la mort et de la beauté

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[bellevenna]

Belle + Dru | Greensleeves | The Brothers Four | x

Alas, my love, you do me wrong/To cast me off discourteously/For I have courted you so long/Delighting in your company

[bellevenna]

Fraternal Familiarity || Belle + Dru

[dru-dgery]

"All the same," her brother replied, eyes turned down to re-welcome the sphere back into his clutches, "it is not my predicament that you do not have the longevity to spare to see the ripples of your wrongdoing wane. Though it pulls upon the remaining strings of my heart, those that have yet to snap, to see you in pain and to see you so frenetically try to make things right between us, no amount of apology, no demand or ultimatum where those words fail will force the process of my forgiveness along. Though people who don’t understand may say otherwise, forgiveness is vastly more involved than forgetting. It is easier to willfully ignore the hurt inflicted by a beloved one when you are certain that, surely, they love you too much to cause you such pain; that they wouldn’t do this, whatever it is, to you because of what you mean to them, for how much you both have been through together. What you’re asking me for is acceptance within myself, for me to come to terms with our schism and grant you a personal pardon. Well, you will have to wait. These feelings have not yet reached their infancy."

The willowy angel shifted, perhaps uncomfortable that his unrelenting irascibility had been the break that coaxed tears from his sister’s once noble, once divinely proud eyes. The verdancy that formerly held the strength of a thriving forest fueled by the fury of a sacred star was extinguished by the doldrums - stagnant, sad, and sopping. From his dripping black form, the man unwound a swathe of silk and slipped it into her grasping hand so she may better swipe away her visible sadness. It reeked of agarwood and ash, clove and the aromatic copulation of sweet, exotic spices.

"But, that doesn’t mean that I am bereft of all compassion," Dru continued, only slightly reluctant. "I am sorry that you seem so unable to grasp that which felicity is apparently fixed upon denying you. I wonder, dear Belle, does the brutal end of these relationships still justify their blissful beginnings? Is it not some form of madness to force yourself to walk the same rut that conjured your celestial condemnation?

"I cannot pretend to understand your predicament," his voice was accompanied by a soft sigh, "but if your burden of hurt is eased in words, then I shall dutifully listen."

[bellevenna]

Belle accepted the proffered length of silk, dabbing gently at watery eyes and softly inhaling the exotic smoky spices which permeated it; they might have been fairly overpowering, but memories, comforting and beloved, triggered and flooded forth and it was these she grasped at even as she clutched the fabric in her hands.

For all the topics she and her brother had covered in their countless conversations over the centuries, affairs of the heart, namely her own, had seldom been breached. First it had been out of a sense of respect; she knew too well how painful it was for Death to hear Destruction's name. Then, as a secret needing fierce keeping; Sitri, their illicit affair, no matter how harmless their twin intentions had been, could not be openly discussed. And now, with Shiloh, the last in that short list of former lovers, Belle's separation from Azrael forbade their discussing her attachment to the wolf until now.

Not knowing quite where to start, Belle made the decision to simply start with the beginning, to trace her heart's attachments from the first to the last in the hopes that some light might be shined on her current heart's woe.

"My love for Abaddon was a pure, innocent thing, born of the pure and innocent want to be always by his side. Of enjoying the way he looked he upon me, the feel of his hand in mine. When he first kissed me ..." Here she stopped, struggling for any adequate word to describe that single, simple gesture. "It was as if everything outside of we two disappeared, there was nothing but us and that moment and I knew then that I wanted nothing but his arms ever holding me.

"Sitri, Julian ... I had the mind to kill him where he stood when first we met. I recognized him for what he was, and he me, but that we were both in the middle of a city, with countless innocent bystanders stayed my hand. He dogged me, needling me, shadowing my steps 'ere he could." A shadow of a smile turned up the corners of Belle's lips; the memory was a fond one, despite it's tragic end.

"We entered a sort of truce and from that came a friendship that eventually became ..." She shrugged, shifting in her seat, drawing one knee to her chest and clasping her hands about her shin.

"I knew him for centuries before we fell in love, Azrael. I did not tumble blindly into his bed, unthinking and uncaring, and he did not seduce me for ruination's sake. I know it does not seem so, but I never meant for any hurt to come of our being together. I wanted only to be with him who I loved; I had, still have, no desire to see Heaven tumble or to join Hell's ranks. Our coupling ... It was the most natural thing in the world, an extension of the affection we had come to hold for each other. I would call it beautiful, though I know the word is cliché. More over, it did not feel wrong.

"My love for Shiloh came as a surprise. I did not go looking for him, not so soon after I had lost everything. He ... I thought him a good match. He made me laugh. And he was so fierce in his declarations of love ... The three years we were together were some of the happiest I have had and that is not a claim I make lightly. But ... He could not be faithful, would not do it, perhaps, and that I could not abide. I am a selfish woman, a selfish lover, and I will not share my lover, his bed, with another. I will not share his heart with another and I do not know that he understands that."

Belle frowned, chin resting on her knee, a thumb crooked at her mouth, teeth worrying at the ragged nail. "I do not know that he understands how deeply it hurt to know he loves another, that his repeated declarations of love are undone by his actions.

"And there I've revealed myself to be a hypocrite, for what have I done to you, brother, but much the same? If I thought our Father so petty, I would name this divine retribution, but I know it is only ... The failings and fallings of love.

"You asked if it was worth it, falling in love, despite the heartbreak. I cannot lie, Azrael, and so I would say ... yes. No doubt the answer diminishes me further in your eyes, but it is such a wonderful thing, brother, even with the pain that inevitably comes."

[bellevenna]

Fraternal Familiarity || Belle + Dru

[dru-dgery]

The man turned his chin up, skeptical derision shading his expression. Though in an ever increasing number of years past he would not have questioned the nature from which any gifts were bestowed upon him by his former kin, some doubt, catastrophic doubt born from the surfaced lies dredged by the woman’s excommunication to leave still fresh wounds in the afterglow of her betrayal, made itself known.

