#isola 002

[dreamair]

@chuketsu

      the city was an enigma to her. this was not the future and nor was this the       past (for she knew so very well of the past). this was not earth nor anywhere       else she knew of. in this city she was in the dark and without any of her abilities.       she could not feel her families presence; neither tyki, wisely, the earl or anyone       else. she held onto a feeling inside her that perhaps she was the only one of her       family in this city. she could do nothing but simply wander and ask those around       her. it was lucky for her that almost anyone would do.

                                   i guess i need to try and make some friends                                     how else am i going to figure this place out?                                    how else will i start to burn it to the ground?

            ‘ i don’t know where i am. can you help me? ’

[estdevium]

I got so carried away I’m sorry     ╱     @thursdy​

there is brimstone echoing through tranquility, bright swaths of stained glass painting a disconcerting picture throughout the stone    &    wood trappings    —    much the same as any other worn boots had traversed in his years    (    children tucked away under the pastors watch, creeping into the crypts below, holy ground as safe as it became dangerous    ).    snippets of the darkness twisting in the corners, reaching for something. salvation    ?    depravity    ?    a source of familiarity. there is grief here    (    is there not always    ?    lost souls seeking redemption at the hands of ignorant idols, claiming lives with little care    ),    faded into the walls in a tapestry of lost crusades. how foolish to believe such a place would hold any answers; foolhardy belief in the divine caring for the mortal.    (    again, there is blood on his hands, under his nails up his arms painted down the aisles its own harrowing beauty before reality snaps back into focus    ).

they should not have saved him. the echo hurts. 

it was always funny how such choices came back to prove haunting; how looking in a mirror    &    finding old eyes brought about more anxieties then climbing out of his own, desecrated grave    (    staring into it with the single minded focus of one who should not be. what's dead should stay dead a mantra long lost    ).    previous trips backwards    —    forwards    —    round    &    round the fractured structure of here    &    now    &    then. visions of the past matched visions of the future as punishment demanding his head as a solution    (    it was always the winchesters stirring up trouble, how many more horrors did they cause then they ended    ?    ).    mental laughter    !    was it ever really about the unique “purity” of his soul or was that a lie, too. there was nothing righteous left here, complimenting a structure that reeked of “divine intervention." now the question was just who. it's not like this is a first. 

but was the hunters own time a better option    ?    the banging crescendo of bloodlust pounding in his skull a battle march hard to ignore    (    but here there was no blade in hand to provide sirens song, a solid hold in brittle bone to grab onto    ).    ghost of a touch along the holy to match disillusions bitter eyeroll. he should never have come here. 

turning to head right back out that door    (    to find answers, surely, from someone. there was no place without even the semblance of a formal head    ).    heaven, hell, all that in between    —    if it hadn’t mattered then why would it matter now    ?    dean had told them to leave him alone    (    bloody blade but inches away but a warning. a promise    ?    he didn't know anymore. bodies scattered a picture perfect image of cruelty     ).    perhaps this was a better option, to stay    &    serve out whatever time bored immortality crafted for another chapter. somewhere to live out the last years of clear cut sanity before the curse wore out what little of him was left. 

a flash of green catching on a sight teasing at memory, frown long hardened on his face; shock of black atop a splash of tan.    (    I'm the one that will have to watch you murder the world    ).    the burning anger surging in the hunters gut as much a warning as any    —    fingers curled into a fist as his side    (    bloody memory of a loose hand on his wrist, fury in bruised knuckles    &    blood stained faces; fight back    )    to match the low thrum of action the mark sang. teetering on the edge of compulsion. you should have killed me when you had the chance. 

it was a few steps forward, one step back. 

bone weary at the sight of the angel perched in a pew within a house of god    —    a sight not seen in years    (    no, not since before the leviathan, before purgatory    &    abaddon    &    death's quiet warning. always before    ).    is this where she had driven him    ?    that bird on his shoulder, tempting the angel back to the host. the voices of the chaotic fallen hovering in life's peripherals    ?    back to following the ill understood commands of an absent father    (    the discordant clash of a symphony in pieces    );    dean couldn't even find himself surprised. it has been but days ago green was painted in black, mortality a fickle notion to a knight    (    the smooth grip of a handle grasped with a low buzzing thrill in the hunt    ).    humans felt to much    —    demons felt to little.

at war with himself, in the end. 

