#nera. ic

[archivedrpblog1234]

Sent from @teardownheaven​

"What's the coffee like here?"

Sonnie knows what the coffee is like. She hates it, she's a tea drinker, but she wants an excuse to talk to a pretty lady while they both wait in line.

The piano was a touch out of tune. The instrument old, the keys stiff, but it still played. It still produced a music of harmonies and melodies, backed by the rich lower register. Neraine had hesitated before she sat down. A moment of doubt after months, maybe a year, without the chance to play. It terrified to put her hand to the board and not remember. To be frozen by the stillness of decayed muscle memory and a blank brain. 

Except, when she swung her legs over the bench and her finger settled on the keys, it was all there. Every note, every song, every scale she ever played. Her tendons had stiffened, she had lost some flexibility and dexterity but that could be retrained. Nothing sacred, nothing irreplaceable, had been lost. What Neraine began as a child, plinking out tunes on the electric keyboard in a group home as she hummed, continued to this day. In a cafe, far away from Singapore, in a distant time, in a different place. 

People came and went but the music never left her. 

She started with Bach and Mozart; classical music practically seared into her memory. Then to something more romantic, more modern, and even hints of pop tunes or jazz, that she interspersed into the melody. A small crowd began to form around the piano. Someone was videoing her on a device. They murmured and exclaimed. Neraine wondered when it was the last time any of them had heard live music on a traditional instrument before. If it was recent. If ever. 

There was a woman in the crowd. She sat at a table by the window, light spilling in through the glass. The difference between her and the gawkers was the eyes. Her gaze was piercing, analytical, and focused, like she was a sculptor chiseling a man out of a slab of marble. Short, cropped hair, with a wispy fringe over one side of her angular face. Scars crisscrossed her cheeks and nose and told stories her silence didn’t. Of fighting, of violence, and of war. 

Neraine matched her gaze, drowning out the crowd and the murmur of voices in a dramatic chord. Then, she broke away, returning to the keyboard. To the song. 

And eventually, it came to stop, when her fingers were sore and aching. Unused to being exercised like this after not playing for so long. As Neraine swung her legs back over the bench, the woman was there. Hip leaned against the side of the grand, looking down at Neraine. Up closer, she was menacing, Neraine had fought monsters with less spine and confidence. 

“I don’t know,” Neraine admitted. She closed the case of the piano. “I don’t drink coffee.” 

Their gaze met again. 

“I didn’t think you’d be the type for small talk.”

[perditos]

the guest bedroom is all yours. - taker to nera

THINGS MY FRIENDS' MUSES HAVE SAID

Nera w/ 'Taker @brothersgrim

She was seven, with a worn-out book bag of clothes, a hand-me-down violin in a pealing case, and a lump in anxiety in her threat, as a stern face woman showed her the guest room. Twelve, and sitting on the edge of a bed, the quilt pulled tight over the spring mattress as she was lectured, again, about trivial things. Fourteen, collecting her few belongings, a hand-me-down violin in a pealing case and a book bag of clothes, under the watchful eyes of a police officer. She was a disruption, a thing to be sequestered away in corners and guest rooms, to be kicked-out, to be told, "we've no more room for you." Honestly, it was probably why Neraine was so stubborn.

She had always had to elbow her way into spaces and then claw bloody stripes to say there. Whether it was at the balance bar, the classroom, or the spotlight of a stage. Neraine always felt that subtle pressure, pulling on her, dragging her out. Like a rip-tide carrying her out to sea and away from the shore. But at some point she stopped minding. It made her strong. Made her work hard. She could never afford to be complacent. There was no fall back plan, no parents to go rely on, or home to return.

No guest room to crash in.

'Taker said it so casually and so quickly, she almost missed it. The simple invitation, which to him was almost as easy to breathing, posed in the flushed, crowded space of an old gym, partitioned off by faded curtains. Mox had fought, Mox had won, and the next fight was in Texas. That's far, Neraine had commented, we might have to get a hotel room. Because 'Mox' had become 'we,' as of late. She was never sure how he always roped her into going to his shows, into hours on the road, just to watch him fight.

