Post by Deleted on May 2, 2015 3:59:41 GMT
we're just savages hidden behind shirts ties and marriages There were social celebrations, then there were private ones. When all was said and done, Royce did prefer the latter when it came to celebrating those neareset and dearest to him if only for the fact that they were so few and far in between -- and most of them lost to the eaves of a time long gone. Perhaps it was age catching up to him, despite the reality that he was essentially ageless as it was -- the number was arbitrary, seeing as how he had a beginning but no end. At least, not by natural causes, anyway. But that was another story.
In this life as Royce London, he owned a penthouse suite in what most considered the most ideal and nicest part of New York City, and that was why he elected to live there as opposed to on-campus. The Village was a pleasant enough place -- not the best he had lived in, but all things considered, it would serve its purpose well this time around, and he had taken quite a liking to his accommodations. It did function well as a place to sit back and rest his wings.
Letting himself inside, he turned to his guest as he said, "Well, with all of that said and done, I hope you did enjoy the surprise everyone planned." Ah, yes, preparing for his closest friend's birthday at his workplace had been quite the ordeal, though he supposed that all things considered, it went smoothly enough. Relatively. Comparatively. Still, a private celebration was still in order. "Drinks?" Royce asked, looking up at the clock. A minute before a new day. Turning to the other, Royce gave a slight smile as he said, "Happy birthday, Larse." Then he added, "For the second time today, of course." tagged • @rhyme _ notes • hah, made it before midnight est by like ten seconds, go take that TEMPLATE & MESSY CODE © POMME • FEEL FREE TO USE IF YOU CAN NAVIGATE ALL THE CODE |
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Post by Deleted on May 2, 2015 9:54:38 GMT
 Royce had a reputation for being a bit opulent with what he desired. Perhaps that was the foundation of his pride, the vanity involved. Larse was perfectly happy with a dorm back at the school. He had his own place, but it wasn’t so much an issue. He was just far more practical than his blond haired best friend. With Larse following close behind, he sat himself down on the comfortable couch and let himself sink into its depths.
When asked if he enjoyed the party, he leaned back against the couch and created a small noise of acknowledgement and a nod following afterwards. He did. The mere thought of people even thinking about him in such a positive manner made a good mark mentally. It was a nice gesture to have a private celebration as well, which Larse enjoyed.
His eyes followed Royce’s to the clock, and when he saw it was cutting so close to midnight, he began to chuckle. His pearly whites showing as he almost grinned. (To be fair, he looked borderline thuggish making an expression like this.) “You cut it close there, but thanks.” He released a sigh, but was content in this place of familiarity. Despite being so extravagant with an amazing view of New York, it was like nothing had changed between the two at all.
“And yes, I’d like a drink.” Larse would nod, flickering his eyes over various things of his home. Royce spent his money on a lot of decorations from paintings to other forms of art. The furniture was nice, though all Larse saw was flammable things to be frank. Maybe that was just his demon side talking.
“You know, you don’t need to call me by that name here. Have you gotten so comfortable with it already?”
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Post by Deleted on May 2, 2015 12:31:41 GMT
we're just savages hidden behind shirts ties and marriages Call in vanity, call it pride, call it whatever you wanted -- Royce had lived on the earth for centuries, and did have a rather strong affinity and taste for luxury. From paintings that probably belonged in museums to silverware that probably belonged in a royal treasury, the years and ages long bygone had acquired him a pool of possessions that probably could have sold for a fortune all on their own. Or perhaps even fortunes at that. (It was entirely possible that he was getting ahead of himself here, maybe.) The wealth he had accrued through the eras was, for lack of a better descriptor, utterly ridiculous by most standards.
Besides, he was sure that the plush couch was the sort that was so comfortable that one wanted to disappear into it, or at least never stand up from it again. He had personally tested a number of them before he decided which one he wanted. "By a mere ten seconds," Royce agreed, returning the other's chuckle with an expression that was too much like a smirk to be called a smile, but too much like a smile to be called a smirk. A fine balance somewhere in between to express his own amusement. "Enough time for the world to end if it was so decided," the fallen angel mused as he walked over to a particular cabinet.
