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fraxdulenti:

Mephistopheles listens intently as every breath was drawn, shaky, and even if they were connected by only means of a telephone line, the Fallen can hear the other’s already loud heart beating. There was a pause, and for a moment he was not sure if the other was still there, until the word was mentioned.

Control.

Power. This was not an uncommon thing to be asked from a mentally unstable boy, yet, at the same time, it was not common for a boy to ask for him. To be this desperate? The humans have sunk so LOW, it made him want to laugh. A smile covered his face as he continues to listen to every word that brimmed with a hint of madness in it. He has him.

“I am not in the habit of making business using the telephone. Shall we meet, then?”

“YES. Yes, oh, God, yes. Where- where do you want to meet? I mean- I’m downtown, I’m at the library we could- anywhere’s fine, really.” He’s gathering his papers as he says it, and the phone is pressed between his shoulder and his ear. There are a few awkward moments of shuffling and a few grunts as Maxwell gets his shit together. “OKAY, I’m outside the- I’m on the steps of the Library? Where do you... where should I wait?”

#reply.#v: goin' to hell anyways.#fraxdulenti #cries

fraxdulenti:

The Fallen always fancies a challenge. This one, seems like he is. So, he offers one. If he gets his name right, then he will ‘help’ him. A troubled soul, a constant with all of his clients if he were to be honest. Sunday happened afterwards. Sleep came to him easily these days, and so were the nightmares. Often, he will wake up in a panic, cold sweat covering his body as he tries to separate reality from fantasy. Weekend meant he had no job to do. He was never a morning person and the average amount for him to rest was four hours. It was late—- so late for he refuses to wake up early. He was never a morning person. And so it was around noon when his phone began to rang. Groggily reaching out for his phone, he clears his throat, about to speak when someone says his N A M E. ——It was the child he met. Last night? Yes, last night. He finally had solved the recklessness of his own name. A smirk curled on his lips as he answers it lowly. “About time.” He says, “What will it be, Maxwell?”

“I WANT- I just-” he took a shaky breath, tired eyes closing and trying sort through the impulsive thoughts that came to his mind. His heart raced, blood anxiously rushing trough his ears and a feeling of disgusting discomfort swelling up in his throat. “Control. I want control.” AND ALMOST as though his mind were trying to prove a point, he slammed his fists on the table, earning him a few sideways glances from library patrons and he blurted out, “Not- not just over myself. I don’t- I- want control over people. I want- I just want to not feel helpless, you know? I mean, I want control over myself, my body, and stuff, too. Just, other people, too. Is that too much to ask? I can’t live like this anymore.”

#v: goin' to hell anyways.#reply.#fraxdulenti #haha ha ha h

notamailman:

Then I will leave. I am not a child.

what did i do?

#notamailman #reply.#v: i close my eyes and feel myself fly a thousand miles away.

extihnction

#i'm not sick.

soulvoiced:

❝ you’re standing like– really close. ❞

( he slid backwards a bit, the other’s proximity making him a bit uncomfortable– he wasn’t used to his personal bubble being invaded out of nowhere off stage. )

“i am? really?”

( he fiddled nervously with his sleeves, shrinking back into himself. he thought he was in perfectly normal people range? )

#souldvoiced #v: i close my eyes and feel myself fly a thousand miles away.

mythorlegend:

thanks. i’m eolande, by the way!

nice name! i’m maxwell.

#reply.#v: i close my eyes and feel myself fly a thousand miles away.#mythorlegend

offline

drafts: mythorlegend, fraxdulenti. (2)

#out of my mind!

mythorlegend:

ah, sorry. i didn’t see you there.

don’t worry ‘bout it!

#reply.#v: i close my eyes and feel myself fly a thousand miles away.#mythorlegend

mythorlegend started following you

uh... hey, you’re kind of blocking the doorway?

#Closed starter.#rip in peace me #mythorlegend #v: i close my eyes and feel myself fly a thousand miles away.

vegaslightsvillain

anyone else?

#razia's shadow!#out of my mind!

minuseyes:

– no, ew. i just said i fucked her, chill out bro. i thought that was fuckin’ funny.

i wasn’t being serious either..? ugh, you know what, never mind. this conversation is not going well.