(Nothing that she'd admit to, especially not how she admired his knuckls when they were bloody and the way his skin bruised purple-black on his cheeks. Or, the look in his eyes he got when he knew he had his opponent. Things better left unsaid.)

Neraine's gaze flicked-up and down, away. Deliberately, intentionally, she made nothing of it because she didn't know what to make of it.

"That's... good to know."

It definitely meant something.

[perditos]

📐Sonnie is 5'9" who's mad about it

Send 📐 + your character's height to compare with one or more of mine!

(Remember to specify which character/s.)

NERA is SO mad about it!!!

[perditos]

piano, sender teaches receiver how to play the piano. — nera & mox but it's reversed, nera teaching mox.

Actions Speak Louder than Words

piano, sender teaches receiver how to play the piano. Nera w/ Mox

He sat with her on the piano bench that was too small for the both of them. Mox's knee knocked against Neraine's and the whole length of his thigh laid parallel with hers. There wasn't quite enough elbow room and Mox's broad shoulders took up more space than he deserved. Still, he sat next to her with a goofy grin and looked at her expectantly. Hands hovering over the keyboard.

Neraine humored him and nodded, gesturing at the keys. The window was open, letting in the streetlights and the sounds of the city from the blocks below. Neraine heard a siren's wail in the distance. The only light came from her kitchen's overhead, which shone down on the remains of pizza and wings that they had had for dinner. Neraine wasn't sure why Mox 'needed' (as he implied in his texts) to hang-out tonight. He looked fine when he came in, hair in his eyes (as always) and shoulders rolled to his ears. But there was something unusually close about the way he sat next to her on the bench. Not claustrophobic but intimate.

He was warm where their ribs touched and Neraine tried to ignore her own pulse in her fingertips. She liked his smile, his cheesy, toothy grin that pulled on the corners of his mouth, and looked at her expectantly, like an over eager puppy. Neraine had expected to spend this Friday night alone and now Mox was here, filling in all the empty space of her apartment. She wasn't as against it as she thought she would be.

Mox laid his hands on the keyboard, his fingers with an instinctual arch. So, he at least had a sense of what he should be doing. Neraine waited as he shifted, looking at her, then at the keyboard, until his patience ran out and he pressed down.

What sounded out was a clashing chord of improper third and fifths, and a discordant seventh, and unnecessary ninth. Neraine grinned, watching as Mox flinched, hearing the disharmony. But his curiosity played out, he poked at keys, one after another. It was a meandering melody, with very little to tie it together. He was just playing, exploring his way through his boredom.

But after the first repetition of a pattern, Neraine instructed him: "Play that again."

Mox did so, repeating the short sequence of notes with no particular rhythm. Neraine put her hands further down the board and played a harmony, adding the bass and missing bits of the song. Mox chuckled as he mindlessly repeated his pattern but by the third time he had found a rhythm. Where to elongate and shorten, so something like a tune came out. Neraine worked her hand up the board, taking the song from him. She played the melody and wove it together, ending on a broad finish.

"Congratulations," she said, "You can play piano."

[perditos]

#1 for lex and neraine

reasons for there to be only one bed ˗ˏˋ ꒰ 🍊 ꒱|| Accepting

¹⁾ they’re undercover as a married couple, and as such need to act like one Lex w/ Neraine

The guest list had numbered over two hundred and it had been easy for them to append their names at the end. They were Aeleus and Neraine Rask, a young married couple that had come to recent wealth. By incident they were also the guests of a ridiculously rich man's lavish party. It was a convincing lie that found them inserted midst a crowd of the finely dressed affluent who perused the halls of a marvelous manor. A milieu of politicians, aristocrats, and moguls milled about, admiring the art collection of their patron while listening to the romantic tunes of an overworked string quartet. A soft murmur of voices mingled with the harmonies of the violins as servers carried trays of wine, champagne, and tiny snacks about it. Lexaeus advised her, within seconds of walking through the door, to keep her disdain off her face. Neraine was not sure she succeeded — but snobbish and disgusted might still be in character anyway.