"Wine or liquor?" Royce asked, then added, "Unless you prefer to forgo the alcohol tonight, there is also coffee." He had a fine collection of all three, all of them, be it bottles or beans, ones that he had procured because of both quality and prestige. He was debating between a particularly fine scotch or a rare vintage white for himself when Larse spoke again. "Force of habit when we walk upon the plane of man," Royce admitted, pausing to look in the hellhound's direction. It was relatively rare these days for him to speak the other's true name. "How human have we become in temperament, Seere?" tagged • @rhyme_ notes • there's nothing to note in this post here, no, absolutely nothing TEMPLATE & MESSY CODE © POMME • FEEL FREE TO USE IF YOU CAN NAVIGATE ALL THE CODE |
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Post by Deleted on May 2, 2015 22:46:37 GMT
Enough for the world to end, he said. Larse huffed at this, which was a very Royce-like answer. He expected no less. Larse waved his hand at the question, just a simple gesture to say that he didn’t mind what he chose. He couldn’t say the last time he got drunk. The pit of his body within his stomach was fiery. It was a core that burned harshly with high temperatures and acidic qualities that played in tandem to his venomous bite. Getting drunk by ingesting things took a very long time if not almost impossible.
Knowing this, it was funny to watch others become intoxicated instead. Their undoing by liquor was positively fascinating.
Larse’s eyes roamed to the window when his name was spoken and a question that burned in his mind like a scar as of late. “You must be slipping, Ramiel.” His eyes flashed, back to him, having a similar relaxed expression upon his face. “But there are some things I do miss.” Larse took in the sights of his hands. He let his fingers spread, wiggling them about and flexing them.
“These are not the appendages of a demon like me.” He paused, grasping his knees and leaning forward. “Standing and walking upright, hair, no fur, it is just…it’s still fuckin’ weird to me Ramiel.” He released a heavy sigh, still quite bothered and showing his true feelings over being in this form for so long. “I want to feel my paws in dirt, and roar, and let loose my flames. I’m a hound, not this. Not being able to run around as I really am, bothers….me.” He let his voice drift off, as if blowing off into the wind and dying as soon as it came.
“The world will never be ready for beings like us. It doesn’t matter what my temperament is, was, and what it becomes in the future.”
I hate hiding as if I’m vermin.
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Post by Deleted on May 5, 2015 7:19:12 GMT
we're just savages hidden behind shirts ties and marriages Royce entered the living room carrying with him two lowball glasses (both of them expensive crystal, which was to be expected considering whose penthouse this was) with some scotch (the absurdly expensive sort that came in a teadrop-shaped bottle) surrounding a perfect sphere of ice in it. A properly poured drink, as far as Royce was concerned, though knowing Larse, the other was not the sort to get caught up in the fussiness of it all. Wasted effort? Perhaps, but the fallen angel made a point of treating his small handful of trusted confidants to only the very best. Perhaps it was pride, perhaps it was a gesture of unspoken gratitude. Who knew? He wasn't generous without reason.
Setting the glass in front of the hellhound demon, Royce looked up with a slight chuckle as he settled down on the couch next to Larse with his own drink in hand. Seere, how human I learn to act has no bearing on the fact that I'm still very much an angel underneath," He swirled the ball of ice around in his glass before taking a sip. "Though I'm sure heaven disagrees with me to a disproportionate degree." But at the other's mention of missing something, how the human form was unnatural to him, how it felt so out of place. Royce closed his eyes and leaned back in his seat for just a moment with his thoughts.
He remembered the other's true form clearly -- after all, he had fought him a great many, many, many years ago. So many years ago, when his wings had been whiter than the most pristine of snow and he had been known as Ramiel, a name that so few uttered these days. Royce remembered how he had drawn his blade of pure white against a towering hellhound that threatened the borders of the domain he was charged with, how the flames from its maw had singed feathers and how the claws had torn through muscle and sinew. The fallen angel remembered how he had been grounded by his injured wing, and watched as the hellhound's form had dissolved to flame. Flame that collapsed and coalesced and sculpted from glowing embers the emerging form of a man.
Opening his eyes, he turned his head to peer at Larse, a certain sort of intense regard somewhere in the frost blue. "All the realms still struggle with acceptance of even the diverse array of individuals who walk among them." Royce felt that he perhaps knew this better than most anyone else. It had been seen as forbidden and taboo, heathen and blasphemous in heaven that a dominion would deign to exchange words with a demon instead of simply smiting him, much less befriend him and have conversations with him.
