d e s t r o y e r

( an independent semi-private original character ) there was once an angel. a beautiful creature of terrifying beauty, she had lips like blood and a voice like silk. beneath her hand, thousands fell; under orders from god, she took the lives of nonbelievers. not once did she question her role, her heavenly duty. until the rebellion. she joined the morningstar in the war against their creator. and so she fell. abaddon, they called her.

[justimberlake]

[starbinds]

[exterminxns]

     there are limbs locked together, laid bare beneath egyptian      cotton sheets. blonde hair splays over pillows and laughter,      rich and heady, slips out from mouths bruised from kisses      passed back and forth all night. 

     abaddon surfaces from the curve of her lover's stomach,      deft movements dragging elegant fingers along the jut of      her hip and the smooth slope of her chest. nails linger, dig      playfully into the muscle of andromeda's shoulder, and a      tongue laves at the marks left behind. 

          ` we should get up soon. ’

     not that she minds this. oh no, this is heaven for the angel.

[exterminxns]

     perhaps it's odd for him to be there, for him to have made      the effort to arrive upon the threshold of a place he himself      has never been admitted to. 

     still, he is there, with a bouquet of flowers in his hands and      the line of his jaw set sternly, sinew tautly pulled beneath      freckled skin. still, he pushes open the door of the hospital      room and enters with somber steps.

          ` surprise, gorgeous. ’

[exterminxns]

Her question, innocent as it is, strikes him with a flood of memories best left buried. Inside him a darkness is riled that he must calm with a generous sip of wine and, unbeknownst to Dasia, the simple touch of her hand. 

"Shall I tell you the whole story, Dasia?" Jonathan’s voice is soft, controlled. He settles a hand over hers where it rests against his thigh and traces the smoothness of her skin with his fingertips. If she looks she would see the scars the pepper his own hands that match the ones at the back of his neck.

Time does not heal all wounds.

He looks at her with that ocean gaze, cool and calculating in that moment. Distant from the history he will inevitably tell, keeping what lurks within him from rising further. “Because I will. If you wish it.”

     she does it without thinking. palm turns and fingers,      delicate in appearance, lace with his. their knuckles      knock, alabaster beneath skin, and the chanel red      of her nails stands in stark contrast to the porcelain      pale of their flesh. 

          ` please do. ’ there's a comfort in his trust in her.           it warms her from the inside out, settles her little           hummingbird heart and cracks a tiny smile over           the line of her mouth.

     limbs align, readjust and sink more wholly into his      form. she's hooked a long leg over his, careful not      to jostle his glass or dislodge their joined hands.      her shoulder fits easily, like a matching piece of a      puzzle, beneath his arm. it's nice, she thinks. it's      rewarding how far they have come, how easily one      another fit into each other's lives now.

     but still, there is much to learn and she savours the      challenge. 

[gloriouscaps]

[exterminxns]

     observation done carefully, with a gaze that speaks      multitudes to her attitude. mouth pursed, set in a      sharp line that only falters when she exhales and      smoke curls, thick and clouded, from between two      petals painted pink.

          ` what's wrong with you? ’ it's not meant to be           offensive or rude or anything of the sort— no, it's           simple curiosity phrased in a manner that echoes           suspicion.

     because this boy, with his cherub face and golden      strands, may appear an angel, but beneath that      exterior, something festers. something abaddon,      the destroyer, notes with ease.

[exterminxns]

     cue hands, skeletal and slender and adorned with      rings, coiling around the broad slope of a shoulder.      cue laughter that echoes, sultry and rich from the      depths of her chest, from behind her brass and      bone ribcage. 

          ` you look like an idiot. ’

     words spoken with all the affection she can afford,      accented with a certain sweetness that bites like      honeycomb into the spaces between molars and      sinks beneath pores. 

          ‘ why are we here again? ’ chin tipped, made           to rest comfortably into the crook of his neck.

[exterminxns]

Jonathan watches her as she rises with all the elegance perhaps anyone could possibly muster. How she does it he is unsure, but it leaves him utterly transfixed. Beguiled.

He can feel it too. In that delicate moment she leans against him his heart flutters caged under ribs, it pounding as if desperate to be free. Turning his head towards her Jonathan finds himself pressing a kiss into the soft golden curls at the crown of her hair. A simple gesture of affection that her very presence demands.

"I wanted to be far away from home," Jonathan won’t say too much more unless she asks and even then, with hesitation. "And Gotham University offered me a full scholarship."

     the smallest of smiles spreads delighted over her      mouth, curling cardinal petals. lashes lower, flutter      closed momentarily, and she takes a brief second      to enjoy the quiet, subdued display of affection. 

     dasia has learnt to savour them, to tuck these little      memories away into the spaces behind her ribs,      because they are most precious to her. they may      not be grand gestures of love and devotion, but      they mean more to her than she could begin to      even describe.

          ` you're a smart man. it makes sense. ’ and           she's mulling over her next question, trying to           decide whether or not to voice her curiosity.

               ‘ what was wrong with home? ’

     not that she isn't grateful, of course. no, dasia is      endlessly glad for his presence here, in her life      and for that fateful night seven — or eight? time      has passed so strangely since their meeting —      months prior. 

     slender fingers, adorned with nails carved into      talons, settle upon his thigh. it's casual, simply      a habit, but comforting all the same. there's just      something so heartening in the feel of sinew and      bone beneath her hand, something rewarding in      the physical reminder of her love.

[exterminxns]

Interesting. It certainly explained how cultured, how utterly exquisite a woman Dasia was, to have come from abroad. The moment he’d laid eyes on her Jonathan had known she had not belonged to this wretched city.