As they mingled with the crowd, Neraine's hand wrapped around Lexaeus bicep to keep from getting separated from him. Beneath the layers of fabric of his suit and shirt she could feel the strength of his arm but the muscle lacked tension. He was at ease, making small talk with an elegant woman in a red gown who pinched a champagne glass between two fingers and stared through her eyelashes at him. Lexaeus was focused but polite, attentive to the vapid conversation which ran along the topics of, "how did you two meet?" and "What do you do for a living?" All of which he answered with confident ease. Neraine supposed she should be glad that Lexaeus was such a good talker but mostly she was surprised to learn that he was a better liar.

Which was just fine because it meant she didn't have to make small talk with rich people.

Never before in Neraine's life had she been so happy and willing to be arm candy. (She looked the part, in a lavender evening gown and with her hair left down, black like ink. She could almost imagine herself as an air headed socialite). Better she appear empty-headed and pretty than subject herself to the torture of social niceties among people who were as cut-throat as they were fake. it wasn't that she couldn't act, or lie, on the contrary she was good at both. It was that her patience for pleasantries and putting up with privilege was thin was thin. If Neraine was in Lexaeus' shoes she would have a far harder time controlling her sarcasm. Better him than her. She could at least manage a friendly smile and laugh at appropriate times. Even if the joke was so bad that she and Lexaeus shared a look of, "you must be kidding," immediately after.

But they were a married couple and they played the part well. Lexaeus would brush the palm of his hand fondly between her shoulder blades to the small of her back when telling the story of how they met. Or she would hook her arm around his waist, smile up at him adoringly when he said something witty. Even though this should be routine, perfunctory even, the closeness put her at ease. The moment Lexaeus tilted her chin so he could brush a kiss to her lips could play on loop in her head like a favorite scene in a movie. She should have been tired, bored and exhausted by the time they escaped the party for their bedroom in an upper level of the manor, instead she was in a good mood, almost giggling conspiratorially. And Neraine couldn't pretend that the cause hadn't been anything but Lexaeus.

"Tomorrow, while everyone is out doing that tour of the grounds, we can look for the archives," Neraine said. She was in the bathroom, pulling her earrings out and wiping the make-up off her face. "Hopefully, we find them before dinner and we can avoid having to eat with these people."

"You could always feign sick," Lexaeus said from the room. He was in the process of pulling his tie from his collar and undoing his cuffs. Neraine tried, and failed, not to stare at his reflection in the mirror as he shucked his shirt. "No one would bat an eye."

"Personally, I'd rather commit forced entry," she said lightly. She ducked her head to splash her face with water, hiding her warm face when Lexaeus' amused chuckle shot his gaze to her.

They discussed their plans for the next day and then prepared for bed. Neraine took the couch as Lexaeus had even less of a prayer fitting on it than he did the bed. Minutes later she stretched out across the cushions in the dark, her arm wedged behind her head. Neraine could hear Lexaeus soft breathing as sleep took him but also the sounds of the house, voices down the hall, footsteps on the floorboards above, and the settling of the immense architecture in the cooling night. She was no stranger to sleeping in odd places. Neraine could sleep anywhere. It was a talent of her childhood but something kept her up, an internal tick, a running thought that nagged at her conscious. She stared at the blank expanse of the ceiling above her head, where a strip of light escaped a break in the curtains and carved a path across the molding.