The pair had once taken their generosity to a boundless degree - Sofiel gifted Azrael with adornments refined from the corpses of her hunts, and in return Azrael gave her his trust, friendship, and, most important of all, his love. They were a pair of siblings whose lives were interwoven to a sometimes indiscernible depth, their closeness founded not only upon the reverberant hurt of an older brother’s (or older lover, depending on which lens the situation was examined through) abandonment, but the growth from those unseen scars, and the betterment of themselves through secluded sermons of segmented thought.

"What is the meaning of this?" he asked, slightly put-off. "Do you seek to buy my time with eluded to vulgarities? Is my company suddenly demanding petty placation now that you are subject to the divine judgment of the Creator and the petty toils of your mortality? Foolish girl, you can’t pay for affection in soon to rot fruit."

Dru set the basket aside. On the floor, next to precarious piles of mostly inanimate riffraff and assorted corporeal flimflammery. Hopefully the woman did not expect simple gratitude from her consistently hostile former family member.

His chiding, though often acerbic, in this instance was not prolonged past the point of relevancy. As soon as his hand was free from the grip of the container’s handle, its fingers went wrapping around the pristinely polished surface and portable-sized girth of the rock. Upon the table it was placed, and sent rolling, with a gentle push from spindle-like digits, in the natureborne’s direction.

Though black in the stillness of shadows, its movement in the wavering light of the angel’s confines illuminated facets belonging to hidden spectrums, fragmented rainbows dotting its surface like a geometric atmosphere of a diamond-hearted moon; a distant satellite harvested from a unknown system.

"I acquired this rock recently," the archangel said when it was safe in her grasp, "See how it shines for you - skies swirling with a phantasmagoric storm. Have you come to stare at these things of my surroundings or is this visit only a minor snag in your schedule, like a leaf briefly lost upon the breeze of your passing favor…"

[bellevenna]

"If I had thought to buy your time, I would have thrown a fistful of coppers on the table and demanded you tell my fortune as if you were the common gypsy you play at being," came Belle's retort, rashly spoken with a heat she had never before shown her beloved brother. It was hurt, however, and not anger that flashed in her eyes and clouded her brow. "I thought only to bring a token of affection and care, to show you are still foremost in my thoughts despite --" She stopped, for what could she say; they both of them knew what had driven them apart. "Despite my being a foolish girl," she finished lamely, quietly. 

The rolling rock was caught, stopped with a raised palm, turned about with careful fingers. She glanced at it, catching the play of light and facets of color so astutely described by its owner, but only for a moment. It was soon sent rolling back across the table's worn surface to once more be captured by that heavenly body to which it rightly belonged.

"I came to see you, Azrael, because I desired of your company. Is that so very hard to believe?" Belle leaned forward in her seat, beseeching, fingers flexing against tabletop for want of something to grab and touch. 

"I have said good-bye to one more lover this sevenday and so I have come here because I am a selfish, silly girl who wanted only to while away the hours with a brother she still loves and adores. I know your hurt lingers, Azrael, but I do not have forever to see it mended. Would that I did, but I do not and I can only offer what I have already given: Apologies and a hope of reconciliation. I do not ask that you forget my sins, brother, only that you forgive them ..." 

Tears born of hurt, heartache, and frustration welled in her eyes and dampened her cheeks. She cuffed them away, sniffling softly, and turned her face away; these were not the pretty crystalline tears Sofiel had shed, shimmering diamonds dotting peachy cheeks and making eyes sparkle. These were the tears of a mortal girl, messy and uncouth, eyes and nose going red as the color drained from weathered cheeks.

[bellevenna]

Dangerous Ground || Julian + Shiloh

[shilohgarrett-blog]

Shiloh stilled instantly, a rising and falling to his chest that rolled his form larger in human size to stretch his skin until it physically looked like he would shred through flesh to reveal his beast. The scent confirmed a match to what reeked in Belle’s space above, and he growled low in his chest that turned into a sadist smile.

"Really? Then you know nothing of us or more importantly me," Shiloh spoke deeply, not liking the word our on this man’s tongue when speaking of Belle. Did Abaddon still think of her as his as well? Was Shiloh just another fucking person who could keep saying she was his until her dying breath? What was the point of finally opening up enough to let someone love him when he had to add these interactions to his heartbreak. It was hard enough running into Markus under the rays of Rahu where his scent was alluring in sending Shiloh into a near blood thirsty frenzy that left him feeling hungry, guilty, and infuriated. This demon’s scent filled the area in the worse kind for the Garou, ever changing to things that made him want to like him but he wouldn’t fall for this trickery. 

"You have a purpose other than taunting a Garou with a poke of a stick as your tongue? I am not one for patience when approached in a dark alley so speak your business before this gets ugly,” Shiloh kept his anger in check for now. Body and mind already into fight mode in a wash of calm that made him daunting in presence only because he showed not an ounce of concern or fear. For under the surface he was hurting so deeply, and incredibly profoundly at the loss between him and Belle that he wouldn’t a care if this did turn bad. Because at its source…he really only just wanted her back.

[bellevenna]

Julian's lips twisted into a sardonic sensual smirk, dark eyes raking over Shiloh's body from foot to head and lingering just a moment too long on his powerfully built torso; the open wantonness of the gaze made it clear that the other was looking past the wolf's clothes, to the naked skin just beneath.

"You rather I poke you wif somfink else?" He asked, voice low and breathy, eyes searching Shiloh's face and resting on his mouth. The space between them closed, enough for Shiloh to feel the heat radiating rom Julian's skin, to count the individual freckles spattered across nose and finely chiseled cheeks. "Big bad wolf gonna blow me ... down?"

He was sizing the other up, posturing in the way unique to his kind, doing what he knew best to throw the wolf off balance. Julian wielded sex and desire as a weapon just as surely as Shiloh wielded violence and his wolf for the same purpose. 

"I've known Belle longer than you've been alive, mate," and like that, the heat and oppressive sensuality were gone, snuffed out as easily as a candle's flame. The incubus remained just as close, invading the wolf's space as before, but the suffocating sexual tension had broken. "That's my fuckin' business. And I take it to 'eart when some twat comes in and does her like you did. I don't mind her 'avin' another man in her life, she's an easy one to love, our Belle, but it pisses me off to see her 'urtin' and havin' to dry her tears, like. And it really pisses me off to find that same fuckin' cunt lurkin' 'round her place when she's not home, yeh."

