Oleander Mareth

Dying is something you have no control over. Why waste your life being afraid of it?

[oleander-mareth-blog]

Funny the Way it Is | Florentin & Oleander

[florentin-didier-blog]

Florentin doesn’t bother holding back the smirk as he watches Oleander, eyes blown wide with the sudden bloom of arousal Florentin has evoked in him. He’s rewarded with a sharp nip of Oleander’s teeth, evoking licks of heat down Florentin’s spine of its own accord. 

Florentin is the one transfixed now, by the sweep of that tongue over those lips. He’s tasted thousands before, and will likely taste thousands more to come, but in this moment, he swears he’s never found any lips so tantalizing. 

“You missed a spot,” he murmurs, leaning forward to lick the barely-there hint of red at the side of Oleander’s mouth, too quick to count as a kiss, but too close to be anything else. 

[oleander-mareth-blog]

He’s already jumped from one thought to the next, attention back on the food by the time Florentin speaks again, feeling like what he might imagine a hummingbird feels like with how fast they always seem to be moving. He’s nervous in a way that he’s not sure he’s ever experienced in a situation like this. To be fair he’s fairly certain he’s never been in a situation like this, and certainly not by his own design.

“Hm--?” He goes still as Florentin leans in again, not quite holding his breath but it’s hard not to react to Florentin when they’re both so obviously aroused and both so obviously trying their very best not to succumb to their baser instincts. By this point Ollie is this close to just saying fuck it to dinner and getting to the good stuff, but he’s a) stubborn as fuck and b) spent the majority of the afternoon making sure everything was going to be perfect. 

So, reluctantly, he pulls back as much as he can with Florentin still penning him in, smirk pulling lopsidedly at his mouth. “Okay...okay--” he starts, planting a hand in the center of Florentin’s chest and gently pushing him back a step or two, “I need to focus so you need to go stand over...there. Somewhere.”

[oleander-mareth-blog]

Alcohol and Innuendo | Ollie & Chase

[deacon-rivers-blog]

He mock pouts a lip, shrugging his shoulder cutely. Chase is very rarely not ‘on’. Always putting on some kind of show—aware of how he looks and playing it up, making a statement, wagging his proverbial tail feathers, so to speak. 

It’s not that he’d consider himself fake—in fact, his charm and cheek are both very real, his playfulness very surface, but naturally so. But Chase has made a living of being desirable,  he’s carved a life and a career out of being irresistible. And without this part, he wouldn’t quite be whole. Attention starved and otherwise abandoned, this is how he survives, this is how he keeps from falling away into a dark and deep emptiness, lost and never to be found. 

So Ollie leans in, he smiles, he plays along with Chase’s game, and Chase’s heart does a flutter and a skip. Like an entertained pup, excitable eyes watching the ball that the Master just might be getting ready to throw. That temptation to yip, to whine, out of the sheer anticipation of the glee. 

‘A daring adventure, huh? What’d you have in mind?’

Chase is a mirror; he grins back. But the mirror is a naughty conscience, and his grin pulls broader, impish on its own. 

He drops his eyes a moment, finger making lazy figure eights in the surface of the bar as he plays a mocking innocence. “Could be anythin’, really. Like…” he looks back up at him, all mischief in his gaze. “Oh, I dunno, sneakin’ outta here with a bottle of Jack, makin’ our own party at the park. Wanderin’ ‘round till we find a beach party to crash. Break into a school campus, just to wander ‘round and leave evil meddlin’ notes in people’s lockers. Stuff like, ‘I slept with your boyfriend’, or ‘I gave her herpes’.” He grins—Cheshire. “Or we could just climb up onto some poor suburban sod’s roof and make out. Take a dip in their pool.”

By now his elbows rest far too close to Ollie’s side of the bar not to be noteworthy. Tongue in cheek, his eyes speak his flirtation for him, his gaze sticky and lingering. 

