STATUS. closed, for @daringdynamo
LOCATION. pompeii, italy
The days were long, but the nights were longer; shedding skin over the celestial bodies, twinkling and dissipating into the skies. Blue lured itself out during the late evening, painting a different scenario onto Dante’s skin — mischievous child turned sour, cold breeze becoming an act of violence. This was the exact reason they refused to remain quiet for too long of an instant: pretending, upholding an image required action. Dante had always been more haunting figure than human, their only salvation a disguise composed of gold plated smiles and laughter so melodic it could only have been a gift sent from heavens above. It was nothing but foolish of them, to let their fire simmer down once the sun did the same. Work, however, could provide just an ounce of the distraction a person of the likes of Dante Desai needed. Their sanity was a prized possession, and yet— it constantly tried to slip away, eager to climb a mountain and declare itself king of madness.
There are flowers in their hair once they reach for Agent Dynamo’s room — always with a wild stare Evren seems to know better than most weapons (and, alas, Dante is used to being seen as a tool for destruction). They knock with a cheerful disposition, smiling their way into Evren’s good graces. The Oracle is, perhaps, the only resemblance of childhood Dante wishes to recall; a devil so daring it could only belong near their heart. —— Pray tell, would you concede me your next nine hours or so? —— the Atlas has a way of asking for things that is both confident in its pretense and charming in its annoyance, and they are mostly aware of the eye-rolling session that is to come. —— Last time we were together in Italy, we did burn some physical bridges. I know we were some daring fourteen-year-olds, but I am sure we can outdo them until four in the morning, no?