Even so, Seere had been more beautiful than all of what heaven had to offer. tagged • @rhyme_ notes • there's nothing to note in this post here, no, absolutely nothing TEMPLATE & MESSY CODE © POMME • FEEL FREE TO USE IF YOU CAN NAVIGATE ALL THE CODE |
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Post by Deleted on May 5, 2015 10:26:40 GMT
The drinks were prepared, with his own glass being set in front of him. His blue eyes traced the contents inside and the ice mingling with the liquid’s surface. Ice always reminded Larse of Royce’s eyes. They were an integral part of his aesthetic and look. Though in the range of blue like his own, they had a piercing effect that coerced the mind to take a trip to an icy palace. One that towered in a blizzard, with pillars that you could see through from how maintained and pristine they all were. That or it was the frost that gathered on windows come winter time that made those distinctive designs.
The chill he felt when he reached out and grasped his cup was unmistakable. The differences of cold and warmth was always a detail he noticed of the world. He was a creature with a pit of hellfire for a stomach and the cold nips of cool had him flinching often. Larse didn’t despise cold temperatures, but he didn’t like them either.
An angel deep down, yes Royce was such. A very, very long time ago he had white wings that symbolized that of the most pure. He remembered fighting him tooth and nail. Both never gave in and both had advantages over the other. That accursed holy blade cut through his skin and flesh and left steaming gashes and scratches upon him. In a rush decision, the tendons and fibers of his muscles, fur, and everything else burned away systematically and all that was left was bone. That gathered at the top of the hound’s skull as a man began to form.
That man, born from the flames of sin so long ago, was Larse. Still bearing bleeding wounds as if he had fought him entirely this way too. His first speech to Royce, looking down at him, bare, and intense were: “Pathetic.” And he fell. He fell from his bony perch, and when he slipped, the entire structure of his hound form had disintegrated.
Royce could’ve easily killed him that day, but instead he caught him with his arms and looked down upon him. Larse wondered, always, what he thought, hearing him make a noise from being caught and the pain he was in. The struggled breathing he was enduring, blood getting on his clothes, and the protest of ‘don’t touch me’. …but nothing had happened. He was limp in those arms, until he finally gathered the strength to look up at him with bright blue eyes and exhaustion.
“…” Larse took a drink and then slipped a finger over the material of the necklace he wore around his neck. “Some people believed in us. …and some still do.” The demon’s voice was softer. “When they didn’t need to, at all.”
“Sometimes, that is enough to keep going at the very least.” |
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Post by Deleted on May 8, 2015 21:41:48 GMT
we're just savages hidden behind shirts ties and marriages "You mean those who still cower in fear at heaven and hell, or do you mean on a more personal level?" The fallen angel had a feeling that Larse was referring to the latter case though, given the way he had brushed his fingers over that necklace he always wore. Or perhaps it was both. Royce made a motion with his wrist to swirl the ball of ice in his drink around, and he said with an exhale that was halfway between a sigh and a sound of pondering, "Though I would have to agree regardless." Another sip, careful and measured as was his habit. "The company of confidantes more than suffices."
Funny, really, how he considered the demon the closest of his confidantes. The first intelligible speech that had been directed at him back during their first encounter was a single word. Pathetic, the hellhound had called him. Back then, he had merely looked at the other with the judging eyes of heaven itself, even as he moved forward to catch him. Or at least, Royce had believed himself to have been judging Seere back then -- these days, he wondered if perhaps he had been mildly angered by the truth behind the demon's words.
It had been the genesis of his fall, looking back. The day he had chosen to carry the hellhound back to the mouth of hell had been the day he had chosen to shed the white of his wings even if he had not known back then. It had been over the moment he had peered down, ice blue meeting a blue so bright it might as well have been incandescent. "Silence," Royce had said back then, returning his gaze forward. "Hound of hell, do not speak another word. Return from whence you came, and dare not set foot again in my sight or presence."
The irony was palpable. He had spoken with all the purpose of ridding the human realm of the hellhound's presence back then, but perhaps he had, back then, been meaning more to chase him away before he could speak to him more. Perhaps it was fear of falling that had been his impetus to do so -- an impetus that he no longer had, for he had changed far too much, had come to embrace his fall far more than any angel born purely of heavenly will since his own creation should. Not killing Larse was, without a doubt, the start of his fall.
"I still do not regret letting you live, Seere. I doubt that will ever change." tagged • @rhyme_ notes • there's nothing to note in this post here, no, absolutely nothing TEMPLATE & MESSY CODE © POMME • FEEL FREE TO USE IF YOU CAN NAVIGATE ALL THE CODE |
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Post by Deleted on May 8, 2015 22:54:02 GMT
He let his thoughts stew and settle at the question that Royce had brought up first. How observant of him to catch that little gesture with his necklace. He expected no less from the angel. Larse brought the cup to his lips, taking a shot of the stuff without thinking of how much to take at once. He knew no rules with alcohol since getting drunk was a hard feat for him to do anyway. He could have all he liked in the end. “Both, but the personal rings clearer from experience.”