[oleander-mareth-blog]

For a large part of his life, Ollie never really felt the need to engage emotionally with others beyond the most mundane of things. Sex, when it happened, was a means to an end, and he'd always been very careful not to let himself get attached. That, of course, has been much harder since the siblings' arrival to Antioch. There were no other banshees here, but nevertheless the knowledge that the city was filled with supernatural creatures left him with a certain sense of...familiarity, almost, and then it was suddenly much harder to pretend that nothing affected him. 

Florentin had been the first time Ollie had recognized what he was feeling--and it wasn't exactly anything romantic beyond what would normally come from sexual encounters but the fact that he was emoting at all had been something of a marvel that occupied a large portion of his attention for several hours after they'd eventually parted ways.

He largely blames those feelings for the impulse to invite an incubus over for a dinner date, because nothing else could possibly account for that lack of common sense, trust or no trust. He doesn't regret it--his sisters had basically pretended the entire evening had never happened, much to his relief, and he had done the same where they were concerned. If he caught them smiling at him in an odd way he pretended not to notice.

His thoughts are brushed aside as Chase looks back up at him, and he only finds himself grinning wider as the other speaks. None of his ideas sound boring in the least, and while he may have a natural inclination towards the latter by way of his love for all things pleasant. He laughs, though, leaning in with his weight braced on one elbow as he responds.

"I don't know that there are any rooftop pools in little ol' Antioch, but the rest of that choice sounds like fun."

[wrenmareth-blog]

Wren nodded as she finished cleaning up the mess. Something was wrong with Ollie, she knew. She was always knew. Placing everything away she looked at her brother before she just wrapped her arms around him. Wren didn’t say a thing, didn’t even want to listen to a protest. She just wanted to comfort her brother, to let him know she was there regardless of how he felt.

[oleander-mareth-blog]

He’s only a little surprised when Wren hugs him--they’ve never been the most touchy-feely family, and the two of them in particular have never been overly physical when it came to expressing their feelings. But it feels good right now, partly because he can’t get to Rowan right at the moment and partly because it’s Wren. She’s always seemed like the steady one of the four of them, and while Ollie doesn’t typically follow in that respect, he can appreciate it when he needs to. Like now. “Thank you.”

[thewilladarling-blog]

Willa closed her eyes taking in a deep breath. He really had no reason to be short, as the man had offered, he’d apologized. Finally getting her things together, Willa stood, balancing the books on his hip. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be a bitch.” slipped from the nymphs lips honestly. “Just had a shit day.” was added with a shrug of her shoulders. 

[oleander-mareth-blog]

He’s still a little offended, and her words don’t do a whole lot to ease that feeling, genuinely meant or not. He doesn’t say anything, though, knowing full well that he wouldn’t be helping either of their cases if he pushed. There’s a moment where he hesitates, not quite sure whether he should apologize again or just keep walking. His manners cry for the former, but his roiling emotions of the day keep the words from forming. “Well,” he says eventually, “here’s hoping it gets better for you.”

[flxwed-dxvenpxrt-deactivated201]

“Aww, too bad that’s not my job,” she replied with a fake pout. “But don’t worry, your secret crime breaking is safe with me.” Holding out her own stack of books, she smiled. “You can just put those there. I need to get them back to the library.” 

[oleander-mareth-blog]

His grin lasts through placing the books he’s gathered on top of her already sizeable stack, but once he’s done, he hesitates. “Are you sure you don’t want a hand with those? I don’t mind.”

[oleander-mareth-blog]

Alcohol and Innuendo | Ollie & Chase

[deacon-rivers-blog]

The bloke has a nice smile, warm and gregarious and definitely, definitely charming. Chase even dares say flirtatious, but he doesn’t want to count his ducks yet…. or whatever that barmy expression is. 

But then the hand in his lingers—quite obviously, actually. It’s a long few beats after the necessary, before he lets go of his hand, and Chase’s grin sparks with something knowing, and familiar. He peers at him mischievously, from behind long, dark lashes. He licks his lips. 