The incubus took a step back, heels coming down heavily on the alley's cobblestoned ground. Another bite, then a second, was taken of the apple before that was carelessly tossed to one side for a stray, animal or human, to find and finish. "I may jus' be the old lover, and a demon to boot, I ain't claimin' to be perfect, mate, but I ain't the one made her leave her home and I never did nothin' to make her say good-bye; that was all daddy's doin'. So maybe you should think abou' that, next time you get the bright idea to come 'round here uninvited." 

[elliscallaghan]

Ellis: Belle’s Hunting Knife | Weaponsmithing | Headcanon

After being attacked by a werewolf, Belle sought a concealable silver weapon as insurance of her safety in case there were further incidents. Taking into account the fallen woman’s previous life as well as penchant for hunting and the outdoors, Ellis created a steel and silver mixed boot knife with the added bonus of a hooked end. Easier to leave in, harder to dig out.

[bellevenna]

A Smith Found || Belle + Ellis || FB | CLOSED

[bellevenna]

"I had not truly feared Death until that day. A strange place to find myself as he and I were once inseperable, bound as we had been by the bonds of familial fidelity. But, I feared the rape more. I would rather have been rended and killed in that alley than have that violence visited upon me."

She did not doubt that Ellis had experienced true terror in his first encounter with one of Gaia’s children, but she held a shade of doubt as to whether he fully understood the terror of her experience. Though she had been to battle innumerable times, it had never quite came to her that she could be killed. She had been an angel for so long, and so little could truly harm her, she had come to take her quasi-immortality for granted.

Upon falling she had learned, quickly, the limits of a wholly mortal body. There were lessons in pain and endurance and weakness, but still Death as a concept remained faraway; a thing visited upon others but spared for her. It was only when she stared Caine in the eye, knew him for what he was and what he could do unto her, that Belle fully, conciously, faced her mortality.

More than that, she had faced the consequences of her sex. As Sofiel, she had been revered and held on high, exalted and respected by the men in her life. She had been loved by her brothers and the monks wearing her green, an incubus and another wolf, too. Her talents in communing with beasts and the green, in handling a bow and sword, had been what mattered. So to be confronted, violently, with the fact that, as Belle, she was nothing more than a moment’s pleasure taken despite her protests made the bile rise in her throat.

Her death she would, and could, face without flinching. It was the violation she could not and would not bear.

As Ellis continued a slight frown formed on Belle’s face; a lingering coloring from her own thoughts, she thought after all of this he still held doubts as to her ability to wield a weapon properly. His smile, though, and the remainder of his words put her mind to ease and she chided herself for being so quick to falsely judge.

She matched his smile, the stormcloud of expression and emotions lifting, and nodded. “Do not underestimate an opponent, Mr Callaghan, even one wounded. I promise I could still prove a dangerous match.” Maybe it was bravado, but then again perhaps it was truth plainly spoken. But then, as she rose from her seat, she showed signs of lingering stiffness though she made no complaint.

"I thank you, though, for your trust in my skill and I promise you I will remember you when I am next in need of a blacksmith. I have a number of blades that could benefit from a master’s touch and care, arrowheads, too, in need of forging, if that is not too small a job …"

[elliscallaghan]

“Yer right.” Ellis smirked, aware that he had little to say on the true discomfort of her attack. He was neither the fairer sex nor one to have been entirely threatened with sexual violence in quite the same situation. Also, nearly half a century in Leeds had somewhat warped his view on the subject, though not so far as that he did not have boundaries, that he did not know the difference between something freely given and something taken without permission, “I’ve never known immortality or th’kind o’power y’once held an’ took for granted, an’ while I’ve outlived my peers over the past eight decades, I know I have an end that will look jus’ as human as I do on th’outside.”

The darkling laughed at her defiance, at her willingness to show him up despite her obvious lingering injuries. He held his calloused hands up in mock self-defense, though his words were full of coy taunting, teasing her still, “I’m no’ doubtin’ ye, but it’s no’ really all that fun to test someone’s true mettle when they’re at a disadvantage. If yer dangerous wounded, as those ‘f us who know what we’re doin’ in a fight can be, then I’d rather see jus’ how dangerous ye really are when well.”

Dark eyes strayed from meeting her green gaze to travel once again over her person, more to study her armaments than to be at all impolite in his visual explorations, not simply because of the truth of her tale, either. If he lingered at all, it was not on her skin so much as the worn hilt of her blade, the way she carried the weight of it when she stood, “Nah. There aren’t too many jobs I consider too small, no’ really. So long’s ye catch me before winter sets in—I don’ like to work over the winter if I don’ have to—smithin’ jus’ ‘bout anythin’ is no’ a problem. Though, as I said, should ye return—”

Ellis grinned, stretching his lithe, narrow frame in the heat of his forge as if to emphasize the last of his last words that hung like hot coals on the tip of his tongue. He had no exceptions save the requests for large numbers of general use weapons from Seryth; he couldn’t possibly spar all of hell’s legions who wanted a hand axe,

“—I’ve got a rule.”

[bellevenna]

Greensleeves || Belle + Markus

December's dawning saw Belle returned to the snow swept shores of Norway. Her life in Athoria, the adventures she had undertaken with Tak and his colorful crew, lay well behind her, seperated from this icey pristine place by an expanse of ocean and time that could be forded by no man. The first snow had fallen the day before, blanketing ground and trees and buildings in a thick suffocating layer of white; a shroud for a season now fully dead and gone. She had sat up most of the night, unable to sleep, and watched the fat flakes fall outside the thick lead-lined glass of her window, illuminated only by the pale light of a full moon.

She had procured a room in Hafslo, not far from the church bearing her name that had been built by that returning Knight Templar all those centuries ago. From the inn's front steps she could look across an expanse of road and field and see the monks at their work, tiny brown and green figures moving along the shore and amongst crowds of farm animals. They were good men, all, as they had ever been and, near as she knew, would always be.

Today had been spent amongst those men and the people of Hafslo. It had been a holy day, the monks and their flock venerating Saint Sunniva, that Hibernian woman turn protectress of Norway and her western shores. The stave church, its interior already painted to emulate the Green Lady's fondness for wild woods, had been further festooned with evergreen boughs and sprigs of holly. A statue of the saint sat the church's front, standing shoulder to shoulder with the likeness of Sofiel, both draped in garlands and lighted by the flames of dozens of votive candles.