She was sleeping on this couch and Lexaeus was sleeping on the bed because they were only pretending to be married. Behind closed doors they pulled off the masks: took off the fancy clothes, wiped off the make-up, and did away with the bubbly flirtations. They weren't really Mr. and Mrs. Rask, but Neraine Koh and Lexaeus. For a few hours Neraine had floated in their combined delusion yet felt secure. 'Husband and wife,' was easy, it made sense, it was well defined with clear boundaries and lines. This is what they were and what they weren't. But outside of the confines of their make-believe, Neraine couldn't define what they actually were.

They were something. 'Friends,' didn't capture the feeling; neither did 'enemies,' and 'dating' felt too... normal, for them. They were something but nothing, undefined with no clear cut lines. Whatever they were they fell into the routine of "newly wed" too easily and too naturally, and the worst part... was that Neraine had enjoyed it. She had liked pretending to be normal and in love, to have that brief few hours of stability, clinging to Lexaeus' arm. It wasn't that she wanted to be married to Lexaeus, that idea was too impossible to be entertained. It was that she wanted something defined with Lexaeus. 'Definition,' eluded her, not when every time they met by chance or intention, could be their last. Why invest in something so ephemeral? But there was what she wanted and what she couldn't have. So, Neraine would just have to take what she could settle for.

Neraine swung her legs off the side of the couch. She sat there, hands braced against the cushions as she processed her thoughts and came to a decision. Neraine ran her tongue over her lips, steeled her nerves, and stood. She walked across the room and didn't give herself time to regret her choice. Neraine grasped the corner of the blanket and sheet, and peeled them back so that she could slip under the covers. She heard Lexaeus' exclamation of surprise echo as a low grunt in his throat and then he shifted, the mattress dipping under his weight. He rolled over and his arm wrapped around her waist, tugging her over to him.

"You're cold," he murmured, his breath warm on the shell of her ear.

"Well, yeah," Neraine breathed. She rested her head in the crook of his shoulder and arm. If she was cold then his body was a furnace, the places where his skin brushed against hers like fire. "What did you expect?"

Lexaeus hummed and she felt the reverberations of his chest through her bones. Neraine threw her arm over his waist and curled into his side. In minutes he was asleep and she found her mind heavy, lagging under the weight of Lexaeus' hand on her hip.

Neraine slept and she didn't worry about it.

[perditos]

He'd already delightfully scared the shit out of sous chef Eddie by 'somehow suddenly appearing' in the kitchen behind him, and now, he's waiting for Nera to return home from the grocery store. Not to scare Nera — Nera is entirely too perceptive and almost impossible to startle, unlike somebody else he's married to in all ways but legally — but to be nosy and ask about the dinner that she's making, all of the spices and the seasonings and the sizzling that has Mox's mouth watering. Evidently, Eddie is helping. But Eddie, having pulled him into a back-breaking bear hug and peppered him with kisses mere moments prior, had decided to 'punish' Mox with the dreaded silent treatment for laughing at "Jesus Christ, Mother of Mary, Son of God all mighty," or whatever Catholic-isms Eddie'd yelped. "It's not my fault you didn't hear me drop my bags at the door," Mox says, sitting on the countertop and swinging his long legs back and forth — socked heel banging against the base of the counter — like a child who's about twenty-eight years too old to be doing that. "I told you I'd be back around this time." He glance at the clock. Around this time. Or an hour, or two, or three earlier. Or an hour, or two, or three later. He shrugs his shoulders. How is he supposed to know? He grunts, stretching out one of his legs and grazing Eddie with it, but not before bracing his hands against the countertop to stop himself from falling off balance and falling off of the countertop. "Hey. Be nice. I jus' sat on a plane for, like, twenty-six hours, and my kindle died in three hours. I charged it in the hotel before and everything." Which explains why Mox had alternated between texting Eddie whatever thought happened to pop into his head, texting Nera live commentary on the movies he'd ended up watching, and sexting Eddie, but oh well.

