#acataelepsie

[absensia-archived]

CHARLOTTE AND VIVIANE FOUND THEMSELVES SPINNING, DANCING IN THE MIDDLE OF A KALEIDOSCOPE. ALL COLOUR, LIGHT, SHINE, CONTAINED IN THE NIGHT - COATED THE WINDOWS OF THE PENTHOUSE SUITE. IT WAS EASY TO FORGET JUST HOW HIGH UP YOU ARE, THAT IS, JUST HOW FAR YOU CAN FALL, WHEN IN SUCH A PLEASANT TRAP, ISN'T IT?

But that didn't mean that a couple of worry - wrinkles hadn't appeared on the pretty, little face of tonight's partner in crime. Charlotte had spent the better part of the evening trying to calm the girl, or so it felt. A laugh, a chuckle, anything but a tepid, dramatic sigh, if she could pry from the girl, she'd take it. Those efforts had landed her exactly where she was now: seated on the plush carpet floor of a five - star penthouse, wordlessly struggling with the buckle of her left heel as she watched Viviane fuss over the way the skirt of her silk dress draped over the switchblade she'd strapped to her thigh.

In the mirror, it looked like as if the girl was some sort of angel, the way she glowed in the light that reflected off every glass surface in the suite. She was going to catch every eye and turn every head tonight, and that was the idea. Compared to her, Charlotte's dress was a plain old thing. No glitter, glitz, or glam. Just something to get her through the door, or at the very least, turned towards the back staff door if the men at the gates decided they hadn't brought in enough blondes for tonight.

Charlotte fought the urge to heave a labourious sigh as she watched Viviane practice for the umpteenth time, the flipping aside the skirt and retrieving the blade in a smooth, well - taught action pretty enough for the big screens, then slowly, oh - so - carefully, replacing the blade in its holster. " You know, no one's ever cared about me enough to buy me a thigh - switchblade - holster combo, " she'd told her earlier in the hopes of cheering her up. It'd only make her frown further, that same sadness in her eyes darkening the way a brewing storm does in the late evening sky. Goddamn rich girls. Always something else to cry about, wasn't there?

With the left buckle finally done up, Charlotte turned towards the right, her eyes flickering back up to the mirror to find that Viviane was already back at her.

@acataelepsie / " CAN I TRUST YOU? "

Oh, so serious! Before she could hope to stop or at least shift it, a full grin bloomed on Charlotte's face and she figured that if she were going to smile this big in response to such a heavy question, she might as well as go all for it. And so, she threw in a laugh, too. " Viviane, of course, you can. Geez, would'ya lighten up a little It's going to be just fine, really. I've got you, okay? Now, look, can you come and help with the bow at the back of my dress? The bow I made looks all sad and pathetic. Limp as a. . . [ She met her eyes in the mirror and for the first time, she figured she might've just managed to connect with the girl somewhat. ] Look, just help me fix it, please. "

[mysteriae]

grasp ✧⋆ prompt : ekaterina ( @acataelepsie ) ft. lebedeva , accepting

lebedeva lingers at the entryway, struck by the orchestric throng of the tsaritsa's parlor ( a joy she had long been deprived of ). the war effort had demanded too much of her these day, but not enough to deny yet another invitation from one she missed so dearly. taking it all in as she searches for ekaterina, the vila meanders through the crowd like a newborn spring, tulled in a periwinkle dress, cinched at the waist and cascading into a frilly, starlight-sequined train at her feet.

instinctively, she turns at the call of her name and finds her lissome host beaming and rushing towards her. in her unadulterated glee, she leaps into her arms. ❛❛ oh my -- ! katya ! ❜❜ lebedeva laughs, clutching her tightly, both for purchase and for lost time. ❛❛ how i've missed you ! -- but do mind the feathers, darling ! ❜❜ a hand prudently hovers above her coiled pearl-plaited tresses to find her plumes were thankfully still in place. ❛❛ let's have us a drink, shall we ? ❜❜ she says, their arms now garlanded, and not so easily separated even after a warm embrace. ❛❛ we have much to catch up on. ❜❜

[absensia-archived]

IMPATIENT, CLOSE TO EXASPERATION, BUT NOT NEARLY AS PETULANT AS A TROUBLED ( DISTURBED! OR MALADJUSTED, IF YOU ARE KIND ) CHILD, SHE STARED UP AT HIM THROUGH THE LUSH BLACK OF HER LASHES. A BIT OF BEIGE DEBRIS STILL DUSTED HER GAZE. COLOUR AND GLITTER FOR SOME, CARNAGE AND ASHES FOR HER. HE WAS HOLDING OFFICE AT THE EDGE OF A NEAR - DEATH EXPERIENCE. JUST ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE TREE LINE, THE REAPER GRUMBLED SOMETHING ABOUT WASTING TIME.