Prayers and offerings had been gathered and presented before the carven likeness both women for guidance and protection through the long, hard months of a winter barely begun. Belle, head bowed as she sat at the back of the church and hands clasped tightly, prayed fervently to the saint to intercede on the behalf of these goodly people; they did not deserve to suffer for her own misdeeds.

At service's end, the congregation gathered outside for continued fellowship, shared over roughly hewn wooden tables set with steaming hot stews and freshly baked breadloaves and further warmed by well-tended firepits. Sunniva and Sofiel were further named, praised, beseeched in the courser language of the common man as he clinked mugs full of beer with his kith and kin.

Belle stood apart from this celebration, lingering at the church's front door. It was a bittersweet thing to be back here, to see that this community continued to thrive, ignorant of her presence and Fall from Grace. She had been welcomed with open arms by the brothers and people in town and the warmth of their hospitality had almost been too much to bear; she wanted so much to tell them who she was, that she was undeserving of their kindness. Instead, she held her tongue and threw herself into helping in every way she could: there was firewood to be collected, animals to tend, hunts to lead, roofs to be mended.

These acts had started some to whispering that she was the Green Lady returned, incognito, and though the brothers who wore her green did not comment the rumors persisted. They grew more bold on this day especially as the villagers looked from the strange lady to the icon and saw a remarkable likeness; another reason for her keeping apart.

An anonymous gift had been made to her this morning of a dress for the celebration. Though she questioned near everyone she could, Belle could not uncover its sender and, so, there was nothing for it but to wear the garment and hope the gift giver made themselves known. Still ignorant of its origins, the girl drew a heavy fur cloak about her shoulders and made her way past the feasting and firepits and down an unseen path, away from the revelry to a place of quiet and solitude.

Here, too, she stood out and apart against a starkly white backdrop. The dress was of a rich emerald green, gathered just under the bust with a wide golden belt, skirts sheer fabric overlayed yards of shining silk. Sleeves trailed to the ground, golden bands at the biceps and trim framing the pale flesh of her decolletage. Unbound hair fell in waves to her waist, sprigs of holly tucked behind both ears and to any who could see, who knew her as she had once been, the sight she presented would have been a look into the past.

[bellevenna]

Dangerous Ground || Julian + Shiloh

"Engagin' in a bit of B and E, are we, then? It's not enough you broke her heart, you 'ave to break her door, too?" The voice came from the side alley that ran alongside the tavern Belle's room was housed above. It greeted Shiloh as he came out the tavern's back door, constanents and vowels slurring and slushing together in a rather particular brand of English; being a native of that land, Shiloh might peg it as belonging to a Liverpudlian, though there remained something off about it. As if it were more an approximation of that accent rather than belonging to one born and bred in that borough.

The man it belonged to emerged from the shadows and while they weren't particularly deep in their darkness, they had done an uncanny job in hiding him. He was tall, good-looking, beautiful even, golden skinned and dark eyed, copper freckles dusted across the bridge of his nose. His long black tresses were worn loosely pulled back in a messy knot at the nape of his neck; his clothes had something of the rogue about them: linen shirt carelessly untied, black leather jacket, too-tight trousers, boots. No visible weapons, but here in the Slums that meant nothing. A familiar scent clung to him, a spicey masculine musk the wolf had just encountered in Belle's home.

He produced an apple from, well, it had to have been a hidden pocket because apples don't just materialize from nothing. The fruit was polished against one sleeve then bitten into with a satisfying crunch. The man leaned against one wall non-chalantly, obviously in no rush and, more than that, sensing no danger from the one he addressed.

"For your sake, mate, I hope you didn't take anything. Our Belle, she's got a sharp eye, so she does," he said, taking another bite and wiping his mouth on the back of the hand which held the apple. The look he gave Shiloh, eyes peering over human and fruit flesh, had to have been the same the snake gave Eve. And much like that slithering usurper a hint of danger lurked in that beguiling, seductive glance.

[bellevenna]

A Long, Long Trip || Belle + Tak

[takeshi-bin]

Oh the shores of England. How they called to the warlock who found himself tangled in the web of wants by his own creation. The calling loud in song, something he heard in the distance that brought him news by way of Maya, or Samir if the lazy bird wanted to continue to do Tak’s bidding. The pirate had just left Titus’ house, and a somber mood had instantly fallen on him. Tak loved and hated his friend on equal levels, though never would express the dark word to the reaper. It was of his friends smile, and calm exterior that swirled with worry inside that dragged him up and under the riptide to make Tak want to stay on land, by his side, for longer than these fleeting days. 

But alas, the Captain was off with Maya’s nails gripped proud upon his shoulder, jacket snapping in the wind while he made the trip down the road upon a racing carriage. His hands grasped tightly to the edge of the wood along the backside. The wind blowing his long hair back while white teeth clenched his hat to keep it from blowing away. It was a rush to move so fast on land in this way, the thrill of the earth feeling like the waves, and the expectation of his forward motion coming from horses verses the sea. 

Winchester Graveyard wasn’t a long travel time between the outskirts of London, and he made it there in record timing. Leaping from the still moving carriage to land squarely on the ground. Maya fluttered with a shrill and took immediate flight as the captain rolled like a child in the meadows with his momentum not looking to slow his tumble until he landed his back, limbs spread out on either side of him. A laugh birthed deeply in his rib cage at the freedom the trip gave him, and he leaped up with a dusting of his long blue leather coat. Jewels of all kinds catching the sunlight to replace his hat to the crown of his head. 

Captain! I swear— ye be givin’ us a right scare all te time. Belle ye sure ye don’t want te find another ship to sail with?

Molly was being completely sarcastic and Tak pointed a jeweled finger her way with a twist of his wrist to make her hat blow across the meadow. Tak barked a laugh as Raz nimbly ran to collect it for Molly, and approached Belle with a wide opened arm span. 

"Belle me dear! Yeah be catchin’ me at a great time. Aye be cooped up! And in need o’ adventure ‘n most importantly te sea. So tell me lass that te reason ye be with these mangled group of bilge rats is for such a trip."

