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[22 Dec 2005|09:18pm] |
[ earlier ]
The door opens, and this is... really not a hippie's sort of happy love-filled place.
"Stark" is probably one of the best ways of describing Eris' island. The land, ocean, and sky are all shades of slate grey; the only color, as the door closes, is that of the Tree.
And there's a reason it gets capitalized, really, as it's the only plantlife growing on the island, all in shades of green and gold, lighting up this really very strange place.
It's uncomfortable, studying the horizon too closely, for there is thunder and lightning in the place where sky and ocean meet.
"Somebody wants to meet you," Eris calls towards the Tree, pulling Xander away from the door, which is now nothing more than the shadowy blue outline of one.
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[05 Mar 2005|11:13am] |
The island is quiet, the storms pushed out to the horizon.
The bench under the tree is more and more like a couch every whatever-passes-for-a-day-here.
It's quiet.
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[03 Mar 2005|06:11pm] |
[ inside the bar ]
With speed, there's no time for niceties.
She'll return the couch later.
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[15 Feb 2005|10:03pm] |
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The island isn't quite empty.
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[12 Feb 2005|02:16am] |
It's always been hard to tell time on this island.
The storm is back out to the horizon, although perhaps the horizon is slightly closer than it once was.
Halfway up the Tree, there's a wide branch. She sits on it, back against the trunk, watching the lightning.
Her arms are wrapped tight around her lion.
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[10 Feb 2005|09:42pm] |
Quiet.
And then, noise.
It had once been long since the tranquillity of the island had been disturbed.
It has been longer since the storm itself had actually touched the island.
Sheets of rain drench the island and any inhabitants within moments. Although the sky has gone black, darker even than the choppy waters of the sea, the constant lightning both aids and hurts vision, turning this sudden night brighter than a normal day.
She is there, less than a moment later, halfway up her Tree, arms wrapped tight around her trunk.
If Eris is crying, her tears are lost in the rain, and she is silent and still below the noise of the thunder.
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[10 Feb 2005|03:48pm] |
I told you as much as I could about Hel, Eris. Besides, as much as I love you, you can't understand.
... it's been a long time, Loki. Don't think you know what I would or wouldn't understand anymore.
Show me the corpse of your dead child, Eris, and I'll believe that you can understand.
I have never been only as you know me.
And I have never been only as you know me, Eris. There is a difference between a god of transformation and a god that transforms.
D'you think I don't know that, Loki? *shakes head* No. You know what? Fuck this. You hate your father. I know that. I don't blame you for it in the slightest, he's worse even than Zeus. Turn the myths on their ears, I don't give a flying fuck.
He's not my father, Eris. He's my blood-brother by choice. He just doesn't like to acknowledge it, and I am content to let things be because it makes the others feel more comfortable. I can wait, sit around for eons before starting Ragnarok and watch as the myths play out, fight Heimdall to the death over that fucking bridge...or I can turn the world on its head, have my vengeance, take my place, and save my family.
Are you the one that wants to tell Echo what's going to happen to Yamino eventually? Are you the one who wants to tell that little elf that the puppy she plays with will one day rip out Odin's throat? Are you the one who read Wordsworth to their daughter as she sat on your lap, sighing with the only bit of happiness she's ever had even as she disappeared into nothingness?
What the fuck do you want from me anymore, Loki?
I don't know what I want from you, Eris. All I know is what I want. My family safe. My daughter avenged. This horrible fucking fate that awaits us all changed.
Well then. Have fun, Loki.
Don't you fucking dare, Eris.
Don't what.
Give me that.
You don't know what you want. Don't expect a fucking thing from me until you do, you don't have the right to ask it anymore.
If you have a better idea, tell me. Please. Tell me how I can save my family. Tell me how I can save myself.
Do you know how you're going to die, Eris? Do you know which dagger will still your heart? Do you know which hand will hold it? Do you know when? Do you know why?
You're not the only one with a fate set in store for you, Loki. And you never have been.
No, I'm not. My son has one as well. As does the other. My daughter's was unknown until now.
Do you want the answers to your questions, Loki?
If you have them, I will take them.
Yes.
I know.
I've always known.
You've never asked.
Who told you?
Aneris.
She would.
*shrugs* It's not like it matters, though.
No, it doesn't.
You've never asked. You never ask.
Probably because I don't care.
No. You don't. You never did.
Neither of us are nice. We've been pretending too long. And no, I never did.
Perhaps you are right, Loki. I hope you have fun with Ragnarok. Should be an utterly thrilling lightshow.
You see it out the window every day, Eris. You know it is.
Tell me, Eris. I do want to know one thing.
Do you kill yourself?
You have no right to ask that.
I suppose I don't. But you've already answered me.
Have I?
Yes.
And what answer did I give you, Loki?
You have no right to ask that.
*laughs* Oh, that's rich.
Think what you like, Eris. I never did give a shit. About what anyone thought of me. Or what I said. Or what I was set to do.
Give up on your fucking martyr complex, Loki.
