multiversallogs | i am hung with graveyard flowers;

Who: Ilde Decima and Hasi; OPEN
What: The water helps her.
Where: The Gross Tar; initially near her waterfall territory in Raven's Gate, after that various areas.
When: Givdi with Hasi; open after that through Shundi.
Notes: Specify time/place (if not Raven's Gate) if you tag in, please!
Warnings: Descriptions of LM:A-related horrors to follow in the thread with Hasi; discussion of rape & related fall out in thread with Jae.

When she finally goes down to the water, it feels so good that she hates herself for a moment sliding in, her clothes on the bank under an illusion. It soaks into her skin like she belongs there and she's glad that she got there first, that Hasi isn't there yet, because sinking into it hurts a little and it's-- not anybody's business what internal conflicts she's having. She just died. She's allowed to feel...whatever this is that she's feeling, and whatever it is she's going to feel it at the bottom of the river for a while, her tail catching light as it flicks up before she dives.

She'll surface, eventually.

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To which her incredibly droll response is: "Blow me, Deacon, it's not your rubbish bin."

...well. On the incredibly unsurprising upside, it's not the murder part of the equation that she evidently objects to.

That turns the twist of a sneer into a wider smile, a small huff of laughter - both from amusement at the sentiment delivered back to him, along with recognition. The night transforms people, and Ilde's change is slightly more literal. Smile melts away again quick enough, as it usually does, but he does relent;

"Fine. It's your turf." And he has his, and she respects his rules enough.

"Thank you," she says, primly, satisfied; the river is where she's most dangerous, but even in the mood she's in (the mood where 'biting everything' feels like such a tempting solution to, well, everything) she's not really interested in starting something with someone she ordinarily gets along with. For several reasons, not limited to the fact that she really does quite like his aforementioned turf and it wouldn't suit her to have to stop going.

Of course, now that that's currently off the table, tension lingers. She's wound tighter than she usually is, more opaque and more apart; it would be easy to think that maybe in the river it's just more evident that she's something different. After all, that's true, so far as it goes. All the little things that mark her out for otherworldly, they fit here, they make sense because the water is what she is.

So maybe that's all it is.

"You should wash your face." While he's here.

So he didn't get it all. It happens. There's a lot of blood in a man.

He runs his tongue over his fangs as he looks down at her, and then the water between them. After a hesitation, he rests his knee against the slick cobblestone, and maybe he isn't aware of her story, or what she's like ordinarily versus now, or what does and does not make sense, but he does know predators, and he knows territory.

"You're not gonna pull me in, are ya?" But he dips his hands into the water anyway, his sleeves having been rolled and buttoned back away from his wrists, as if water would be the worst thing to happen to his shirt.

The water seems to rise toward his hands in a way that just isn't quite natural, which might have something to do with why she's smiling so artlessly at him like I would never, in response to that question. She's even got her hands clasped behind her back, though the impersonation of ingenuous harmlessness takes on a slightly different cast performed by a nymph hip-deep in water.

"That would be rude." Like tossing a corpse in.

The weird shift of the water gets a blink, but little more. He rolls with it accordingly, and splashes his face anew, fingers working away errant smears, trickles of river water coursing down his throat and disappearing into his collar. "You don't strike me as Ms. Manners," he says, droll.

"I never made it to finishing school," she concedes; she was enrolled, though. Switzerland. It's one of many things that seems slightly at odds with the life she's ended up living, when she gives it much thought. The incongruity is something she sometimes perversely enjoys-- little lady, little monster. The two things can be true.

She has always been, as noted, more of an and than an or.

Water droplets run off the ends of long fingers with a flick of his hands to discard wetness, silvery beads that get quickly swallowed by the black river. Deacon sniffs, twists a little where he's perched to see if his ears are deceiving him in that he doesn't hear any approach. When he sees he still has some privacy, save for the girl with the tail, he relaxes back to look at her again.

His plan for the body is to leave it exposed on the cobblestone. Give the Militia something to do (and wonder why it was dunked in the river) and find a new hunting ground for a while. Thus, Deacon ignores it.

"Good little girls don't make friends with monsters anyway. How's yours?"

"Possessive." She sounds fond, if a little more abstractly than usual; it suits her for Ivan to be her monster. He'd asked her what she wanted to call their relationship and she'd settled on 'mine', it's not as though she doesn't have that self-same streak a mile wide. It felt good, coming back to that. To Ivan knowing that there should be water. (To he'd hit harder if it were about her and she shouldn't be quantifying value that way, but she does, so there's that.) "Preoccupied."

Ilde isn't always the most talkative of girls in the first place - admittedly, that changes in a heartbeat when she's been drinking - but she is, just at the moment, a little more stacatto. It's like a series of afterthoughts.

"That why you're out here?"

He presumes she doesn't do this often, but that would be presumption and his tone is light, open to correction, because Deacon doesn't fuckin' know where fairies go at night. He's talking now because he's sated, the night is young enough by vampire standards, and he likes Ilde about as much as Deacon Frost is capable of casually liking just anyone.

She shrugs-- it's more of a roll of her shoulders, lazy and liquid.

"It's my river."

...they're Maryis' waters, Ilde; but she loves it and it suits her, city girl in a city river. She couldn't live in Mafaton indefinitely, no matter how much she loves it there, because this is what she needs and going without it for any length of time would make her sick. This is where she's meant to be and where she's best and she doesn't have to live in a house or sleep in a bed or wear clothes or have feet but it suits her to, so she does. Not all the time, and not all in seriousness - clothing is play, human rules are humoured - but she does, in part because she's spoiled.

The people she's attached her life to live in that world, so she'll stay there, but she doesn't need it, not really. She ties herself to it, but she knows she could let go.

i am hung with graveyard flowers;

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