinned at her. "Fuck it," she said with a chuckle, agreeing with her. "Let's fuck it real hard!" Her steps were clumsy but somehow, she made herself walk faster, almost jogging to the steps leading to the boundary, egging her companion more.

[darktidesapadiel-deactivated201]

Don't You Worry Now - Apadiel (Kelly) & Armaros

[darktidesapadiel-deactivated201]

Apadiel’s gaze sharpens when the woman beside her speaks. She’d kept her green eyes forward, watching the stage while waiting to see if the Fallen would approach her, or just settle for sitting next to her.

Kelly shifts his weight when she walks past. It’s not much, but enough to give Apadiel pause. He doesn’t know many Fallen in the city, and the Fallen he knows that she has yet to meet are a even smaller population, but it serves only to make her more curious about the girl sitting beside her.

She smiles, first to herself, and then when she tears her eyes away from the stage and looks the Fallen over. Tall, willowy thin with dark hair and brilliant blue eyes. She’s lovely, sweet in a way that Fallen don’t tend to be. But she’s clearly brave, introducing herself to a Prince who is so obviously enjoying a night out on her own.

"I suppose it would be a pleasure to meet me," Apadiel sighs, speaking with an imperious mix of put-upon annoyance and almost fond curiosity. "At least under these circumstances. Off duty, so to speak. Better here than in the Arena."

She is less irritated by the interruption than she sounds, but she hasn’t planned on conversations, and doesn’t normally find herself drawn in with random strangers. But there are many Fallen in the city, and while she doesn’t know them all, she does know that they share a common past, and it gives her pause. Perhaps she should be more inviting to one so bold as to strike up a chat with her.

"You and I haven’t met, but I get the idea you’ve met Kelly. I’m Apadiel. I oversee Lucifer’s Arena."

It’s more information than she needs to give, but she takes pride in saying it. If this girl has met Kelly, then chances are she already knows who Apadiel is, but she enjoys her title and position, appointed rather than hard-won like her entrepreneurial brothers and sister.

She turns in her seat, legs crossed at the knee and body angled towards the stranger.

"So, what brings you to the Ultra Luxe tonight, then? Business or pleasure?"

[armaros-darktides-blog]

It was such a rarity for Armaros, to not play with the people she interact and converse with. To not shamelessly throw about her smirks and coy replies with a shrug and an innocent smile. It had been easy. She was never scared and she was far too arrogant too aware of the secrets beneath her quirked lips, it was fun. And for Pete's sake, she had pissed off an arc, hadn't she? 

But there was something about princes that made her felt like they had leashes around her neck, a coil woven neatly and tightly made especially for her. Or maybe it wasn't them, but the one with the higher authority. She wasn't sure which she liked less. But it was tight and suffocating.  

There was something about her presence that pretty much shouts what she is. Power, she realized is not as easily give off as easily as the prince in front of her does. Armaros knew her, of course. She had dwell deeper into the dark corners of purgatory to not know little hush secrets here and there. And besides, she had met one too many people. The purgatory is a small place. And frankly enough, secrets, no matter how meticulously hidden, were easily spilled when persuaded in the right way..

At she sat there, mulling over her thoughts, she couldn't help but gaze at the pair. She didn't know what to say next, surprised by the question. She knew she really shouldn't be so surprised at how bold and frank the woman was being. Her declaration of title just proved how much she had prided herself in what she is and what she does. But she couldn't blame her, really. A title is still a title and in a place like the purgatory, power is hard to come by.

But there was something more than the arrogance, there was also authority. It was as though she was establishing her authority but the pride in her voice was unmistakable. She wondered if her lips had quirked as she said those words.

"Kelly," she repeated, letting her eyes wander to the man glued at her side. "We've run in a few time," she said, confirming the prince's speculation even though she was aware how blatantly obvious it was. There was their bond to be considered, making her wonder if he is capable of keeping anything from her. She doesn't seem like a person who like things hidden from her.

Business or pleasure? There were times Armaros had forgotten that there was difference in those two words. But it did give her a pause, for she wasn't so sure anymore. "You know, I"m incapable of distinguishing those two." She said, admitting her mulling thoughts. "I guess, I just find pleasure in business." Because in truth, what is more pleasurable than a knowing that you're actually gaining something from it?