#⏳ | Neotric Celestials - ‘Their blood was like golden wine in consecrated chalice etched from glass.’

[verumace]

@theheartstreasure / Modern Day Mythos

         Finding her had been N E I T H E R easy or difficult.          After an eight hour flight from Paris ( and having to rouse from a restless evening, three hours rest in all ) he had managed to give those exhausting paparazzi hounds the slip whilst still at the airport. Some tabloids claimed he was paying someone overtime in helping him dodge them. One even suggested he had taken some lessons from MI6, but of course had nothing to support such a theory.                    ( it was amusing how quick they would drop a good quid on the truth but will only ever come up with outlandish ideas to print. they'd all eat their hats to see how he did it. )          With no irksome tail to worry about, that left him free to disappear to his penthouse. He did not dawdle, only stopping by to drop his luggage off in the master bedroom and freshen himself up from the long trip. Though he did fortunately remember to check to make sure he had the « surprise » on him before leaving.

             From there he had travelled from the GLARINGLY obvious wealthy side to the rundown buildings that were all but a slum section in name. The transition did not bother him, even if he would never understand what drove his the woman's kind heart to reside there.          She was not, as he suspected, to be found in her flat. He wondered if it were LUCK or FATE responsible for that, but decided it mattered little in the grand scheme of things. He left the rotting steel cage she called home, instead hopping around her usual haunts. None of the volunteer soup kitchens or shelter for the homeless yielded results, and by the third he switched pattern.          && there he found her, seated in her little hole-in-the-wall café. Owned by an older woman and her daughter, the place had been around and stood the test of crumbling economies and failing structures, surviving where much else had not on that street.          Seated as she was, he was afforded a chance to surprise her twice over. Yet he hesitated at the door, Italian leather squeaking lightly as fingers tightened around the metal bar serving as handle. It was absurd that he paused to check his reflection in the window, the glass showing a handsome devil in black and grey and blue Armani casual. Aqua had never been shallow creature, she had never held it against him when she saw him looking less than well put-together.

                       The moment passed, and then he was inside, with her only three tables away, back turned to him as she poured over what seemed like a novel of some sort. For the space of a few STUTTERING heartbeats, he gazed at her with plain fondness that the nearly empty room bore witness to.          ‘You know darling,’ unable to resist allowing a teasing undercurrent in rumbling tone, his graceful gait carrying him in her direction, ‘I can't recall another soul who makes reading look both precious and attractive at once.’

[verumace]

         That she did aquick impression of what she perceived to be one of his “ techniques ” managed to surprise him. Head tipped back with his amusement as laughter, deep and rolling, spilled out of his parted lips. Frame trembled slightly with the force of it, very nearly dislodging him from his careful perch && the large penthouse sitting room was full of the uninhibited sound.          When it trailed into nothing he was on his feet to briefly lean across the distance and ruffle her hair affectionately. ‘Cheeky little beast,’ in between the good humour, one could hear the subtle affection lacing each word. Retracting his hand, he slid down from the spot to sit upon cushion instead. Behind curled fingers, a smile unfurled into the corners of mouth, knuckles coming to lightly prop temple as elbow supported on the arm of the chair.          Seeing her excitement, so childish and open, was rather adorable. ‘This is my first year attending. Apparently it is to honour Harmonia, and is never held in the same place city or town in a row. I know little of the activities, but one would imagine there will be games, goods to purchase, food and drink and song. . . a merry time to celebrate friendship and unity.‘

Rould

Amusement quirks at the edges of mouth, making no move to hide itself. Though it had taken a little adjustment, her usually blunt attitude was as refreshing as it was entertaining. ‘You say that as if I don’t make preening an enjoyable sight,’ half in jest, partial complete confidence. He lowers himself to perch upon the limb of favoured armchair.

        ‘Irregardless, I hear they’re having a festival in Venice. Will that suffice for fun?’

Xion turned on the couch to face Rould as he moved. She tucked her legs beneath her and propped her chin against her palm. Rould cared a lot about his pictures and ‘preening.’ A whole lot about his appearance and making sure his face caterpillar stayed groomed. He was never amused by Xion’s attempts to feed it. For some reason. Xion personally thought the joke was hilarious.