Bags of groceries hung around Neraine's wrists as she unlocked the apartment door. It was a precarious balance with all four transferred to one side so that the loops dug into her skin. The plastic and the jars of contents banged at her knees, her shoulders sore from carrying their weight of the steps. The lock gave and Neraine used her hip to push open the door. Once inside she hooked her heel around the back of the door and kicked it shut. Neraine turned down the hall...

And ran into Jon.

Face first into his chest, the impact firm enough to push the wind out of her at the same time his arms wrapped her into a hug. He cinched his hold, lifted her, and she exclaimed "do not crush my produce!" at the same time he buried his nose into her neck. But Jon laughed, she could felt the reverberation through his chest. He got a finger around the loops of the grocery bags and slid them off her wrist. Jon leaned over to place the bags on the floor and on his way back up his hand hooked under her thigh, hoisting her up so she could wrap her legs around his waist. Jon smiled, stupid and languid, and she wiped the expression off his face by kissing him, grasping either side of his face, her fingers curled into the wisps of his beard.

"Missed you too," she breathed as they parted, nuzzling her forehead against his. "I assume that's was why you were pestering me the whole time you were gone."

"My kindle died," he pouted. "I was bored."

"That's like a death sentence to Jon Moxley." Eddie had come around the corner, his hands wrapped in a towel to dry them. Neraine leaned back from Jon enough to extend an arm to him. She had seen him a few hours ago but she had both her boys home and that was cause for celebration. Eddie threw his towel over his shoulder and joined them, one arm slinging around Jon's waist and the other around Neraine's. He pecked her on the lips and smiled, "Hey, princess."

"Hey, what about me," Jon protested. "I'm the one that's been gone for like, ever."

"Yeah, and I heard you've been acting up, teasing Eddie," Neraine said, thumbing his jaw. Eddie nodded in agreement, although whatever... frustration Jon had riled-up in him would no doubt be paid back later tonight anyway. Neraine unwrapped her legs from around him and he let her drop to the floor. "Even though I'm making curry for you. Help me with the groceries."

Mox was dutiful as he bent with Neraine to get her grocery bags and followed her into the kitchen. He was at her elbow as she unpacked the bags, laying-out bottles of spice, cans of coconut milk, produce, and a few other odds and ends, onto the counters. He chatted to her about his trip, his fights, his flight, and the various bizarre things that always happened to him anytime he went anywhere unsupervised. He'd wind an arm around her waist and rest his chin on her shoulder; or try to kiss at her neck or mouth. She indulged him once or twice, tilting her chin up so he could kiss her, nuzzling his scratchy jaw into hers. But the second time Neraine turned around and almost tripped over him, she banished him from the kitchen.

Eddie had done all the prep for the meal. With the vegetables, chicken, and herbs chopped, all the manual labor was done by the time Neraine started cooking. She measured spices and toasted them in the pan, frying them in homemade gee. The aroma of the fresh spice mix filled the apartment, warm and nutty, mixed with hints of onion, garlic, and then tomato acidity. She made the sauce, blended it, and started it to cook with the vegetables and chicken. On the back burner she had a substantial pot of rice boiling. She hummed an inexact tune, keeping time with the tap of utensils and rolling water.

During her work Neraine would glance into the living room where Mox had sat down in the living room with Eddie to talk. They each had a bottle of beer, Eddie in the arm chair and Jon on the couch, talking over a ball game on the TV. At times they commented on plays they weren't in favor of but mostly they traded stories and cut jokes. Eddie and Jon didn't talk so much as they had an extended conversation of grunts, "yeah, sure," and half sentences that the other one finished. Sometimes even Neraine had no idea what they were talking about. Whatever it was, it put a small grin on Eddie's face, fondly staring at Mox as he gestured broadly through some recollection.

Clever, and well practiced, she prepared her plate of rice and curry first. Then called the boys to eat. Which meant Neraine was already sitting (and sweetly asking Eddie to bring her a glass of water which he complied with because he never said 'no' to her), while they bickered over who got food first. After a brief session of elbowing each other in the kitchen, they finally go their food.