“Oleander? Good name, mate. Very.. Shakespeare.” He chuckles. And the fake pout is cute—enough so that Chase sort of wants to reach out and touch it (among other things) but he resists, his narrow form leaning comfortably closer, body language inviting and curious. 

“Well, Ollie, we can still go on an adventure, f’ya like. I’m always up for somethin’ daring.”

[oleander-mareth-blog]

He’s not at all surprised by Chase’s comment about his name, though ‘very Shakespeare’ is something he hasn’t heard before. He supposes it’s refreshing, in a way, and at least Chase has some imagination when it comes to quips about his name--though a part of him is curious as to whether his opinion will change when the other learns his siblings’ names. Though it doesn’t have much bearing on them as individuals, such an unusual name has always been a part--at least for Ollie--that he’s tried to outlive.

Finally, now that they’re here--in Antioch, a place that, on the outside, seems as quaint as can be--he feels like he’s finally able to shed some of that skin that he’s lived with his entire life. The knowledge that he’s not completely human has always been something of a barrier between himself and the rest of the world; his sisters were his only solace because they were in the same situation as him. Antioch has been so different because it didn’t take the Mareths long to figure out that many people were more than they seemed. So he had that excuse to peel some of that defense back, act a little more himself--as evidenced by tonight, in fact.

There are a lot of outside influences, but in the past when he felt as hopeless as he did tonight, his typical plan was to hole himself up at home. He thought it was time for a change, maybe, or he just didn’t give a shit anymore.

He certainly gives a shit now, though, as Chase leans closer, and he has to catch himself from doing the same; if he leans too much further he might just fall right off his stool (and what a wonderful impression that would make, falling right into Chase’s lap). “A daring adventure, huh?” He grins. “What’d you have in mind?”

[flxwed-dxvenpxrt-deactivated201]

She grinned at his smile, glad that at least someone could do it. She didn’t even pay mind to her own. “Well, that’s no good. Being distracted while walking is somewhat of a criminal offence I’m sure.” 

[oleander-mareth-blog]

Her words only prove to make his grin broader, and if his arms weren’t currently full of books he probably would have held his arms out in front of him dramatically to accompany his words. “Well, clap me in irons, because I am guilty.”

[oleander-mareth-blog]

Alcohol and Innuendo | Ollie & Chase

[deacon-rivers-blog]

The man’s laugh is like a reward Chase feels he’s earned, and he smirks, skin buzzing with easy satisfaction. It’s a thrill, this part—that sensation of reeling someone in, catching their interest and holding it, pulling a little closer, a tug here, a sway there. Whether it’s platnoic, playful, or extremely otherwise, it’s all well and good. All up his alley and what he lives for. The birth and growth of the attention. The feeling of it blossoming right under his fingertips, accidental touches turning into lingering ones, glances turning into stares. 

And now he’d peaked the man’s interest with a story he can make entertaining, and he chuckles, practically preening under the pleasant feeling of being mysterious, even if he plans on leveling the playing field within moments. But his playfulness, his ability to surprise, that’s what keeps him a subject of intrigue, an element of people’s desires. It’s what kept him from falling off the map, back when he had nothing but this—this roguish charm, and a body that could be paid for. 

It’s arguable that he doesn’t have much more than that, still, but being in Antioch has at least given him a new kind of independence. He has hope for more, now, but he’s never not relied on the heavy hands and deep pockets of strangers. His service work for Isaiah comforts him, and he may not get away from wanting to rely on someone, or something, because he’s not running from it. 

He laughs boyishly, his smile bright, and easily hops onto the bar, lifting his legs and swinging them around until they’re hanging on the customer side instead, and then he hops down, takes the stool next to the stranger. “Don’t worry, love, I ain’t goin’ nowhere,” he teases, holding out his hand to shake. “Chase. And I work for the owner. So I ain’t on the schedule, but I know the ropes.” He shrugs. “They were busy, so I was just helpin’ out. Perfectly legal, I’m afraid.” His grin is cheeky, his mock pout, impish. 