“Yeah, I mean I think it’s funny when you make this face.” Xion ran her fingers through her hair and she threw her head back, back arching. She parted her lips and her eyes-half lidded in a romantic stare. 

 All too quick though her features brightened. “A festival?! That sounds so cool?! What kinda festival? What do they do?!”

[verumace]

         This time, he did nothing to stop the way lips curled up at the corners. In the back of his throat, a chuckle that's part hum as the tips of fingers lightly drum over the body of glass in hand. ‘Point to you, but are you so certain I'll be on the losing end regardless? There are few I'd protest a little friendly violence against.’

verumace‌:

         It is years of practice alone that keeps him from grinning, && instead manage to appear slightly offended at the question. ‘Are you so distrustful that you think me incapable of innocent fun?’

      “No but I do know you wouldn’t make a bet you had a chance of losing like that if you didn’t get something out of it.” He had no problem with smirking at the other. They had known each other for quite a long time and he liked to think he at least knew him somewhat.

[verumace]

         That Roxas' first instinct is to be suspicious of him is hardly a surprise. . . nor unwarranted. Such things came with the territory of being a HARBINGER of CHAOS, so he takes no offence at the assumptions made by the younger God. He lets it roll off like water over feathers, as he briefly drops into a crouch to gently scoop up the leopard in question, who offers no protest. She is too tired from their journey, and already well aware he is safe.          Once she is content and dozing in the crook of his arm, he straightens to his feet, fingers of opposite hand oh so lightly running through the tuft of furr atop the fuzzy head. ‘A shame, truly. She's rather well behaved for her age and does well with dogs, as I found out when Aqua brought hers over to the penthouse.’          Ah, well. . . . . . there was always the Sanctuary. That way, Lhenna would have plenty of fun and care if the boy couldn't take her.

         Despite how sour the welcome has been, Rould does not hesitate to move further into the room and take the nearest seat across from his host. He spares a brief glance to the plate full, but he decides it would be MOST counterproductive if he voiced humour or opinion, and so presses onward with the conversation. ‘Regardless, I did not bring her as incentive. I found her by chance; and believing you might enjoy her company, brought her along. Yet that is not the reason I am here,’ Blond head tilts as he reclines in the chair, one leg moving to fold over the opposite knee, ‘How do you find your knowledge of the local charities?’

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@caelumobscura

/ MDM starter call.

         ‘What would you say if I told you I come bearing a leopard cub as a gift? Irregardless of the laws on “ exotics ” here, that is.’

Living among the mortals wasn’t so bad, if he’s being honest. There’s a lot of little pleasures that Roxas lets himself enjoy. Like, syrup. Such a simple thing and for it to come from a tree of all things. The amount of life it brings his taste buds is unparalleled to anything he’s tasted thus far. Being a god, he doesn’t need to care too much about his body. Roxas enjoys getting himself ready for the day with a plate of maple syrup, sometimes accompanied with waffles or anything else he can think of to dip in it. 

He’s about to dig in to his “breakfast” when a distinct voice breaks the silence. Nemesis used to keep up with the other gods but ever since living among the humans, he’s grown tired of it. The gods are all too chaotic and it’s tiresome keeping up with who did what and to who. Living as Roxas, he much prefers answering the prayers and offerings of the humans he surrounds himself with. 

Seeing the ever conspicuous god of Fortune in his home does nothing but sour his mood. 

“I’d say that sounds like an offering. What did you do? And I get other visitors here that I don’t think would like a leopard cub roaming around the place.” His eyes flick over to the small pug sitting by his feet. Roxas doesn’t know the creature’s name, but he followed him home two weeks ago and hasn’t left since. What was he going to do, kick him out? 

“Aside from breaking into my home, is there any other reason you made your way here?”