"Looks fucking great, Nera," Jon said as he sat down.

"Welcome home, baby," Neraine said.

It wasn't luck. It wasn't some random chance or a few happy draws. It wasn't divine intervention or fate, either. They worked for this. They worked their asses off for a nice apartment, for a quiet afternoon, for a simple meal. It looked like all those nights Jon wrung his hands over Eddie but couldn't call him and Eddie hanging-up on Neraine. No, this was intentional, this had been fought for, and this had been earned. And that was something Nera never took for granted.

[perditos]

[ hospital ] sender wakes up in a hospital bed and finds receiver sitting by their bedside — mox & nera.

Non-Verbal Angst || Accepting

Mox w/ Neraine [ hospital ] sender wakes up in a hospital bed and finds receiver sitting by their bedside

The minute hand of the clock crawled past the nine at a glacial pace. Each second an eternity from the last. Neraine sat, cross armed, in a plastic chair and watched the minutes go by as the hour of midnight approached. Beyond the curtain of the room she heard the brisk footsteps of nurses, the whirl and beep of machines, and the distant echo of voices. The fluorescent lights of the emergency room burned her tired eyes and aided the development of a pulsing migraine. She longed for fresh air and an open sky, not the bleached drop ceiling.

But her attention dragged from the clock's white face when Mox shifted and groaned. After almost an hour unconscious he finally came to. Mox blinked and his face screwed-up as he pressed his thumb across the tips of his fingertips in a quick tapping rhythm. He shook his head and tried to roll onto his hip only to be dragged back by the fabric cuff which held his IV arm to the bed rail. His gaze landed on the cuff and he stared at it in blank confusion, before reaching over with his free arm to pry it off. Neraine caught his hand halfway.

"No, that's there to give you fluids," she said patiently and yet, like she was scolding a dog trying to get a cone off. She put his hand back onto the bed. "And you're cuffed because you kept fighting the nurses."

Neraine hit the call button on Mox's bed to summon said nurses and leaned her hip against the railing of his bed. She looked down at him, taking in his bleary and confused face. It had been a brutal fight and one that hadn't ended in his favor. A trip to the emergency room wasn't apart of their plan. Neraine hadn't even ventured to think about what they were going to do about their six AM flight back to New York. If Mox wasn't discharged by then...

"You're in the hospital," Neraine said in response to his silent furrowed brow. "You got choked out by The Undertaker and lost your fight. Don't give me that shit, Jon, you're the one that let him cinch the hold. Now, when the nurses get in here to check on you, you better behave yourself or I'm going to be pissed."

[perditos]

SHIPLIST — mox & nera

𝐏𝐔𝐓  ’ 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ’  𝐈𝐍  𝐌𝐘  𝐀𝐒𝐊  𝐀𝐍𝐃  𝐈  𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋  𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓  𝟏 - 𝟑  𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐒  𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓  𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐃  𝐌𝐄  𝐎𝐅  𝐎𝐔𝐑  𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐒  /  𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏.

Come Over Again — Crawlers

Chained by your expectations I want you to know I see how you used to be before you knew me I'm just so sick I can't even look at myself It's a mental hell when you said Come over again

2. Summer Girl — HAIM

Peer around the corner at you From over my shoulder, I need you I need you to understand These are the earthquake drills that we ran Under the freeway overpasses The tears behind your dark sunglasses The fears inside your heart's deepest gashes Walk beside me, Not behind me Feel my unconditional love

3. Keep Talking — Pink Floyd

There’s a silence surrounding me I can’t seem to think straight I’ll sit in the corner and no one can bother me I think I should speak now (Why won’t you talk to me?)

4. Touch It — Ariana Grande

Remind me why we're taking a break It's obviously insane 'Cause we both know what we want So why don't we fall in love?

5. Hunger — Florence +the Machine

I thought that love was in the drugs But the more I took, the more it took away And I could never get enough I thought that love was on the stage, give yourself to strangers