Early morning light glinted off the memorial plaque behind Charlotte’s back, the gold square pressed into the dark oak of the park bench on which she sat, called to counsel by the man before her. A cemetery sprawled on the other side of the black iron - wrought fence. Steely roses spun out from the spokes of the fence to top the long, winding line of cold metal; yet as ornate and gorgeous as they were, they did very little to deter trespassers. The fence was easily surmountable, currently evidenced by the not one, but two medium - sized vehicles hanging over the roses and thorns like nothing but mere freshly washed towels over a backyard clothesline.

The day's casualties, evidently, had a very short distance to travel before reaching their final resting place. About them, first responders and medical personnel bustled, most in auto - pilot mode, given the hard - pressed lines of their mouths and knowing glaze of their gazes. Auto - pilot was better than the alternatives: stupid panic and foolish incredulity. At least this way, they could finish what they'd been summoned here to do and then, when the dust settled and the horror of it all staled, they could leave. Charlotte, for one, was still waiting for the wound at her hairline to quit its gushing. All the blood was pooling into Richard's nice ( too nice ) blazer jacket, and sluicing down the silk lining to soak into bright blue of her denim.

@acataelepsie / IT'S MY JOB TO PROTECT YOU.

Charlotte hadn't been in either of the cars. . . at the time of the crash. She had, briefly, been in the silver one which was now threatening to topple fully over to the cemetery side of the fence, and take said fence down with it. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched in mild amusement as a group of the responders instinctively reached out to stop the sedan from tipping over, only to remember the most likely fate of hands caught between hard ground, twisted metal, and a particularly stubborn sense of gravitational obedience. IT WAS A WORSE FATE THAN THE WOUND SHE NOW NURSED. At least her head had remained intact. Fate did sometimes favour the brave. Or, according to the huffing and puffing federal agent before her, THE RECKLESS.

It's my job to protect you, he intoned for what Charlotte could've sworn was not the first time. Yet the words still sounded fresh. Perhaps because they hadn't this close of call until now, but hey, what's an abduction here and there to help them stay on their toes? Still. . . What a waste of good blood. Charlotte wondered idly if this was going to leave a scar: THE TIME SHE FLEW OUT A MIRACULOUSLY SHOT - OUT WINDOW OF A ROLLING CAR AND NEARLY HAVING HER SKULL CRUSHED BY AN ON - THE - LOOSE SIDEVIEW MIRROR! The thought pulled a dry chuckle from her and she threw a sardonic smile up at Richard, her protector. " Really? Well, you're not very good at your job, then, are you? "

[diagnosin]

𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐌.          there must have been a moment where we could’ve say “no.”          the neurons of the mind were funny creatures for even at a time like this,  their own demise hardly a thing of a past,  they languidly twisted themselves into the lines of a play.       as if this was some play,  some fantasy.          liam dragged in breath after breath,  his chest heaving and his light linen shirt soaked through with sweat,  yet he could not taste any of the air.          none of it did any good to ameliorate the tireless fire that raged along the sinuous lines of his muscles and the all too smooth surfaces of his organs,  he was sure.          in a streak of admittedly dramatic - feeling,  liam wanted to shout,  scream,  and curse,  if only his lungs would permit such forceful action.          he wanted to rant endlessly about the awfulness of this life,  but his body would not allow it.          where his mind had no inclination towards self - preservation,  it seemed,  at the very least,  his body did mean to see this through with his survival.          SO BE IT.

AND SO WE RUN.          he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment,  sweat and dirt and grim gathered painfully there in the corners and folds of his skin.          he ran,  hating every moment of it,  kicking up the dirt as though he hated the earth.             he ran until it seemed that his breath was only ever leaving him,  emptying out,  leaving nothing but anger inside to polish him into automatism.   LEFT,  I’M GOING LEFT.  and where you go,  I will follow without a second thought.          he turned in tandem with viviane and headed for the sunlight,  the open air that would serve well as a stage for their final moments if luck were to so cruelly leave now.

he did not notice the pain that was slowly working up his leg,  free to bite and settled inside his the bone without eve so much as a wince from the man.          there it will fester and make itself at home,  there it will wait comfortably for its turn to cause grievances.          AND SO HE RAN,  ran as hard as he could,  sure death on his heels and at the back of his mind,  pressed to the skull like the barrel of a gun.    he ran and did not notice just how slow he’d been moving until he realize that viviane was metres ahead,  swallowed by the sunlight and then,  in a blink,  gone.     for a moment,  he thought he’d begun to roar with his frustration,  but that sound was not him.    viviane was gone and in her place was full - bodied commotion of high - speed traffic.      NO.    the word resounded in his mind like a church bell.          

rising on the balls of his feet and feeling his muscles bunch,  liam pushed himself to close the distance between him and viviane.     his feet were scraped raw as soon as he hit the asphalt at a hurtling speed,  but he did not stop.    where you go,  I’ll follow without a second thought,  not to the place,  not to the time,  not to the truly horrendous odds standing in the sliver of space between us and the polished front of that car.      liam shot forward and tackled viviane towards the centre of the road,  the both of them lifting off the ground with the force of his shove,  and landed in the next lane where the next car mercifully had enough time to screech to a swerving halt,  its driver screaming loud enough to be heard even over the rush of blood in his ears.                  /          @acataelepsie     ❤