[oleander-mareth-blog]

He watches, pleased, as the other swings his legs to the other side of the bar and situates himself on the stool next to him. He’s intrigued; curious, more than anything. He’s not usually the prying type, but he finds himself compelled to peel back a layer or two with this one, just for fun.

“Isn’t that a relief,” he says, grin spreading across his face again. Resituating himself, Ollie turns slightly on his stool, resting a single elbow on the bartop now as he faces the stranger more fully. “Ollie--Oleander,” he says, taking Chase’s hand to shake--and maybe holding on a bit longer than strictly necessary. But who’s counting? 

When he does finally let go his reluctance is less than subtle. If someone didn’t know better they might think that he’s the touch-starved type but it’s more than that. Being surrounded by so much death--from being stuck in his own head or getting a glimpse at what his sisters have to deal with--makes it very easy to crave life. 

It does explain his habit of sleeping his way through a town.

Chase’s explanation isn’t exactly surprising, but he fakes a pout anyway. “Damn. I was hoping for a daring escape when you got caught.” The disappointed face lasts only so long before cracking, though, and he finds himself grinning again.

[oleander-mareth-blog]

Alcohol and Innuendo | Ollie & Chase

[deacon-rivers-blog]

Chase remembers nights like this. Being on the other side of things, that is. Spending hour upon hour in some seedy little bar (so basically, nothing like the Vane) flirting his way into free drinks and seeing what he can get for an empty promise or two. 

Because he’d had nothing else to do. Nowhere else to go. 

He wonders if it’s the same for this man, but doubts it. It very much seems like he’s sitting here out of determination. Staunch resolution to steer clear of something else. The most a person can be running whilst sitting parked on a sticky bar stool. 

But there are all kinds of running. Chase should know. 

He grabs the glass with a smirk, plunking it onto the barback, and leaving it for later. And as the man leans forward with his reply, Chase lets out a bright, dash of a laugh. Because he’s right—this place would have the budget to bring in a thousand scantily lad dancers. On Monkeys. With crowns. 

“Alright, ya caught me. F’ya want the truth…” He lowers his voice, makes a teasing show of looking around to check for people listening, and leans close, as if to tell him a secret. He puts his elbows on the bar in front of the strangers, and brings his mouth just to the left of the man’s face. “I can’t bring ya dancers ‘cause I don’t work here, s’why.” Laughing a laugh that’s almost a giggle, he pulls back a bit, eyes twinkling with mischief and amusement, tongue playfully between his teeth. 

“But f’ya still want me to dance fer ya, I’d be happy to oblige. I reckon I’m pretty good. Or so I’m told.” He chuckles, throws in another wink for good measure. 

[oleander-mareth-blog]

He watches, suddenly feeling substantially less inebriated as the other leans close. It’s not even a terribly sexual move and yet he still finds himself holding his breath as the stranger speaks, the grin lurking at the corners of his mouth finally making a genuine appearance as the other pulls away. 

The other’s answer is enough to startle a laugh out of him, and he can’t help but glance around. “You’re not going to get kicked out for impersonating the help, are you?” His tone makes it clear just how uncool that would be--his own fun effectively interrupted, not to mention whatever unpleasant things his new best friend (a little optimistic?) would have to go through as a result.

Maybe he’s a touch dramatic about it all, but alcohol tends to do that to Ollie--yet another reason he usually tries to avoid it. His pride can only handle so much and he has a fascinating habit of making it difficult to maintain much dignity even in the best of circumstances.

“I don’t doubt it,” he says, though he can’t really know how good this one’s moves are--he’s a more-than-decent bartender but that doesn’t really speak to any skill relating to dancing. And besides, he’s rather hoping there ends up being more than dancing on tonight’s schedule.

[oleander-mareth-blog]

Alcohol and Innuendo | Ollie & Chase

[deacon-rivers-blog]

He smirks, tugging a cloth from his waistband, wiping his hands with it and tossing it onto the bar back to his right. “Oh yeah? “Cause you seem awful serious ‘bout it. And you been sittin’ here on yer own comin’ on two hours. I reckon it’s in some kind of bartender job description—” Not that he actually has one, since he doesn’t work here, but details, schmetails. “—that I either cut you off, kick you out, of find a way to make ya less of a buzz kill.”