[bellevenna]

Belle watched Tak's reckless approach and break-neck tumble, a hand raised to her mouth and eyes wide with fear and surprise. She didn't think much of her skills as a nursemaid, but it seemed the good captain was intent on putting himself under her care each time they crossed paths. Molly's sardonic cry and the flick of magic, the flapping of familiar wings, all this became a raucous roar in the background; a sort of calamitous white noise.

Seeing that the captain righted himself with nary a scratch in sight, Belle met him, her fearful surprise replaced with a bold, bright smile. She embraced him, a kiss pressed to one rough cheek, then pulled away to an arm's distance. "I was told here was where I could meet you, Captain, but I had hardly thought 'twould be such a dramatic reunion!"

She looked past the beaming captain to Molly and greeted the woman with a raised hand and friendly "Hullo, Molly! Ha! You know I would sail with no others!" Then, turning back to Tak, she continued, "I would away to Norway, if you would take me. More than that, I would join your crew, would you have me, for some time."

Surely, Tak would sniff out that there was a reason behind the girl's desire to leave hearth and home. For all the fun and adventure of their last encounter, she had not left it with a longing for the sea and life in the cramped quarters belowdecks; she remained a land-lover, in her bones, more at home on solid earth and amongst the towering pines than pitching atop white-peaked waves.

Then, too, he had known her, though their acquaintence had been brief, as a level-headed girl. It wouldn't be the law she was running from, but maybe a more personal trouble? If she had a mind to share, she would.

"I would have you take me to Hafslo, on the western coast. There is a church there I long to see. I know I have no sea-skills, but I would do all I can and you know me to be quick at learning and unafraid of heights ..." This she said with a knowing smile. "What say you, Captain? Will you have me?"

[bellevenna]

Allhallowtide Acquisitions || Belle + Magdalena || FB September

[magdalena-ashwood]

Magdalena had moved simply just across the room, already able to tell that the dresses would fit perfectly just from eying Belles measurements, she was similar in build to several of the other women whom shopped here so it was easy enough to figure out what would and would not fit. She had been in the middle of repairing a dress not of her make for someone in the city whom dropped it off on her doorstep in the early hours of the morning when she heard Belles voice. Maggy looked up with a smile then and nodded. “Sure, dear, there is a screen in the corner behind you there well out of the view of the windows. There is a small mirror there also. Please go a head and take your time with them.” she chimed in the same sweet voice she always used.

Maggy wondered briefly if this Belle was the same one that Shiloh had mentioned upon their first meeting at the Ports. “It has been a while since I have attended Mass as well. Perhaps it would not be a bad idea to do so.” She said as she worked on the dress she was given to repair, it seemed like a complicated dress, the fabric of it was long and red with complicated patterns sewn into it, but Maggy seemed to just know exactly how to deal with it as her expert fingers worked over the material rather quickly to unto a stitch or remove a bit of the fabric before sewing it back up correctly. “Pardon me for asking but you wouldn’t happen to be Shilohs Belle, would you?” Maggy asked curiously.

"I only ask because I met him briefly while gathering materials for my shop at the Ports and he said he had a love named Belle whom was absolutely amazing and he wanted to bring her here sometime." Maggy said as she worked. "You seem to fit his description of loveliness perfectly, so I was just curious." She looked up then and offered a small smile. She wondered if Belle had heard about her shop through Shiloh, or if she just happened in.

[bellevenna]

"Aye, that I am." Magdalena's question as to Shiloh gave Belle pause, literally and figuratively, stopping her in her steps as she moved towards the aforementioned dressing area. Brows lowered in confusion tinged with a slight distrust. Who was this woman to be so well-acquainted with Shiloh that he should name her and she should remember the name? Iris, the wolf's closest friend, hadn't known her as Shiloh's lover until she herself had said so much.

"He has never made any mention of you to me," Belle continued, cautiously, moving once more to where she could try on the dresses at her arm. "Though, to tell true, I know so few of his friends ... Did he help you to build this place? I know he oftimes helps those in need."

Belle's words were punctuated with the sound of laces being undone and leather and cloth sliding off of skin. Her garments she folded to one side, her boots and belt resting atop the small pile. The mirror was a luxury and one she took advantage of, so rare was it for her to see her own reflection. It was a strange thing to see her own face and form, to recognize it and yet to know that it wasn't quite right. An undefinable thing, a spark, a light, could not be found, had not been found since she Fell. She saw, too, an ever-growing collection of marks, scratches, and scars spreading across arms and legs; cheeks and rose pink from sun and wind, lips chapped from the same. Hair that had once fallen in perfectly smooth waves now needed a good brushing and scrubbing; no doubt she still carried bits of the wood with her.

That thought brought a slight smile to her lips; for all her chiding Azrael for his unkept appearance, here she now was, guilty of much the same.

Mindful of all this, she slipped one of the gowns over her head, arms sliding into sleeves as the garment settled on shoulders, the skirt's hem pooling slightly at her feet. Belle fiddled and fidgeted with the garment, glancing once more to her reflection and feeling like something of an actor in a play and the role was strange and unfamiliar.

Supposing she should seek a second opinion, and needing another set of fingers to fasten the buttons lining the back, Belle pushed the heavy curtain to one side and stepped forth. "Ahh, might I bother you for a moment's time? If you could see to the buttons in the back ...?"

Belle stepped lightly to where Magdalena was seated at her work and turned to present her back to the girl, her braid pulled over one shoulder. As the other had said, the garment was a near perfect fit and the russet color suited the huntress well.

What would come as a surprise was the sight of the ruined flesh of Belle's back. Well-healed claw marks raked from one shoulder to the opposite hip, their size suggesting a particularly large wolf. Of more interest, though, were the starbursts they intersected, those looking slightly older and blooming in near perfect symmatry on each shoulderblade.