Ah, yes, Corina, it went back to her many times. So many lessons learned from a single human being. He wished that Royce could’ve met her. She was a beautiful soul.
“The company of a single confidante far outweighs a hundred acquaintances.” Out of everyone he met, if the world would to end, he would gladly choose for Royce to remain at his side and shoulder the burden of dealing with it together.
Larse took another drink from his cup, eyes peered up at the blond that spoke of never regretting to let him live. His features softened, keeping his gaze on him and then looking down into his cup and the contents that were left. Larse felt that now, if he truly had died by his hands, he would’ve been alright with it. He had accomplished most he wanted to do. There was little he could think of that he wanted to actively pursue at that point in time.
He slipped a hand past his shirt and gathered the rest of the necklace and let it air out from inside of his shirt. The necklace itself looked to be made of swirls encompassing a jewel in the middle of blue. It gave off a subtle glow. “That makes two people now that don’t regret meeting me.” He brushed a thumb over it, actually smiling just a little. “Have to say, that’s pretty damn impressive for someone like me.”
And then he took another drink, downing the rest. |
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Post by Deleted on May 11, 2015 20:42:58 GMT
we're just savages hidden behind shirts ties and marriages He hadn't always been as observant -- that was something he had learned over the many, many centuries that he had lived. Now that he was though, it was something that was ingrained into him. Observe the situation, take in as much information as possible. Rinse and repeat. It was practically instinct these days. "Then we are in agreement," Royce said, and there was nothing more that particularly needed to be spoken of on that front. Some thoughts were things that remained unspoken, but were so given that there wasn't need to verbalize.
If fate were real (and that was always a question, was it?), it probably would've found all of this entirely too amusing, the fact that he and Larse were more or less each other's first choices to face the end of the world with. Especially since they had not exactly started off in the most ideal terms. After that first time he had warned the hellhound to keep his paws off the Earth and his claws out of the human realm. The second encounter had been incendiary and more than just a little antagonistic, but ended largely like the first -- perhaps with slightly less grievous injuries though. It was only during the third that the two of them had first spoken on then-tentatively civil terms. "Why do you keep returning?" the angel had asked the demon that very day. Indeed, why did he come back?
His eyes wandered from the necklace that Larse was holding up and to the way that the other was peering at the pendant. "Only two?" Royce asked, as if he almost found it hard to believe that in the history of more than a millennia, there were only ever two people who did not regret meeting Larse. Though he supposed it came with the title and attached profession -- if one could call being a demon an inherent profession. It could very just as much be the sort of person the other was -- he was his best friend, yes, but to most of the world, an acquired taste. Subjectivity at its finest. "Safe to assume you'd like another?" tagged • @rhyme_ notes • there's nothing to note in this post here, no, absolutely nothing TEMPLATE & MESSY CODE © POMME • FEEL FREE TO USE IF YOU CAN NAVIGATE ALL THE CODE |
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Post by Deleted on May 11, 2015 22:33:34 GMT
That question he asked, of always wanting to return seemed so simple back then. Larse was so proud back then, not of a peacock, but of a wolf that followed his own rules. His response was: ”I don’t follow the words of a man that won’t kill a beaten opponent. Certainly not an angel.” He bared his teeth, bristling at being so vulnerable for such a time with a stranger. His reasoning was far too simple yet the depths of it were still there. Now, if asked why, Larse would say that the angel made things interesting. He had heard of angels and their doings, but never fought against one himself.
Larse didn’t turn his gaze away from the pendant he was holding. “I don’t count those who summoned me, which were many. They were happy for reasons that are not of those like you.” He released a sigh at the next question. Did he have enough space to let in another? Truly? He didn’t know the answer, and the question actually made him look emotionally drained of putting space for a person that may have different opinions and views as him.
“I don’t know. I guess it depends.” It was a possibility, but he definitely won’t be actively searching for another to add to the pack of his.
“I’m okay with just a few.” And then he scooted closer, a little bit, to the man next to him. Affection? Yes, in a way only a dog could give with his softened eyes and respectively putting his cup down on the coffee table and relaxing there fully. |
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