[verumace]

         Regardless of how much time passed in between his running about, she would greet him with the same gentle enthusiasm. It was, he could admit privately, one of the reasons that he always made his way back to the city she had made her seat of power. Neither the lights over the water on a night in Venice or the opportunity to play cards against people from all walks of life in Monaco, could have the pull on his INDOMITABLE soul that she did.          && when she practically leapt from her chair, the legs making an unbearable SQUEAL as they scraped over the oak-wood floor that only registered in the peripheral senses, she caught him up in her embrace, pleasure ringing beautifully in her lovely voice. Had he been lacking in the self-possession he was known for, he would have melted into he right then and there.                    ( yet even then he is not sure he was so successful when he could s w e a r the tension of a weary journey drains from him completely at her touch.                  ––could he really be blamed, though? )

         There is no hesitation as his arms instinctively curl around her waist and draw her in even tighter against him. && for a moment he lets the world melt away into the background, allowing a self-indulgence as irresistible as his thrill seeking adventures abroad. A nuzzle that was well-nigh indistinguishable from just a shift of head, that had his cheek brushing soft tresses. Her scent wrapped around him like an old lover greeting him at the door, drowning out the less appealing smells of ginger, freshly baked bread, and coffee beans.      ( what he did not do was let himself wonder if they looked like two friends meeting up for a midmorning cuppa, or like a couple reunited. )           Then it was over, his selfish few seconds, and he was pulling back only enough that he might look down at her. She looked well, her life and purpose fulfilled and lending her a peaceful radiance. At her question came a low hum thrumming quietly up from the core of his chest. Arms slid from her waist and hands found hers. Fingers curled around palms and he stepped back only enough that he could bring them between himself and her.          Yet though it may have appeared a formal gesture to any on-lookers when lips pressed to her knuckles in the softest of kisses, it was anything but. ‘No more than an hour or two ago, actually. That was, of course, after a no layover flight from France, where I was booked for three shoots and an early, private showing of what Dior is collaborating with Vera Wang for a collection this summer.’ said with a dash of wry humour regarding the method. After all, it was not as if he needed to use human transportation, so the rush home wse all his own doing.

@theheartstreasure / Modern Day Mythos

         Finding her had been N E I T H E R easy or difficult.          After an eight hour flight from Paris ( and having to rouse from a restless evening, three hours rest in all ) he had managed to give those exhausting paparazzi hounds the slip whilst still at the airport. Some tabloids claimed he was paying someone overtime in helping him dodge them. One even suggested he had taken some lessons from MI6, but of course had nothing to support such a theory.                    ( it was amusing how quick they would drop a good quid on the truth but will only ever come up with outlandish ideas to print. they’d all eat their hats to see how he did it. )          With no irksome tail to worry about, that left him free to disappear to his penthouse. He did not dawdle, only stopping by to drop his luggage off in the master bedroom and freshen himself up from the long trip. Though he did fortunately remember to check to make sure he had the « surprise » on him before leaving.

             From there he had travelled from the GLARINGLY obvious wealthy side to the rundown buildings that were all but a slum section in name. The transition did not bother him, even if he would never understand what drove his the woman’s kind heart to reside there.          She was not, as he suspected, to be found in her flat. He wondered if it were LUCK or FATE responsible for that, but decided it mattered little in the grand scheme of things. He left the rotting steel cage she called home, instead hopping around her usual haunts. None of the volunteer soup kitchens or shelter for the homeless yielded results, and by the third he switched pattern.          && there he found her, seated in her little hole-in-the-wall café. Owned by an older woman and her daughter, the place had been around and stood the test of crumbling economies and failing structures, surviving where much else had not on that street.          Seated as she was, he was afforded a chance to surprise her twice over. Yet he hesitated at the door, Italian leather squeaking lightly as fingers tightened around the metal bar serving as handle. It was absurd that he paused to check his reflection in the window, the glass showing a handsome devil in black and grey and blue Armani casual. Aqua had never been shallow creature, she had never held it against him when she saw him looking less than well put-together.

                       The moment passed, and then he was inside, with her only three tables away, back turned to him as she poured over what seemed like a novel of some sort. For the space of a few STUTTERING heartbeats, he gazed at her with plain fondness that the nearly empty room bore witness to.          ‘You know darling,’ unable to resist allowing a teasing undercurrent in rumbling tone, his graceful gait carrying him in her direction, ‘I can’t recall another soul who makes reading look both precious and attractive at once.’