He’s teasing now, grin bright and flirtatious (which is exactly what his tips were made of). 

“So what’ll it be, mate? Do I need to cut ya off? Or should I call in the slutty dancers to put on a show for ya?” He tips his head, shrugs. “Gotta warn ya though, the dancers would consist of me, part of one, ‘cause that ain’t in the budget.” He winks. 

[oleander-mareth-blog]

"Only two? I’m losing my edge,” he says, managing to sound vaguely disgruntled despite not meaning a word of it; drinking has never been a favorite past-time of any of the Mareth siblings, if only because it makes their abilities so much more unpleasant. He can’t speak for his sisters, but Ollie usually makes a decent effort to avoid over-indulging. There are days when even he has to ignore his self-control.

The glass in his hands is empty after all, so he pushes it off to one side so he can rest his elbows on the bartop and lean a little closer. “What a difficult choice,” he drawls, resting his chin in one hand. “Though this place not having the budget for a couple scantily-clad dancers I find hard to believe.” A smirk is firmly (and lopsidedly) planted on his face by now, taking most of the sting out of his words. Leaning in a little closer he has to take a moment to appreciate the well-balanced sturdiness of these stools; his general disregard for gravity (or lack of balance) has overpowered more than one bar’s choice of seating in the past. “Don’t let my skepticism stop you, though. Consider me a captive audience.”

[oleander-mareth-blog]

Alcohol and Innuendo | Ollie & Chase

[deacon-rivers-blog]

Chase doesn’t work at the Vane, though some nights, he might as well have.

Tonight is one of those nights. Working for Isaiah, and being around the club pretty frequently because of it (and on his own will, too, as places like this are familiar to him, and remind him a little bit of his life before moving here), means that he knows the staff, and he knows more or less the ins and outs of how it’s run. 

And tonight, he’d decided to swing by just for the fuck of it, mostly to get out, to be submerged in the bass of the raging music, to feel lost in the flashing lights, comforted by their familiar glare. But the bartenders had been swamped, totally understaffed, due to a call-in probably, and Chase had popped behind the bar to help them out. He’d spent about half a year or so bartending back home, when he’d tried to trick himself into thinking he was going to get out of the hustling business. He didn’t. 

Nonetheless, it was a skill he had fun with, and he’d made a pretty good one, at that. In fact, he’d even do a shift every so often at the agency. He had the personality for it, they said. Reined in the tips like nobody’s business. 

It’s finally slowing down now, enough so for Chase to start helping with the tidy after the rush, and it’s then that he notices the bloke at the end of the bar having a staring contest with his drink.

Chase pulls up across from him, leaning the heels of his hands on the bar, long, tattooed arms propped straight and narrow as he tilts his head, watching him. 

“Alright there, mate? If yer looking for the bottom of it, I think you drank it. About five rounds ago.” He smirks. 

[oleander-mareth-blog]

He spends a solid two minutes trying to remember what drink he’d ordered--and more importantly, which bartender he’d ordered it from, and whether they’d been receptive to his inevitable advances (the most important question of all, really)--and by the time he gives up trying to remember and just accepts life for what it is, he finds a pair of inked-up arms planted on the barn in front of him.

It takes a mildly interesting moment for his eyes to wend their way up those arms to the face attached to it, and he makes a note to ask about the tattoos later--when he’ll actually remember the answers. The other’s words make him glance down at the glass in his hands, then back up. He shrugs. “’Alright’ is relative. This,” he pauses to lift the glass with a indicative little shake, “certainly helps, though.”

[flxwed-dxvenpxrt-deactivated201]

Delilah took the books that he had kindly helped her gather and stood with a shrug of her shoulders. “Well I suppose if you’d like me to blame you I can. No skin off my back.” She giggled slightly, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear as she hugged the stack with one arm. “Distracted?”

