as in : fields of

act    i    :    blood    on    the    hands    .

[asphodaels]

#ASPHODAELS     :    roleplay account for reushq . ft. tisiphone , written by j ( she / her , 25+ , pst )

info

[asphodaels]

athenarhea·    ,    athena

—

Athena paused. There was nowhere in Olympe that was truly private, truly beyond her father’s gaze. She was an idiot to forget that. Still, she couldn’t back out now. “There’s a park nearby,” she said, and immediately wanted to smack herself. Tisiphone would know better than anyone that a park was hardly a secure location far from prying eyes. Still, “It’s private. And this late, it’ll be basically empty.”

Either way, they weren’t having this conversation in Electra Hours, of all places. She got to her feet and led Tisiphone through the crowded club and to the door. The air outside was brisk, but refreshing, considering how long Athena had been in there nursing a drink. She motioned for Tisiphone to follow her down the road.

“So…” She glanced back at her, the awkward silence almost suffocating as they made their way to the park. “How have you been? What’s been happening in Tartarus?”

—

this feels familiar. an echo of the past —-- slipping away with athena. palm itches, fingers go pressed to own hip bone [ … ] instinct tells her to reach out now that there's nothing around them but fresh air. it's different here, her walls a little less high, a little less sturdy than they appeared back in the energy of electra hours, the people && lights making it easy to hide && doing well to disguise the truth.

" the same. " a simple answer, curt && nearly sharp as if knives have taken up residence in her throat to compensate for the loss of the club. tisiphone gives no indication to which question she's replying to, or if it's both wrapped up in two syllables. it's instinct, training, to give as little information as possible && she does not fight it.

" you? " she moves closer, into step with athena. no longer following behind, now they're side by side by own intent. wonders if other woman will balk —-- if she'll speed up or widen her steps to leave tis behind as some sort of plausible deniability. ( no, we weren't together. it's coincidence. we were simply heading in the same direction. ) " what's been going on in olympe? besides all this. "

[asphodaels]

minotaurus·    ,    mino

He wasn’t always destructive for the sake of it, for the fun of it: but Mino often feels like he’s being reduced to more primal instincts the more he detaches and avoids the soreness of his human heart. There is satisfaction to be found in it, the way that robot has been mangled rather than shot with a pristine arrow or perfect gun. Violence is violence, he thinks. There’s no need to beautify it, to wrap it up in shine and metal and make it better, that way. 

Mino snickers. “I hope I don’t start featuring in your nightmares, now.” He runs a hand through his hair, maybe to flatten it, maybe to rid his hands from the itch he still feels. There’s satisfaction here, yes, with the robotic bird dead: but there’s also agitation. Restlessness. Olympe seems to have that effect. “Proper shit, really. They seem to have the money for fake blood, so why not invest a little in the … theatrics of it all, right? Would feel in character for this place.” 

You want to bathe in its blood, she says. He nods in mere agreement. He hurts and maims, draws blood and kills, but never out of sadism. Mino is moved by duty. The violence is the only violence he wishes to enjoy. “Well, maybe you can earn it back next time there’s a lull at the casino, hm? I’m still shit at blackjack.” He looks around the forest. “Don’t want to disturb your hunting though, Tisiphone. I’ve got a heavy gait.” Eyes are drawn to the dead pheasant, once more, and then back at the Fury. He starts getting ready to move away: he longs for solitude. “And if someone’s gonna bring in a win for Tartarus … hey, it might be you.”

—

' hope i don't start featuring in your nightmares ' he says && her response is immediate. a roll of eyes, a shift of stance so that weight settles more upon one leg as opposed to both. fingers rest against jut of own hip bone as hand curls around hip. " you should be so lucky. " she says with a scoff, with a breath of a little laugh caught in her throat. it's half tease, half something else —-- she's always half something else. something smoke like, something half gone, something you are unable to get a read on. ( do not feel bad [ … ] tisiphone so rarely understands the full extent of herself, too. nonchalance, indifference towards everyone extends inwards on most days. )

she's being friendly enough right now, she thinks. isn't quite sure. is never quite sure when she's away from sister shaped anchors && all she has to base it off of is the person she's interacting with. knows there isn't a current of boredom slipping through network of veins beneath her skin, dipping into her bones to reside in her marrow && thinks it's a good sign. perhaps she's finally growing as a person as opposed to impressively designed cardboard cutout.