*laughs* I could say the same.
But you won't, will you.
After all...
You never cared.
Did you?
Doesn't matter now either way, does it.
I will tell you this, though.
I never cared about the fate they set in store for you. I never based my judgements on it. And even if you have always been the Father of Lies regardless, all these millennia... you should still know me well enough to know that I have always preferred the choice.
... It hurts, Eris.
Betrayal always does.
By or against?
Always.
I know.
You forget.
No, I didn't.
I told you.
I tried to warn you, Eris.
The Trickster is also the Fool.
Then there are other things you have forgotten instead, Loki.
I've forgotten nothing.
Haven't you?
Nothing, Eris.
Then you're far more the fool than I thought.
Silly, silly me.
Such is my lot. Such is my purpose.
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[09 Feb 2005|02:05am] |
Privacy.
Privacy is good.
And that would be why, instead of the island, or a room in Lestat's mansion on the Rue Royale, or Daniel's apartment, they are in a room decorated in greens and golds.
The door is shut.
The door is locked.
She turns to look at him, leaning back against the locked door, wings spread out on either side.
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[05 Feb 2005|01:28am] |
She leans against the windowsill, looking out on the relatively quiet street, in the dark hours of the night.
Although other rooms in the house are busy or noisy enough, this one is quite quiet, almost muffled. Almost.
A warm breeze, that smells more than a little of the swamps of the area surrounding the city, blows in through the open window.
She smiles a little.
"Well? Go ahead and ask, Kellin."
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[03 Feb 2005|01:22pm] |
She still needs to find Yamino and Fenrir and Kellin from Loki's home in Tokyo, and she will, very soon... but there are some things which he will understand must come first.
And so it is that when she opens a door in New Orleans, it leads her to her island, instead of to a bedroom decorated in greens and golds.
She walks quietly towards her Tree, and the still form lying on the bench under it.
"Lochiel? Are you awake?"
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[01 Feb 2005|03:42am] |
The island is not empty.
It has been quiet for hours. It's hard to count the passing of time, as the light is slow to wane, and if the sun visits this land, it's in disguise.
At the edge of the water is the faint blue outline of something that could be a door.
Kellin sits on the opposite side of the Tree as the door, his back resting against it. There's a blanket lying nearby, ignored. Every once in a while, he still pulls at the collar, stopping when he can't breathe anymore. He watches the lightning on the horizon without expression.
The island is not empty. But it has been quiet for hours.
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[30 Jan 2005|07:52am] |
[ following this ]
There is an island.
Perhaps it is a Grecian winter. Perhaps it is a Scandinavian summer. Perhaps it is somewhere Else entirely.
Perhaps it does not matter.
The earth is rocky and black, and there is only one thing that grows on this island - a great Tree, that arches up towards the skies. Not the Heavens, no, not here. Simply the sky; a great cloudy or cloudless reach, monochromatically grey, filled with sourceless light.
Grey skies, and limitless ocean as far as the eye can see, of a darker grey. On the horizon, lightning strikes in distant storms in any direction the eye turns.
There is no color on this island, except for that of the Tree - green leaves, and golden apples.
There are few of those, now.
There is a constant breeze, surprisingly dry, on this island. It smells of the ocean, and of the apples. And just now, it carries the faint stench of burning plastic, settling in the back of one's mouth and tasting wrong.
And then there are three.
One kneels, on hands and knees, still struggling to catch his breath.
One stands scowling at the first, purple godfire glowing around his hands.
And one stands between them, with a faint smile, bare feet pale against the darkness of the soil.
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[29 Jan 2005|09:47am] |
[ooc: following this thread with Brian</a>]
She fades in on the island, still sitting, with her back against the Tree. But she's only there a moment before she's on her feet again, and somehow she's changed just enough because this isn't what she was wearing in the bar. Bare feet make no noise on the rocky soil, and the short white shift dress doesn't move much in the angry dry breeze.
There is something on her island that does not belong here.
It's a small island, and it doesn't take long to find it - Gil's shirt, left at the edge of the tiny stream. A glare, a thought, not even that much, and it's burned and it's gone and she'll have to thank Loki later for leaving that of himself on her island. That, that she doesn't mind... this shirt, this taint does not belong here.
The shirt is gone, but there's still something here. She smellstastesknows it, the way you know when someone has stabbed you in the back.
As Eris methodically works her way through the Tree, the storms on the horizon are much, much closer to the island.
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[25 Jan 2005|01:19am] |
It is a place.
There is not much more to say of it than that.
A small and rocky isle, in a place that might be Sweden in summer, or Greece in winter.
There is no source for the light in this place, and there is no vegetation but a single apple tree, near the center of the island.
One wide branch leans out over the spring that turns into a creek.
It might be occupied.
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[21 Jan 2005|02:25am] |
[ooc: following this]
Daniel is now sitting on his couch.
Eris is still in his lap.
She whispers Yes, and one hand at the back of his neck pulls him down for another kiss.
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