There is that flavour, that taste of the ‘other’, something beyond a baser lifeform. But he won’t push — she is — nothing he’s encountered before, at least not face to face… and half the fun is in the finding out, after all.
There’s a slow blink, another tilt of his head as he lets his gaze wander, dropping to take in the fullest of the woman before him and rising again - s l o w l y. He does appreciate the - drama. And it’s an antithesis to his own garb. Stark contrast, different plays on a spectrum which didn’t end with merely ‘black’ or ‘white’ as it’s singular spanning entities.
“And what kind of — art — do you create? Things of creation are, often prey to scathing commentary. What might be - beauty - for one, would be abhorrent to another.”
"As for the company, I don’t find myself needing to press such a - critique…”
Another of those smiles as he indulges, quite content to walk the line of words and gesture without any overt pressing of curiosity. All things come to those who wait.
- —And he has nothing but time.
“I am most certainly not,” Em said without hesitation. Her hand fell to rest on her hip. The need for elaboration was unnecessary. The affirmation itself was likely not needed, either. She was an elite Madame and her prestige alone shed ‘normal’ from her lifestyle, even in human terms.
His admiration only earned him a tilting of her head and a poised smile. Preening was a sign of someone trying too hard. Of someone overly eager to please. She was none of those things.
At his question, she stepped a little closer and adjusted her sunglasses. Then, she lifted her left hand, her index finger poised. “The most beautiful art of all,” She unabashedly swept her hand up to his forehead, down an eyebrow, then back up to trace his nose. “I create contemporary marble sculptures of lifelike men. The rich. The homeless. All walks of life. There is certain…” she flicked her wrist. “…irony to capturing the mundane in art. Every wrinkle, mole, and stray hair. Why should only the gods be captured in white brilliance?” She moved down to trace his jaw. “Still, there are the god-like who happen to walk among us, and those are always the most beautiful to recreate.”
❴ THOUGH THE SILENCE ❵ was a means to show her dissatisfaction with him and conjure some sort of regret the World Eater found little use in her ploys. Sanguine eyes remained vigilant. From her face they fleetingly stared upon his scaled hands, virgin gauze stained with ink, trailing so that he peered out the rear mirror. Anxiety simmered in his core, sure that every moment his eyes laid upon the reflections of the world left behind their travels there would be the odious presence of the enemy. The nip to his cheek released an unconscious, glottal noise not far akin from a growl, eyes - the darkness around them giving the illusion of sunken - glaring at her.
❝ Hero is far from the correct statement. ❞ A pause. ❝ Do not go home. ❞
“I don’t give a fuck what you want to call it,” she snapped back. She hit the brakes hard, jerking them to a hard stop a hairsbreadth from the car in front of them. Her horn blared and the car ahead of her beeped back. “Asshole,” she breathed, her knuckles turning white, then green, against the steering wheel. At Alduin’s request, she shot him a look. “Giving orders now? You can’t do that unless you tell me what’s going on.”
Dolos sighed, dropping his hands from his work. He stood, his arms crossing over his chest. “Your gaze would turn me to stone. You might not know who I am, but I know of you. Now, do you have any other threats for me?”
She unceremoniously slid the sunglasses up to rest on her head. “I remember a guy just like you. Cocky, hero-type, whatever. I made the mistake of being too easy on him. I’m not making that mistake again."
The mere utterance of those syllables were enough to exacerbate her alarm. “Police? Non—they cannot know. They are linked to them,” Fleurette shot back relentlessly; eyes that could not see vacant to a face so aghast by the situation. She initially flinched at the prospect of touch; though the sincerity it was governed by elicited a more calm response from the (now) former experiment. “The—the government, monsieur! That is who. They will take me back to that H-Hell on Earth if they find me.”
Fear was the foundation of all things; and the strange albino was wholly governed by it at this time.
She was shivering and not making sense and Kyce knew he needed to let her inside. The Madame would be out for the weekend with her new boyfriend who seemed to have already moved in despite Kyce never recalling hauling up any of the man’s things. In any case, the penthouse was empty. Maybe the comforts would ease her mind. Besides that, Jakes was probably back in town, which meant it was no place for a lady.
“Come with me. I’ll keep you out of trouble, okay? Come inside.” He shed his doorman’s jacket and placed it around her shoulders, then opened the looming glass door, exposing the warmth and golden light that awaited her.
❴ EM HAD PROVEN ❵ a jovial and highly expressive individual, so it was painfully obvious as her exuberance figuratively withered and curled away. As to not alarm her of his noticing, he forced his expression to lax, though to not fall entirely out of touch. Though concern knotted in his chest, and his eyes did slit playfully a moment, the reassuring peck and smile helped only slightly to shoo away any form of reaction. Once he had been slighted himself by someone close to him ( though he was sure their tales would fall very differently ), and made no promise to take care of such demons himself; it was satisfying to DESTROY your own hauntings, and almostinsulting for others to do it for you.