[bellevenna]

A Smith Found || Belle + Ellis || FB

[elliscallaghan]

Ellis ceased fiddling with organizing all of his small tools in order to listen, shoving his dirty hands back into the pockets of his worn, leather apron. It’d been well over fifty years since his first glimpse of a snarling werewolf visage etched itself forever into his memory, bloody and eager for more than just his insides in the dark, stale mines outside of Hereford. He’d hardly felt capable of fighting back, blowing ash and embers in his face before fleeing, and yet he’d escaped without a claw-earned scratch. England was now so long ago, and yet he could say he called that same wolf his friend. Regardless, that sense of fear and helplessness was never far from memory, easily rekindled in his thoughts by Belle’s words, the warmth of empathy spreading over his pale skin from the fiery cavity of his chest. He knew, but he didn’t. He’d always been spared the fate she hadn’t by some strange, unexpected twist of luck, though, she’d survived where plenty of others had not.

“While my situation weren’t at all th’same, I’ve been were ye were. Sorta. It was a long, long time ago when I was livin’ in England, but I remember a similar taste in my mouth to th’one ye’ve got now. Ashes that won’t come off yer tongue no matter how much water ye swallow.” The unspoken truth was his first encounters with Shiloh had been a catalyst, a terrifying sort of motivation to stop remaining in willful ignorance of his own inhumanity, to delve inward instead of continue to deflect outward, to stop pretending human was all he was meant to be. He’d been asked, that day in the mines—that day he had been more the scared boy from Ireland and even more the heartbroken creature from Norwich—what he had to live for as if his life had truly depended on it.

While he had yet to make good on his most honest of reasons—to meet his maker, the demon who twisted his existence without his permission while still a flutter of life in his mother’s womb—it was no fault of his friend’s. He held himself back, and had for decades, always with the same excuse even while living under the shadow of Seryth with the promise of assistance should he be willing to repay any favors he ask in kind. Whatever that would mean for him in the end. He was simply unsure if he was truly ready for the answers to his questions, and so he did not seek the face he burned so hotly to see.

“Normally,” Ellis shifted, moving the subject away from the fallen woman’s discomfort if only to keep himself from travelling too far away from the topic at hand, all while absorbing the somewhat surprising realization that Belle not only had the presence of mind to refuse what this creature attempted to force upon her, but to fight back with a viciousness that earned her survival. It was worth noting with no small amount of respect, more so than the remnants of her struggle still etched into the flesh of her back, “I have a habit o’sparrin’ with my customers, to get to know their fightin’ styles, to see how they work best, before I craft a weapon for them. However,” the darkling paused with a softer sort of smile on his sharp features, “Yer not yer fightin’ best, an’ yer simply askin’ for a dagger. I’ve felt the wear on that blade o’yers, an’ yer only a delicate flower t’eyes unwillin’ to look further than they should. So, I’m no’ too worried ‘bout craftin’ something that won’t please ye jus’ fine.”

He chuckled, tone of voice bordering on something taunting, though he had no interest in aggravating wounds that still obviously needed to heal, adding with a wink, “Should ye need somethin’ more again, though, jus’ consider yerself warned for the next time. I’m no’ willin’ for ye to do more damage when ye still obviously are hurtin’.”

[bellevenna]

"I had not truly feared Death until that day. A strange place to find myself as he and I were once inseperable, bound as we had been by the bonds of familial fidelity. But, I feared the rape more. I would rather have been rended and killed in that alley than have that violence visited upon me."

She did not doubt that Ellis had experienced true terror in his first encounter with one of Gaia's children, but she held a shade of doubt as to whether he fully understood the terror of her experience. Though she had been to battle innumerable times, it had never quite came to her that she could be killed. She had been an angel for so long, and so little could truly harm her, she had come to take her quasi-immortality for granted.

Upon falling she had learned, quickly, the limits of a wholly mortal body. There were lessons in pain and endurance and weakness, but still Death as a concept remained faraway; a thing visited upon others but spared for her. It was only when she stared Caine in the eye, knew him for what he was and what he could do unto her, that Belle fully, conciously, faced her mortality.

More than that, she had faced the consequences of her sex. As Sofiel, she had been revered and held on high, exalted and respected by the men in her life. She had been loved by her brothers and the monks wearing her green, an incubus and another wolf, too. Her talents in communing with beasts and the green, in handling a bow and sword, had been what mattered. So to be confronted, violently, with the fact that, as Belle, she was nothing more than a moment's pleasure taken despite her protests made the bile rise in her throat.

Her death she would, and could, face without flinching. It was the violation she could not and would not bear.

As Ellis continued a slight frown formed on Belle's face; a lingering coloring from her own thoughts, she thought after all of this he still held doubts as to her ability to wield a weapon properly. His smile, though, and the remainder of his words put her mind to ease and she chided herself for being so quick to falsely judge.

She matched his smile, the stormcloud of expression and emotions lifting, and nodded. "Do not underestimate an opponent, Mr Callaghan, even one wounded. I promise I could still prove a dangerous match." Maybe it was bravado, but then again perhaps it was truth plainly spoken. But then, as she rose from her seat, she showed signs of lingering stiffness though she made no complaint.

"I thank you, though, for your trust in my skill and I promise you I will remember you when I am next in need of a blacksmith. I have a number of blades that could benefit from a master's touch and care, arrowheads, too, in need of forging, if that is not too small a job ..."

[bellevenna]

Belle + Shiloh | Lie to Me | Depeche Mode | x

Come on and lay with me/Come on and lie to me/Tell me you love me/Say I'm the only one

[bellevenna]

A Long, Long Trip || Belle + Tak

A month and some after saying good-bye to Shiloh, Belle found herself in England. The trip had been a whim, or close enough, born of a desire to get gone from Athoria and the emotional entanglements to be found therein. Her hope remained that with enough time and distance she might be able to see things - herself, Shiloh, their shared path - more clearly. Though she also recognized that that vision was already clouded by outside forces, namely Julian. Her former lover’s sudden reappearance did more than surprise, it threw her completely off balance. Yes, he provided comfort and it brought her true joy to once more see his face, but it made the future so much more uncertain. They would not stay together; she knew it as fact as did he, but the time they had been spending together was so … Good. There was no uncertainty to be found, no doubts or secrets. They knew each other as completely as any two people could know each other; Belle never questioned whether he truly wanted her, wanted to be with her, not the way she had come to question Shiloh and his motives.