[oleander-mareth-blog]

Her light teasing allows Ollie to crack a smile as they straighten back up, and he shrugs. “Something like that.”

[wrenmareth-blog]

“You aren’t the only one Ollie.” She finished cleaning up what she could of the eggs before moving into the house to get the paper towels and a small bucket of warm water. She didn’t need this to harden or attract critters. “Do you want to talk? I know you prefer talking to Rowan usually. But I am still here if you need another ear.”

[oleander-mareth-blog]

He sighs and watches as Wren stoops down to clean up the eggs. Normally he would be the first to drop down and help her, but suddenly, now that he’s somewhere that he knows is safe, he can’t quite bring himself to move. “Thanks, but...no. It’s not really something I want to talk about. Not right now.” 

[oleander-mareth-blog]

Alcohol and Innuendo | Ollie & Chase

Ollie hasn't managed to make it to Vane yet; something the more playful side of him is vaguely horrified to realize. From what he's heard it is exactly the type of place he would have enjoyed--would enjoy. The fact that he hasn’t graced the place with his presence is something close to blasphemy, but he can’t quite bring himself to feel ashamed, after everything that’s been going on lately. It’s not necessarily his own troubles, either--his sisters suffer just as much as he does, and watching that isn’t any easier on him than it is on them.

That’s part of why he’s here, anyway. Forgetting is something he’s always found easier to do when surrounded by others whose inhibitions are just as compromised as his own, and to top it off there aren’t many places his sisters are less likely to show up. So it’s a win/win situation.

Plans, of course, have a habit of deviating from the track and tonight is no exception. Instead of drowning his sorrows in alcohol and innuendo and forgetting them, he’s found himself sequestered at the end of the bar, contemplating his drink (which he doesn’t actually remember ordering, come to think of it).

[flxwed-dxvenpxrt-deactivated201]

Her books fell with at thud as she felt the other person run into her. Sure she had been partial blame, but if he was willing to take it all that was fine by the blonde. “It’s okay,” Delilah replied with a kind smile. “They’re just books.” 

[oleander-mareth-blog]

He immediately drops to his knees to help her gather the books up, still mentally kicking himself for paying so little attention to his surroundings. It isn’t as if he doesn’t have reason, of course--though his visions aren’t exactly the kind of thing he should be spouting off to anyone who would listen. Especially not in a town like Antioch. The place is quickly losing its allure with every scene Ollie stumbles on, and while he’s not privy to what his sisters are going through, it’s not hard to use some imagination. Her words draw him back to the present, though, and with a little shake he manages to throw a quick smile up at her. “Still. Should’ve been paying more attention.”

[thewilladarling-blog]

Lately everything had been feeling a bit out of sorts. The air around town was just thick. On top of that Cali had asked him to stay out of the woods. The one place Willa felt calm. Needless to say she was ready to chew who ever crashed in to her out. “Fuck..” he breathed as the books in her hand tumbled to the ground. “No.. is fine.. I’ve got it.” the words were uncharacteristically harsh. “You should really pay better attention next time, I could have been a old women or something.. falling over and breaking my hip because you were lost in Narnia or something.” The brunette let out an ragged sigh as she stacked the books back up. 

[oleander-mareth-blog]

“I did say sorry,” he says, vaguely irritated now that he’s actually having to talk to someone. The whole point of this little excursion had been to avoid that, and while he really doesn’t have anyone to blame but himself, the hot flush of irritation is still there.

[wrenmareth-blog]

Wren waved him off as she bent down to pick up the mail and newspaper, sighing as she looked at the broken eggs. Well she wasn’t going to be making those cookies anytime soon. “Don’t worry about it Ollie. I will clean it up. You seem distracted anyways.”

[oleander-mareth-blog]

He sighs, taking a moment to lean against the railing on the porch. “Sorry,” he says again, running a hand over his face and then through his hair. “Just a lot on my mind.”