#invrse

[asphodaels]

WHO   :   tisiphone   &   @invrse​ WHEN   :   january,   2130 WHERE   :   somewhere   beneath   the   shade

"   hypnos   .   "   she   slides   up   to   youth   ,   slips   her   hand   onto   his   shoulder   .   the   tip   of   pointer   finger   taps   against   his   collarbone   one   ,   twice   ,   before   briefly   pressing   against   the   ridge   .   there   and   then   gone   .   it's   not   a   fond   motion   ,   but   neither   is   it   threatening   [   ...   ]   it   simply   is   ,   in   the   way   that   tisiphone   simply   is   .   there   &&   gone   :   a   ghost   in   girl   skin   .   a   haunting   ,   perpetual   .   "   are   you   enjoying   yourself   ?   "

her   voice   is   a   coo   more   than   anything   else   &&   though   her   words   are   directed   towards   him   her   eyes   are   not   .   gaze   taking   in   surroundings   -----   marking   ,   leering   ,   mapping   .   in   her   head   ,   she   is   slowly   but   surely   developing   a   model   of   olympe   without   needing   to   take   any   of   it   to   paper   .   maybe   it   will   come   in   handy   one   day   /   maybe   it   will   rot   in   filing   cabinets   pressed   to   the   back   curve   of   her   skull   .   "   by   which   i   mean   ,   of   course   ,   if   you've   done   anything   to   cast   us   in   a   less   than   pleasant   light   .   "  

there's   a   smile   ,   but   it   is   not   a   smile   .   it   is   imitation   at   best   ,   falsehood   at   worst   .   "   as   long   as   no   one   can   trace   it   back   to   someone   from   tartarus   &&   nyx   never   knows   it   was   you   ,   you   can   go   wild   .   "   she   slips   closer   ,   leans   over   his   shoulder   .   "   aren't   you   tired   of   being   nice   ?   "   softer   ,   for   his   ears   only   :   "   don't   you   wanna   go   apeshit   ?   "

[sophosed]

a sigh of touch for [ uyeno ba’zi the cinnabar whisper ]. ... ft. @invrse  //   a decrepit alley   //   00:41. [ tw. violence, manipulation, weapons ]

the allegations of his surroundings are often a mixture of misperceptions, in which many would surmise his innocence while others would accuse otherwise. while it’s more common for the gladiolus sect to know of him as the triste’s very own head, there are still those remaining ignorant to the said fact, and he’d love to keep it that way for anonymity reasons. it definitely eases his way around the city, away from the prying eyes. tonight is an instance of the supposed privilege, sauntering across the alleyways as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his coat. it’s simple in its own accord, the way he can carry himself without having to worry over his own safety, although there’s never any need for that when he’s always vigilant either way. he did not pave his way up the ladder in the sect without showing any smidgen of strength, after all, his brutal nature is renowned among the members of the organisation.

then there’s this man. bai. he knows bai finds it effortless to track him, knowing sophos well enough to retrace his steps in this city. sophos is largely volatile, but his routes can be habitual when the patterns are found. he’s hard to decipher, but not impossible, and it feels that bai has somehow known him more than he’s let bai in, which is disconcerting on its own, but it adds to the intrigue. somehow he has an inkling that bai has been treating him like someone bai used to know—there’s a tint of melancholy to it, albeit subtle, and sophos likes it. not many would treat him both as a human and a monster simultaneously, but bai manages. so, he doesn’t mind for once, coming closer to bai to reciprocate whatever sentiments are shared between them. never truly talked, but there.

he desists at an alley, a dead end. not exactly ensnaring, but enough to hear the remark announced by bai. someone else wants him dead; what’s new? and bai continues, telling him that bai has other people to kill. risible. he pivots on his heel, hands digging into the pockets. one gun, another knife. he can shoot. he can throw. he can choose neither to strangle bai, but where’s the fun in that? “if that’s the case, why do you keep accepting the commissions?” he asks, tilting his head in a questioning manner. “it’s a waste of time, you and i both know that. one of us would be dead in this brawl, if you’re willing, but i’d love to make sure it’s not me this time. and the next. and the next.”