It was a welcomed compliment, one that conjured a grin upon his face without conscience action to create it. Briefly he glanced down, then back up again with a g l o w of warmth so distant from his atypical, frozen stare before his other arm draped carefully across her back and he pulled her into an embrace, speaking softly into her locks of snakes.
❝ The honor is mine. ❞
The little things; the tender expression and concern that flickered just after her face fell, the warm hug that followed, those little things that had her relax. Alduin was not Poseidon, no matter the power he could wield at his fingertips, he would never hurt her, and if he did? Well–Athena did not curse her for nothing.
Her snakes nestled around him as she curled into the embrace, the warmth welcome after the chilling reminder. When she pulled away, she smoothed his dress shirt and fixed his collar, eyes flicking once at his state of undress. “Maybe I should get you a pair of pants that aren’t so restricting, hm?"
❴ CLANGING UPON THE ❵ cracked steps, the anceint weapon fell to the ground, fingers rolling to ease his joints from the death grip that had shown no mercy to the hilt. Gaze was concerned with the surrounds as the final steps were taken towards the flashy BMW. A single fluid motion opened the door, slid himself in, then sealed it as quickly as possible. Her demand of staining the finery of the interior went nearly unheeded besides a sound of acknowledgement protruding from his throat. Stretching his hands before him, he studied the strange manifestation. Veins had darkened into black snakes beneath his greyed skin, dark bags beneath his eyes. The dovahkiin hadn’t the symptoms he showcased, making the numbing sensation of such scaly growths all the more irritating. Looking towards her for the first time since he had entered the vehicle, he found himself gracious for her quick recovery, though chagrinned all the same.
❝ I had told you not to come. ❞
She would have been otherwise preoccupied with leaving the weapon, especially one as archaic as Alduin’s, but with what his viselike grip had done to the hilt, and what had sprung from his arms, she knew there likely would not be any fingerprinting, and no DNA traceable to the dragon’s black ichor. Em’s eyes again drifted to his arms, then his puzzled expression. She would not pry yet, not when she was about ready to tear his head off. With a few sharp, illegal maneuvers, she was speeding off back towards the penthouse, silent for some minutes before she replied, “And I told you not to play ‘hero’ when the sun’s still up.” A snake shot out from her wig and nicked his cheek with dagger-sharp fangs.
❴ NO FURTHER MESSAGES ❵ came through the communication device, its bright screen glaring up at hime blankly with the time. She never listened. He had not been telling her to keep away as a male who had won her affections, but as a Nordic god. But black letters on a small screen could hardly convey the imperative nature and tone of voice. Once he rolled his fingers into the black stained gauze wrapped around his palm, the ends catching upon hooked claws. Long strides carried him through the desolate, abandoned bank back towards the surface. A steel, bloodstained sword gripped in another fist of claws. Dark, scaled protrustions had ripped through the jacket he’d stolen [it was better than his blood stained one before], eyes darkening into the the sepulchers of crimson. He would have to meet her before someone else did. As nice a vehicle has hers would attract attention in these ruins of Chicago.
The tires of Em’s custom-made, black BMW Alpina B7 screeched in tandem with the hisses of her snakes as she rounded the corner. One of her snakes was loose from the wig, coiled tightly around her phone. Find My iPhone pulsed on the screen. She thanked Athena for putting the idea of adding Alduin’s phone to the app into her head, then cursed the goddess for not helping her brute of a boyfriend. Could gods from other pantheons even help each other out? If not that, then perhaps knock some sense into him? Do your random, irrelevant thing as always, Grey Eyes, she muttered to herself, then floored the gas pedal. It was not long before she met up with him, right at the outskirts of the slums. Before she even stopped, she was rolling down her window. “Get in.” His current state would be terrifying to a human, and it just took one call from police to fuck up their lives. Em’s eyes zeroed in on the bloodied sword. “Don’t get blood on my leather."
❴ THE CURVE OF ❵ her smiles beneath his touch, accompanied by that intoxicating giggle curled his own expression into one of content. Her adventuring hand made his skin prickle with electricity (an eerily addicting sensation unable to be felt beneath scales) so much so he had to break the contact of their lips so he could expel nervous chuckle that forced its way to the surface. Embrace brought her closer, as if she would call the affections off at his lapse.
❝ I think I can accept this condition. ❞
"Good,“ she breathed against his lips, then moved to trail kisses from his lips downward, nuzzling the crook between his neck and shoulder. "Still sleepy?” Em did not stop her motions as he embraced her, or even as she maneuvered herself on top of him, knees pressed against the mattress on either side of his chest.
“Indeed I am. I have always wanted to visit, just somehow have never found the time; but thuri - sorry Alduin - speaks so highly of you it seemed like a crime not to come and meet you myself. I am Ea. It would seem that I was previously under his employ…well, more like a servant really. Truly, it is a pleasure.”
Em raised an eyebrow, shook her head slightly. She was not really comprehending what this woman was saying. Alduin? Her Alduin? When did he have time to have a servant? Unless– "Are you from Skyrim, too?” That still made no sense. Dragons having servants? If her Alduin, the human one, was acquainted with her…well Ea was not exactly ugly–