( she glances back down at mechanical pheasant. it bares her face, lovely && flawless yet empty. devoid of humanity. she blinks && it's just a bird. )

she's not going to bring a win to tartarus. not here, at any rate, surrounded by fakery that makes her skin crawl with all it's forged perfection. hasn't hunted a single beast && had no intention of doing so from the beginning. but, she says nothing of it as feet begin to lead her towards a new set of trees to disappear around, dead pheasant still there on the ground. another thing she has no intention of doing —-- picking that thing up && carrying it with her. mino can have it, if he desires [ … ] after all, he was the one who took it down. or it could remain where it is until some olympe worker comes to clean up. either way, she does not care.

" we'll see, dear mino. " words slip out just before she turns. " if you win, come see me at the casino. " she nears the trees. " if you don't —-- come see me. perhaps i'll go easy on you to ease your pain. " it's a lie [ … ] if anything, she'll drive harder against him just to see how he'll allow himself to fall. it's a lie, but also the last thing she says before she disappears.

( end )

[asphodaels]

"    girl    help    "    you    know    what    ?    no    .

@whisperedfury     @alectocarrion​

[dsoredit]

Catarina struggles to keep her composure after being captured and imprisoned by Otavio (episode 139)

[existential-celestial]

Mona Sa’udi, from “When the loneliness of the tomb,” in Women of the Fertile Crescent: An Anthology of Modern Poetry by Arab Women (translated and edited by Kamal Boullata).

[asphodaels]

athenarhea·     ,     athena

—

“Tis, come on.” Frustration surged in her chest, coupled with hate for this awkward little dance they were doing. She’d never been much of a dancer, born with two left feet - and though she’d always had a gift for words, she didn’t care to beat around the bush. Not about this.

“Are you here to talk? Or are you just going to sit here and keeping making assumptions about what I want?” The hypocrisy of her words made her cheeks burn. Wasn’t that what she’d done, after all? Assumed that Tisiphone would be embarrassed, assumed that she didn’t want her, assumed that it would be easier to just cut things off than talk about it.

She extended a hand, placing her fingers over Tisiphone’s. A boundary crossed. Athena braced herself for retaliation, was a little surprised when she didn’t get a slap to the face. She forged ahead, “I missed you. But I don’t want to do this here. Can we…go somewhere a little more private?”

—

in her mind, athena doesn’t get to be upset. doesn’t get to feel frustration —-- those are squarely in tisiphones chest, radiating out through her limbs. it is the reward she gets for being the one left behind, for watching as athena disappeared from her life like nothing mattered. like she didn’t matter. here is the thing : tisiphone has never been one to feel bereft, to feel a black hole devouring her, to feel unimportant && so she did what she does so very well [ ... ] turned it into anger && bitterness && shards of obsidian that emerge through the gaps of her ribs.

her touch is familiar && she hates it. hates the urge she has to turn her hand over so that palms touch && fingers can entwine. she does not, but nor does she withdraw. she remains still, stoic despite the turmoil in her veins. ( she’s always been good at that. )

" fine. " jaw shifts, a hint. evidence of the fact that she’s not as unaffected as she’d like to portray. " wouldn’t want to make a scene. " covers it up with something sharp && pointed, a continuation of what she said moments before : feel free to admit it, athena —-- how you don’t want to be seen with her.

" where do you have in mind? "

[asphodaels]

minotaurus·     ,     mino

Even Mino Buros isn’t immune to a little goading. He’d like to think himself above such things, but he’s made a living out of winning since his late teens and the feeling of victory is something sweet. Something he longs for. Besides, Olympe leaves him restless and most of the time when he looks down, his hands are balled fists. Half moons in his palms. Knuckles white. Sometimes he wonders if all that satiates his soul is violence and what that says about him. Nothing good.

“I suppose there is. If I end up breaking it, you’ll cover my ass, I hope?” He wouldn’t really mind, in all truth, Mino’s concerns hardly with keeping Olympe’s gamekeeper satisfied and smiling. There’s a rustle, there’s Tisiphone’s words and Mino turns. He has always fought best with bare hands, from the days in the Arcadian tunnels from his life now, but he’s never quite faced an opponent that … whirs.