It made her question whether their relationship, hers and Shiloh’s, whether or not it was worth saving. Could she trust him? Would she trust him? Would he actually change or would he only claim to have mended his ways and only grown more careful in his infidelities? Could she bear to be hurt once more? These were unfamiliar waters, all. Abaddon and Julian had been taken from her and their reconcilliation an uncertain thing. Yes, she had seen her beloved brother since her Fall, but they remained separate, divided; their wants could not align. Julian, as he appeared now, was a distraction, a comfort. There was no future with him; he had a life that Belle remained incompatible with and so they would let each other go when he needed to return to it. Shiloh, though …

Perhaps they could make it work. Perhaps it would be worthwhile to give him, and them, a second chance. Perhaps he had learned and grown and would be ready and able to love her in the way she wanted. And so she went, back and forth, round and round, always pulled by the inescapable undercurrent of truth which was that she still loved Shiloh.

Belle sighed softly, pulling her coat a little tighter about her throat. She had sailed from Athoria to England, one of the shortest ocean voyages to be made, and now stood on that nation’s shores, the Winchester Graveyard to her back. The beach proved barren, desolate, rocky; its natural English form even more uninviting with the early onset of winter. She was here looking for someone, someone who could take her further north, to Norway, another staggeringly short ocean trek. Someone who might not mind terribly if she asked to stay aboard for some time longer than the trip itself would take before disembarking. 

She was waiting and looking for her old friend Captain Tak.

[bellevenna]

Markus + Belle | Martyr | Depeche Mode | x

I've been a martyr for love

I need to be by your side

I have knelt at your feet

I have felt your deceit 

Couldn't leave if I tried

[lailah-nox]

Nyx kai Physis || Lailah & Belle || FB

[lailah-nox]

"Well…let us hope your stomach holds true this time." Lailah said with a smile. Almost instantly, the image of Sofiel donning a face greener than her garb flashed in her mind. It drew a chuckle from her lips, leaving her heart fluttering with positivity as they stepped through the portal. On the other side, Lailah found herself airborne, soaring through Limbo’s dreary sky with the rest of her forces. Her dark eyes scanned the land below them, teaming with all sorts of twisted creatures and structures. It wasn’t her first time in the warped realm, but she knew some of the others would find the sights demoralizing. Looking down at Limbo was akin to staring into the doorway of Hell. 

In the distance she could see a towering mountain that emitted an eerie glow at the summit. “That is where we are headed.” She said, pointing with her ax. “It seems Furtur as already begun his attempt.” Lailah grimaced, increasing her speed. “We have to make sure it remains as such.” Almost like birds, they flew in a v-like formation. With a gentle flex of her wings she guided them upward above the sheet of dark clouds for cover. “Remember, we have the element of surprise. We hit them hard, at the center! Aim for Generals and those you can label as leaders. Take them out and the rest crumble. Sofiel and I will go for Furtur, the rest of you stay out of his path.” 

The strange yellow glow grew closer with every league the angels crossed. Moments later, they were merely a mile from the summit and the bellows and stirrings of demons could be heard. “I hope your illness has faded.” Lailah said to her Second with a small grin. She raised Darkstar and it began to emit a dark, violet light. Above her, hundreds of smaller portals took shape, yet boulder sized meteors barreled through them with blinding speed. “Dive!” The falling stars rained down with Heaven’s army in tow, Her opening attack would catch the enemy off guard and throw them in disarray. 

Just as the comets clashed with Limbo’s ground, the wave of angels smashed into the demon sea’s center like a giant fist. Chaos ensued and the battle had begun. 

[bellevenna]

“Hope and prayer, sister, are ever all I have and need,” Sofiel answered airily, wings flapping almost lazily as they entered Limbo itself. She had seen this twisted, bleak landscape countless times, but it never ceased to make her catch her breath in wonder and, yes, fear. It was a formidable sight, so much different than Heaven’s own hallowed halls, and she did not know that there was any real getting used to it. Still, she knew, too, the importance of appearance and so she did not let this doubt show. To the troops she was as cool and collected as before, nodding sharply to Lailah’s orders and directing their soldiers towards their targets.

Sofiel, she of ethereal gowns and floral crowns was gone, put aside, and now here appeared Sofiel, soldier and commander. The sword she had in hand slipped back into its sheath, replaced by the blessed bow at her back. It had no string and looked more ornamental than functional, so intricately and delicately carved it was. In her hands it nearly hummed to life, the carvings emitting a faint, pale light and revealing themselves to be sigils, written in the tongue of angels. Holding it aloft, as if it were any other bow, she made a motion as if pulling back on a string and there, at her fingers, appeared a thin strand of light. Releasing her fingers as if loosing a physical arrow caused a shaft of pure light to fly forth, a shooting star that found its mark in the chest of a demon far below. He stopped in his tracks, his scream stopped by the fire that consumed him from the inside out, leaving naught but blackened ash that soon scattered on the wind. 

This destructive rain she poured on their bubbling, pressing enemy as she and Lailah moved forth in search of Furtur. Her aim was ever true, her fiery comets cutting a wide path through which their troops could move. More than once she saved a life, bringing down a demon or devil who would have laid an angel low with a brutish, cruel blow. Ever onward she and Lailah pressed, their eyes fixed on the prize of this battle: Furtur. 

The chaos swirling beneath them was nearly overwhelming to behold. Each army clashed and locked, gained ground and lost it, pressed on and were pushed back. Death screams, divine and infernal, mixed with thousands of feet stomping on desolate earth and the clanging of arms and shields; even in the sky, it was nearly deafening. In the back of her mind, Sofiel thought that this must be what Hell was like, all of the time. Even further back, she wondered how Abaddon stood it.

A general’s lucky shot pulled her from this grim reverie. His bolt glanced off her armor, catching her by surprise, and she answered it with a far better aimed bolt of her own, killing him in an instant then loosing a score more to bring down the soldiers surrounding his burning corpse. 

[bellevenna]

Well Met and Well Meaning || Belle + Iris

[irisbeckett]

She used her hand as well while she ate, although it was not so much to cover her mouth as it was to help stuff the oversized bite of meat that tore from the leg into her already swollen cheeks. The sight was sorely unladylike, she knew, but food this delicious called for such freedom from things like dainty chewing, instead loudly licking and smacking her lips as she enjoyed her meal on the go. Iris swallowed half of what was in her mouth as Belle caught her up on what had happened since they’d last crossed paths. The orange-locked woman grinned and spoke around the meat still tucked in her cheek. “You found a long-lost brother? That’s amazing! I’m happy for you! Unless you lost him on purpose in the first place…” She let her thought drift off, knowing that many families were split apart by forces beyond their control, war, famine, natural disasters, but then other families were separated for very definite and intended reasons. Not knowing which pertained to Belle, she was happy for the change in subject.