#reply.#v: i close my eyes and feel myself fly a thousand miles away.#minuseyes

fraxdulenti:

The reaction made the other did not move the Fallen, instead earning the other a disappointed glare from him, “I do think most butlers do, and I just did.” He said lowly as he looks at the other inspecting his card. At the pleas, he quickly stands. He was no martyr, and this boy knows not what he was getting into. But, it might be worth it, “The answer to who I am is in the name.” He whispers, before leaving.

He squints down at the card, very lost, very confused, very angry. He looks down to the card, and up at the leaving man, crying out after him, “Please!” And quietly, long after the man has left the bar, “Please.” Max stays sitting there for hours, trying to figure it out. By the end of the night he’s not sober, very far from it, and he almost has a headache, he’s been staring at the card so long. All the patrons have left the bar, and he’s being kicked out. But he needs to figure it out, he needs to- It’s no surprise he blacked out. It is surprising that he wakes up at the library, surrounded by books and random notes. He does not remember any of this. Nor can he make sense of most of it. But nonetheless, it was still pretty impressive work, especially that was done while he was super incredibly drunk, so he gets to work deciphering it. When he finally does, he’s exhausted, and it comes like a streak of lightening; it’s an anagram. For something. STEPHOMI -> MEPHISTO. Thank God for the internet and it’s handy ability for anagrams. After a quick Google search (okay, not quick) he “immediately” called the number on the card, whispering hoarsely and breathlessly into the phone, “Mephistopheles.”

#reply.#v: goin' to hell anyways.#fraxdulenti #;))))

minuseyes:

— i’m actually serious, though. i fucked your mom like, what? ten, twenty years ago?

are you implicating that you’re my father, jackass?

#reply.#v: i close my eyes and feel myself fly a thousand miles away.#minuseyes #the queue is mad baby.

fraxdulenti:

The child was certainly starting to annoy him. Humans always do, in a way. They are all annoying. He must need something from him, for he was growing desperate. The same queries again and again did not help his situation. Of course, at the rejection of his alias, the Fallen tilts his head. This child was reckless, and also a fool. But he is not wrong in thinking that he is not a human. “I am Zadkiel Stephomi,” he answers once more, “Let me not be a part of your fantasies, young sir. It will make things easier for you.”

He hit his fits on the bar, causing a couple of people to turn around an look, but he didn’t care, he just didn’t care. “Nobody says that. Nobody says ‘young sir’.” He was getting increasingly fidgety, and he stared down at the printed words on the business card, repeating to himself, “I can’t be wrong. I can’t be.” After a while of that he turned back to the other man and said quietly, “Please. Please just help me. I know you can. Please.”

#reply.#v: goin' to hell anyways.#fraxdulenti #you say no max says fuck yes

dominusofhell:

Damien took the phone, punching in his number before clicking the call button. “We going now?” He pulled his phone out, programing his before looking to him. “I’m hungry.”

Max took his phone back, looking down at the number with pride before saying, “Alright. Do you want me to get a cab, or d’ya wanna walk? I know a place a few blocks from here off Times Square. Then we can cab it from there to Brooklyn.”

#reply.#v: i #dominusofhell #i'm so glad i have a muse that lives in nyc #because i actually know the city yesss

use-your-fuckin-illusion

#pathetic.#the queue is mad baby.

fraxdulenti:

Drinking a glass of vodka seems to be quite a relaxation for the Fallen. It had been a week since he had met the emotional child—- one that he has forgotten of, but not entirely. He had stayed in the city in order to lecture in their University. A public one, yet with eager minds to learn of religion and such. There was a seat vacant next to him ( seeing as he was either too uninterested or intimidating for a proper conversation ) when a blond sits next to him and he has turned his head rather slowly, as if he was in a drama film. Ah, yes. Him. “Who am I?” he repeats the question, before taking out a business card from his suit, “Zadkiel Stephomi. Nice to meet you, sir.”

The drink is placed in front of him but he does not touch it, he doesn’t even look. He’s zoned in on this guy, he’s going to get answers, he’s going to know for real. He doesn’t look at the business card, just takes it and places it on the counter with (slightly) shaking hands. “No.” He’s angry, blinking a lot, for no reason, as if trying to see clearly. “Who are you,” he repeats, over enunciating each syllable. It’s not a question. “Tell me.”

#reply.#v: goin' to hell anyways.#fraxdulenti

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I DIDN'T DO IT