Well, really, this is just good fun, isn’t it? And that’s scarce, so Mino looks at Tisiphone over his shoulder, gives a wink and then pushes off from the ground, feet scraping like bull-hooves before he pounces. Here’s the main differences between a robot pheasant and an opponent in an arena: height, weight, a pulse, a willingness to fight back. This isn’t predator versus predator, but predator versus prey — but Mino won’t spill the pheasants non-existent blood as an offering to Chaos, later today. In stead, he pounces. Remember the height difference? He swipes his hands close to the ground, lifting the thing by its supposed neck and feeling a jolt pass through his body. His other hand joins and he attempts to wring the neck, the way he’s seen before only. There’s a crack, another jolt, and a snap of machinery rather than bone — Mino grins and tosses the not-previously-alive-but-certainly-now-dead pheasant towards Tisiphone. “There you go.” He shakes his hands, shivers. “Did my hair go upright? Fucking bitch bird.” 

—

she stands back as he moves. as he fights. here is the thing —-- from the beginning, the match has been uneven, everything set up for mino to win so long as nothing goes wrong, so long as monstrosity against nature in the form of metal && bits && pieces does not have some surprise lurking beneath fake chest cavity designed to appear that of a pheasant. almost expects it to crack open without a sound, display something unholy && interesting but it’s nothing but machinery designed to appear real && that was it’s downfall.

however, that does not mean she does not enjoy watching its destruction.

the thing lands at her feet, mangled && broken in a way that’s almost beautiful [ ... ] she honors its sacrifice with a kick to its belly, half hoping it’d come back alive with a squawk before returning attention back to mino. " just a bit. " hand lifts no higher than round of her shoulder, fingers wiggling as if to describe, as if to back up her claim. " looked like one of those creepy ass ancient dolls or whatever the fuck they were. the ones with sticks for hair that like to feature in my nightmares a few times a year. "

she glances back down at faux corpse, disdain coming off in waves. " disgusting. " features shift, head tilting back just enough so that she can look down slope of her nose at it. " they couldn’t even have fake blood? where’s the damn sport in that? you maul something, you want to bathe in its blood. good job though. " a smile —-- flash of teeth that almost looks sweet. another kick to the things belly, this time hard enough to cause it to roll over [ ... ] smile disappears into a scrunch of her nose. " had my money on this fucker, unfortunately. "

[asphodaels]

invrse·     ,     hypnos

There’s a method to telling the Furies apart that he’s gleaned over the years: Meg is a quiet deliberate pressure at the back of your mind, Alecto is all muted fury and blunt-instrument words, and Tis—Tis carries herself like his brother, something half-here and already gone. So when he feels the presence of another suddenly pressing into his side, seemingly appearing out of thin air, he isn’t nearly as alarmed as he perhaps should be, not when the two most likely explanations are both close to home.

“Hey Tis,” he turns to smile up at her, shivering slightly at her prodding touch. It’s a strange sensation she’s left behind—not unpleasant, but ticklish and different, and he reaches up to scratch at the spot absently. His head knocks against her shoulder gently, a brush of white against warm skin as he settles against her with a sigh. “Hmm, no I don’t think I have then, done anything to put us in a negative light, I mean. Does that still count as enjoying myself? Or no?”

There is a moment there, a lapse in time and space, where neither of them finds their reflections in each other’s gazes for differing reasons. He closes his eyes and lets her words wash over him, missing the tell of her expression as her voice lulls him into a familiar haze “Apeshit?” the syllables roll against his teeth, ‘t’ emphasized in a staccato note. “No, I don’t think I do. Have you? Gone ‘apeshit’?”

—

sometimes, she thinks she is not there. that she was never been there to begin with. that she is a half wraith woman drifting through life untethered, disconnected —-- cracked && shattered && unwhole. that she was born missing the things that make people [ ... ] people. kindness, connection, a beating heart && working lungs within cavity of breast but crack her open && you will find only imitation in the form of stone. heavy && hard && covered in moss that could have thrived within her insides but have found only rot. still, she’s capable of portraying falsehood with the best of them.

she does not hold fondness the way others do. in her eyes, there are only her sisters, there is only nyx with the rest of the world near shadowy in her distance. hypnos is less shadowy than most [ ... ] there is haze obscuring bits of him ( left eye, right upper arm, the space around his belly button —-- on && on && on ) just enough exposed to invoke the threat of something beneath hook of knife-ribs.