demands bubbling up past the anger    &    the hurt, betrayal    (    in a way, just let him go    ).    partial understanding in the limitations of stolen grace doing nothing to pause the echo of his steps    —    send me back home    (    was it stolen grace or but another squabble amongst bitter siblings in a race to regain their wings    ?    ),    send us back home    (    what did it matter    ).    whisper in the quiet sway of fabric    &    the low burn of candles    —    why did you even bring me here    ?    —    voice in his head snorting at the sheer thought of that angel even having the will to get back up; tattered feathers on shredded wings    (    someone always to blame. was it not his own fault such a creature now stood chained    &    discarded from its home    ).    dull noise climbing the walls coming to a standstill, arms crossed with heavy gaze resting on the other    (    don't follow me, next time I won't miss    ).

❝     so, care to explain    ?     ❞

[fictile]

⤜    starter    !!    *:･ﾟ✧    ╱    @junaou​

it is a curiosity, these many lifetimes    (    born of ruin, saved within the breath of all things    )    the faces    &    personalities with which they find so hard to look away. an abnormality given a second chance filled with the want to be. how interesting, these ties to fate    —    the will of the morals now chaining the divine. there is the whispers of a smile on their lips, unhidden reflections of surprise in their eyes.     ❝     oh. well, hello then.     ❞     the traces of magic almost a taste in the air, whispers of the wind traversing the space between.     ❝     I did not think much of a place without concrete ties, but I guess you are proof otherwise, no    ?     ❞     idle hands brushed through grass green.

[pelagaios]

⤜    starter    !!    *:･ﾟ✧    ╱    @mys7ery​

bright eyes watch the other with mirthful humor, fingers ghosting along the empty space between them    (    crouched, like conspirators lying in wait for their intended target    ).    percy has always been labeled a trouble maker    —    sported the look of someone walking the edge between harmless trickster    &    (    always another    )    call to the police. at least, here, there way no memories of the demigods face plastered across national news    (    no record of court mandated anger management classes, no history of arson    )    no matter the half buried truths    &    misconceptions there is nothing stopping the glee in finding another in such a way. there was always room for mischief    !

(    there are also partial memories of hades, of nico’s voice, of the mournful wail of a goddess mixed amongst the burning taste of tartarus on his tongue    ).    the demigod had never possessed a fear of the dead.

❝     are you usually caught up in stuff like this     ?     ❞     gaze flickering to    (    his fault, technically. but was it not always    ?    percy long since stopped counting    )    the disaster of a park bathroom behind them; watching the slow spread of water continue its lazy path from below the    (    now missing    )    door. snorted laughter. within the mess of toilet paper    &    broken sinks were partial memories of the horrified faces of other occupants who had been quick to flee. it would not be much longer before the associated authorities arrived to scope out the scene, probably. but, well, he couldn’t find it in himself to care.     ❝     you know I once exploded a bathroom by accident under other circumstances, but cant say I ever expected a faux bloody mary-esque revival light to cause a second go around that concept.     ❞     casual wave of the hand, falling back to sit along the sidewalks edge while watching the boy before him.     ❝     you alright, though    ?     ❞

[dragongauged]

⤜    starter    !!    *:･ﾟ✧    ╱    @earthlysun​​

Perched, one hand grasping the chair's edge as his chin rested upon his knee    (    impolite, really, to put one's shoes on another’s furniture    —    let it never be said he was the most pleasant of guests    ).    Banished from the counter; once neat groceries now but packaging    &    dirty dishes. While not necessarily the worst of cooks, A’zin could say    (    with the utmost certainty    )    that he had never seen reason to go to such lengths for food. Conceptually the idea was not a bad one    —    not by a long shot    —    but when all you needed was the basics why go above    &    beyond    ?    Food was food    (    although, that was not to say A’zin did not benefit from other’s choices in the matter    ).

That was to say until a wayward comment resulted in this current cooking experiment. Explanations being tossed about as the other miqo’te breezed around the kitchen. 

❝    A sauce.    ❞    Dry, partial words left hanging, sitting up a little straighter to get a glimpse of the stovetop. The dragoon could remember past comments on additions adding to meals but it had all seemed so unnecessary.    ❝    Doesn’t that not keep    ?    ❞    Although, this was a life much more...   sedentary. The refrigerator buzzing in the background a reminder that, in essence, one could hoard    (    in a way    ).