"Oh? Both beautiful places." Jonathan comments genuinely and draws a sip from his glass. The delightful taste, the rich plummy undertones and delicate bouquet of the wine fill his head for a moment. Perhaps one day he would steal her away back to those lands.

"Ah, yes. But not in Gotham. I only came here for university." He nods, meeting her eyes with a stark vulnerability he has known with few others. "I was born and raised in Latham, Georgia. Not terribly far from Atlanta." Even as he speaks the locations he can feel the slight Southern twang in his accent slip. He has long tried to repress it but from time to time it reemerges. 

He’s set his book down now to devote his attention to Dasia, to the sweet crimson of her lips and the fierceness, the passion of her gaze.

     ` latham. ’ the word rolls unfamiliar off her tongue,      something foreign and alien because despite her      age, despite her experience, she's never met any      other person from georgia. fitting, that jonathan      would be her first. 

     limbs stretch, extend and elongate like those of      a panther. she's cat-like and elegant as she sets     her glass down, now drained of the ruby liquid,     and rises in one singular movement. with all the     grace of a dancer, she closes the small distance     between themselves and settles against his side.

     there is no hesitation, no question, when silken      strands brush his cheek, temple resting easily      upon the slope of his narrow shoulder.

          ‘ why did you choose gotham for school? ’           and she's curious, truly. for once, she cares           about the life of another.

     oh, jonathan crane. look what you've done to      the poor girl.

[wearyvoices]

[exterminxns]

cranecranegoaway:

"Dasia," Jonathan looks up from his book with a curious brow raised. In one hand he balances the novel and the other a glass of wine both illuminated by the warm yellow glow of the lamp on the dark wood table to his right. She, across the way on the couch and sipping from her own glass, is mostly scouring the television for a decent program and distracting Jonathan’s reading with the bare, slender line of her legs crossed over one another.

"Where are you from, hm? We have never discussed your history." He isn’t entirely sure from where the question has come, though it is perhaps time. She knows not everything of his past—but he would tell her if she asked.

     she's unsure where the question comes from and      truth be told, she hesitates in answering. it isn't      that she does not trust this man — she does, in      every way she knows how, with softly spoken i      love you's and furtive glances over dinner — but      simply that it is not a question she's been asked      in the past. never before has she become close      enough to another to elicit this sort of question.

     silent, wine is passed from glass to tongue and      swirled among perfect porcelain enamel. what      should she say? did she even have an answer?      where had she taken on this form? could she      really even remember. 

          ` venice, ’ the blonde murmurs after a brief           moment of consideration. ‘ but i grew up in           ireland. ’ she's turned to face him fully now,           delicate stem of her glass clasped between           manicured nails.

               ‘ you're american, aren't you? born and                raised here in gotham, jonathan? ’ 

     how curious that despite the intimacy of their      relationship, she still knows so little of the man.      even completely in love, he remains an enigma.

[exterminxns]

[text] Stay the night with me.

( message : crane, jonathan ) Say please.

[exterminxns]

[exterminxns]

[ He lets out a short, bitter laugh. She is right, after all. But what he is about to tell her is an epiphany, a decision that has marinated in mind, body and soul. Jonathan finds himself suddenly apprehensive and strangely compelled to tell her.

Dasia, despite her teasing, is safe. 

Safe. ]

I have let her go. No longer shall I pine for a woman who detests me. There is no more photo. No more perfume to fill my memories.

[ He references the drawer Dasia knows personally. What words fall from his lips next surprise even him. ]

There is only you.

     ( this is the last thing she is expecting      to drip from a mouth she knows so very      well. 

          surprise etches itself into every youthful           line of her face, settling into the way her           lips part and her brow furrows. it seems           far too good to be true, a simple dream           that will be torn from clawed hands and           cast away before she has time to realize           it. ) 

                                    It's about time.

     ( perhaps not the best response, nor one      that should be uttered by a woman after      a confession as such, but dasia's mind      still reels and it is all she can think to say.

          quite surprising, given her usual nature. ) 

[exterminxns]

Uh, tense? 

[ Jonathan knows the tone she’s using—Dasia is trying to fluster him. To see how far she can push him until he gives in…or pushes back. ]

I’m fine, Dasia. [ He has an accomplished poker face. Clenched jaw, steely eyes. But he should know better than to try to conceal anything from her. Jonathan looks up admiring the golden halo of her hair in the light. ]

I have been doing quite a bit of…thinking.

     ( it isn't often she's met with someone who      can hold their own against her. to have him      so sure, so enigmatic despite her teasing,      is a wonder and something that impresses      her endlessly.

          just one of the many reasons she loves           jonathan crane. )

               Thinking? Aren't you always thinking?

     ( curiosity is piqued, but she answers with a      mocking quality in her tone, one that's only      softened by the tenderness in her gaze.

          she's shifted now, hip resting agains the           back of the supple couch as she studies           him. )  

[exterminxns]

[ He’s finally somewhat awake and his lips curl into the slightest of smiles that he reserves for Dasia. She’s teasing him—if she were truly cross with him there would be no doubt in his mind. ]

No, I don’t suppose that you do.

[ Jonathan’s breath hitches slightly as her hand ghosts across his shoulder and into his hair. Did she notice? ]

Uh, green. There’s new box in the cabinet.

     ( if she were any lesser of a woman, she      might have let it go. but as it stands, she      is abaddon and the widest of grins split a      cardinal mouth.

          she is a cheshire cat, a feline that's just           caught the proverbial canary between           lateral incisors. )

               Are you alright, Jonathan?

     ( a purr, a bat of lashes. fingers once      again over warm flesh, resting upon a      pulse point with the utmost delicacy. )

          You seem tense. 

               ( it seemed that tea could wait. this was                simply too good. )