“ depends. “ it’s a purr dripping with the illusion of fondness. tries not to think of the fact that it’s not all falsehood. tries not to think of how she allows him to settle against her without a fight. “ for myself? never. for you? possibly. our ideas of enjoying ourself varies, after all. “ she enjoys the act of devouring, gluttony && greed && boredom encouraging her to leave nothing behind but belly still aches in hunger —-- cannot imagine hypnos feels the same.

“ i don’t think it’s possible for me to go apeshit. “ not when her base level is closer than farther away. “ think i’d love seeing you, though. “

[asphodaels]

whisperedfury·     ,     meg

The fact that anyone managed to believe that this glistening monstrosity was a night club was impressive in itself. Everything was white, too bright, too pristine, too fucking pure. Dark corners were a staple, no a necessity, for any self respecting venue - places to hide, places to sin with whispers and promises dripping from honeyed lips. Megara had been on stages with less fucking spotlights. But for people who wanted to see, and more importantly be seen, the strobe lights might have lent an air sinfulness and lustful decadence that could only really be found in Tartarus.

“Too fucking bright to be fun,” there was an ease with Tisiphone, just like with Alecto. Megara didn’t need full sentences to communicate - a touch, a glance was all that was needed really. Forged in tragedy and loss they couldn’t entirely remember, they’d found each other the way that three parts of one whole inevitably had to. Sometimes she thought they might be the only things keeping her intact. Sometimes she feared that would be the very thing that drove them away.

“Counting down the minutes,” Megara reached out a hand towards her sister, pulling the taller fury closer. “Let’s find some fun, pick us a target, will you lovely?”

—

" of all the colors to choose, why white? " aren’t places like this made for debauchery? for sin? shadowed corners where they can gesture from, send whispers out of to lure the unsuspecting or uncaring close so that they may unhinge their jaws && clamp down on their throats —-- swallow them down in bloody pieces? here, things feel almost clinical. here, it seems designed for the tryhards : those who want to see && be seen as if it’s all about status as opposed to slithering around dripping in venom && saccharine promises for the price of your soul, the press of blood coated thumb on dotted line.

" ridiculous. who was their interior designer? rainbow fucking brite? "

eyes are already taking in the crowd with expert eye. tisiphone has always been good at many things && choosing suitable victims has been a talent since her youth. they are surrounded by a feast of people they could destroy in more ways than one but they look easy. they look worthless but there’s a man in the corner who makes back teeth ache to taste. ( she has always enjoyed bringing down men the most. )

" that one. " a gesture of her wrist, not directly at him but rather in his general vicinity —-- trusts sister to locate him without exacts. trusts sister to be able to locate him even without the gesture. " he looks mean [... ] && delicious. "

[gay-irl]

Gay💁‍♂️irl

[asphodaels]

CHARACTER STUDY : TISIPHONE + BANNED TAGS

bonus :

[asphodaels]

CHARACTER STUDY : TISIPHONE + CHARACTER INSPIRATIONS

honorable mentions : p.iper g.reenmantle of the r.aven cycle, j.ade w.est of v.ictorious, b.etty rizzo of g.rease, 

[asphodaels]

athenarhea·     ,     athena

—

“No, I…” Athena stared at Tisiphone, face warm from more than just the drinking. The bitterness in Tisiphone’s tone took her by surprise; she’d expected, after Midas, that Tisiphone would have wanted nothing to do with her. Suddenly, she wondered if Tisiphone hated her for leaving. Or maybe she really did want nothing to do with her. But then, why approach her?

She swallowed. “No, I understand. I’m glad you’re here.” She meant it. She’d missed Tisiphone horribly. The fact that she still stalked her Tala profile at least once a week was evidence of that. “I just didn’t think you’d want to come to Olympe. I thought…”

I thought you’d want to stay far, far away from me. 

Maybe she did think too highly of herself, assuming that her presence could keep Tisiphone from doing her uncle’s bidding. She frowned down into her drink. “I don’t know what I thought. Sorry.” She cleared her throat, eyes carefully avoiding the gap in Tisiphone’s dress and whatever look was on her face. “It really is good to see you, Tis. Are you doing well, are you enjoying yourself? Um, if there’s anything you’re not happy about, with your accommodations or the service, let me know and I’ll…I’ll fix it.” Let me do that much for you.