She was not, however, prepared for what the girl said next. Although Shiloh had told her everything that night at the Great Wash about what was going on in his life, including a woman named Belle, she had never put it together that it could be the same one she’d bumped into that day in Leeds. After all, Belle wasn’t an entirely uncommon name. It could have been any number of girls named Belle. But it wasn’t. It was her. Iris didn’t even realize she’d stopped in her tracks until the other people walking behind her began nudging her forward and sidling past her. Of all the things she could have said as she stared at her, a look of surprise and realization plastered on her face, all she could manage to say was, “You’re his Belle.”

Finally, her body responded to some tiny voice in the back of her mind that told her to keep moving and she shuffled forward, leading her friend away from the crowd to somewhere quieter where they could talk in peace. “He told me about you. And I’m guessing by the fact that you mentioned him at all to me, that he told you about me, too.” Her tone remained friendly, if a little soft from the shock of the discovery, but as she thought about just what this woman meant to her dearest friend, it was a miracle in itself that Iris’ normally brown eyes didn’t turn green with envy. It wasn’t as if she couldn’t have the same relationship with him as Belle did if she wanted. The last time she’d seen him, he’d made it abundantly clear that he was open to the idea. But although it was something she wouldn’t allow herself to have, it didn’t stem the feelings of jealousy that instantly coursed through her in the presence of Shiloh’s lover. “How’s he been?”

[bellevenna]

It hadn’t occurred to Belle that Iris would be ignorant to her connection to Shiloh. She knew full well of his relationship with Iris, couldn’t help but know as he bore her name as a brand, and so she had only assumed that the knowledge ran both ways. That the other didn’t immediately know did not sit immediately well with the huntress; it made her think of secrets, secrets kept, and she did not like the thought that she herself, their romance, was something to hide as if it were a shameful thing. It made her wonder what other secrets he was keeping from her, from Iris, from himself.

These thoughts flashed across her mind, quicker than lightening, barely touching the surface before disappearing into the inky depths of conscious and sub-conscious. She nodded at Iris’ spoken realization, a small gesture, chin barely nodding downwards. 

“I know you’re a very dear friend to him. I know he bears your brand. I know he loves you.” It felt strange to say the words aloud, to hear her voice maintain its friendly tone, to feel the small smile tugging at her lips. She had broached this subject, Iris and the others in Shiloh’s life and heart, with the wolf some little time before this. There had been reassurances, promises made and, at the time, believed. She held no ill-will towards this colorful, forthright girl; Belle had liked her right away after their fleeting meeting in Leeds. There might have been a twinge of jealousy there, in the knowledge that this is who she had to share the man she loved with, but she couldn’t bring herself to be angry with her. There was no point in it.

Belle walked where Iris lead, glad to be moved to a space less crowded, less teeming with chattering and bustling life. “He’s well,” came her answer, eyes downcast, intent on the hank of turkey still in her hand. Her appetite had mostly gone, but it felt rude, a slight, to let the thing go to waste. A strange, silly thought. “We went to the Saint Swithun’s festival in town,” she continued, eyes lifting. “I don’t know that he grasped the importance of the day, but it meant very much to me that he came.”

A silence settled between them, awkward and slightly uncomfortable. Belle fidgeted with the bone, moving it from one hand to the other. Finally, she blurted out, “I do not know how to proceed with this. I do not have the experience for it. If the stories I have heard hold true, we should fight and scrabble, or I should break into tears and plead with you to stay away … Or perhaps you are meant to plead with me. I do not know. Please, believe me, I mean no harm towards you and I do not want a man, no matter how dear he might be, to prevent our becoming friends.”

[bellevenna]

Hunter and Hunted || Rosemary + Belle

As the days following her parting from Shiloh stretched on into weeks, Belle found herself finding some comfort and solace in life’s familiar routine.  The care and keeping of her room, the hunting and skinning of animals, the business of trading those acquired furs for coin or goods, the maintaining of weapons and skill. There were other relationships to be maintained, tended to, cultivated. A face from the past had recently cropped up in her present, momentarily throwing everything off-balance and askew though this, too, was slowly becoming a more ordinary thing; a sort of exciting surprising non-surprise.

In that time, the weather had taken a turn towards the truly cold. Autumn still reigned, but winter was close behind, felt most keenly in the early morning hours or late at night, in the sharp briskness of the air and the clear crispness of the pre-dawn and midnight sky. For her hunts, Belle now dressed in layers: leather jerkin over linen shirt, long socks under leather pants and boots, a hooded jacket with big rudely carved bone buttons. Her hunting knife hung at her hip; quiver at her back, hanging at an angle. The longbow she used in her hunts, an impressive weapon carved from yew and nearly half a foot taller than she, she kept at hand.

Presently, she was trekking through the woods, soft-soled feet crunching quietly on a freshly fallen carpet of gold and crimson leaves. The sun was high in the sky, it was mid-day, and the air carried a crisp note, pinking nose and cheeks while chilling fingers and ears. Belle was hunting hares today, had bagged two already, their limp forms hanging from thin leather straps looped about their legs, the straps connected to a leather bag at her hip and was looking for a third; their fur would be sought after for the fast-approaching winter months to say nothing of the meat which could provide at least one hearty meal to a hungry family. 

She wasn’t thinking of Shiloh, or where she might go from here, what the future might hold, what Julian’s reappearance into her life actually meant. She was thinking only of tracking the last hare she had spotted and adding him to her day’s bounty. And so, she was more than a little surprised to come across not her prey, but another woman this deep in the woods.

Belle kept back for a moment, unsure of what the other's business was, then stepped forward, purposefully snapping a twig so as not to frighten the stranger too badly. A smile lifted the corners of her lips and she raised her free hand in a greeting. "Well met and good day. Have you come here for a stroll or ...?" She left the question hanging, politely, relying on the other to let it be known whether she wished for company or continued solitude.