—

she hates this. this sense of weakness she feels building in her bones —-- holes forming around her joints, threatening to bring her down, send her tumbling to the ground at her feet. at athena's mercy. tisiphone has never been one for weakness in any form. may display it when necessary, when needed for one reason or another, but there has always been a sense of steel deep within very cells that make up her body. ( poison dripping from her tongue / knives making up the juts of her spine [... ] entire body made for warfare, made to shatter walls, destroy both men && women alike. )

but, here she is, hiding the trembling of fingertips with use of her glass. she hates this. so, she does what she does best : detachment.

something knots within her chest —-- someones fingers brushing against black of heart && lungs that have always seemed to be placed there in mimicry, in mockery of the standard human. ( open her up && they’ll be there, just as they lurk beneath your bones && skin. however, they have rotted, have never been anything but stone even in birth. ) to shake off the grip, she taps blunt of her nail against glass, the ring it makes sharp && near musical && hidden beneath the thumping bass but she feels it reverberate along finger bone, soft as a breeze, && she repeats it —-- harder, this time. still near silent in the noise, but she concentrates on it. hides behind it.

" my little helper. " voice is a purr && she hides the shift of her jaw behind a swallow of dark liquid in her glass. it sits oddly on her tongue, the little bit she allows to slip into her mouth. different from the alcohol she can find back home [... ] is unsure as to whether she likes it or not. " careful, athena. wouldn’t want anyone to think you like me. "

[asphodaels]

CHARACTER STUDY : TISIPHONE + PAINTINGS

honorable mentions : judith by august riedel, judith slaying holofernes by artemisia gentileschi, the anatomy lesson of dr. nicolaes tulp by rembrandt

[asphodaels]

WHO   :   tisiphone   &   open WHEN   :   january,   2130 WHERE   :   symposia   sky   house ( ft. )

woman : wolfsbane dripping in chain && diaphanous fabric. one wrong move && she'll be exposed [ ... ] can feel eyes on the gaps in her skirt, the loose lines of metal && gemstone doing very little to provide coverage to otherwise bare breasts. she does nothing but ignore them all ----- faceless crowds mean nothing to her when she is not under orders to wring them dry, unhinge her jaw && swallow them down. pull the column of their spine from her throat stripped down && bleached white.

( q. what is danger? ) she drifts around with spectre grace [ ... ] eyes on her mean nothing && she can feel them fade away && return with jumpstart when she reappears. a warmth in her throat, borderline unpleasant. has felt them since she arrived, hypnos at her side in a bathing suit she lent as one of his many layers ----- she's ignored them for just as long. ( a. beauty. the rule of thumb is always to avoid the beautiful ones ----- nothing but a lure. nothing but the fates throwing you a warning that there is something lurking beneath that will tear you apart. still, there are always those who ignore the warnings, take them as invitations. do not realize their mistake until they're being torn apart. )

" well. " voice slithers, just shy of monotonous. " i had higher hopes for the attractiveness of those in attendance. " she had higher hopes for being able to pull targets, hand them off to meg or alecto to compare notes before displaying them atop open palms for nyx to do with as she so desires. " it's for the best ----- i promised to be on my very best behavior tonight. "

[asphodaels]

WHO   :   tisiphone   &   open WHEN   :   january,   2130 WHERE   :   electra   hours   nightclub   ,   let's   burn   it   down

it's a methodical approach. she throws no punches, no drinks, does not do anything but drift around planting seeds. a whisper here, gone before the target could turn around in search of ghostly sweet words drifting over their shoulder ----- soft yet still audible over the thumping bass. a tantalizing glimpse of herself through the crowd to draw others to places she wants them there. so easy, it's laughable. so easy, it's boring.

tisiphone had targets picked out within moments of her arrival. allowed them a few minutes of peace before she started laying groundwork, lining up the pieces so that all it would take is one motion of her finger to set the whole place ablaze. when she's finished, she takes a step back to admire the work she's managed to produce so swiftly with back against the bar top she plans on watching everything unfold on top of. a throne of treated white.

body heat beside her, she doesn't even look. " do you want to do the honors? " a flick of her wrist, chains clinging with the motion, to gesture at the pawn in the starting position. " or should i? "