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Post by Malice MacArran on Dec 21, 2012 15:00:52 GMT -6
 Malice was trying to trust Darsidian. For a long time, she'd lived with only herself to confide in, a lonely and difficult life for a woman like her. She was so young to be a highwayman, to be a theif, and yet by society's standards, far too old to be a virgin--which she was, regrettably, no more. Of course, she should have been married by now. Thank the gods for being raised a gypsy and for not being raised a noble. Forced marriages were bad, were trying, were wrong. Malice had not lived in that society, nor ever would she. "I will," she smiled gingerly. At more words she stopped her tongue until the right thing left. "Ido hope this doesn't happen ofttimes," she answered. And it was genuine. She hated to see him hurting at all.
Malice stood firmly at the end of the staircase, looking at Darsidian with curious eyes and wondering more than she could handle to wonder. He was so much a mystery to her, and both of them were naturally so well-guarded that secrets abounded like leagues between them. She did not know how to answer her wants. She did not even know what she wanted. What a curious man he was, and what a curious thing the mind seemed to be, to play tricks and deceive, while all the same leading one to shelter.
Something between a sigh and a deep breath escaped Malice, and she answered with poise. "Who's to judge?" she asked. "I know more of you already than I do of most of my gypsy band after years." She tried to smile but was caught off-guard by Darsidian's reaction, which she tried to read even though she'd learned how hard that could be. The pulse under her palm quickened; she thought she could see something flash in his eye. It was not that she had meant to spark some bad memory, or pain some sequestered region of the heart. She had been but honest.
His smile did not discourage her. "Do you mind?" she asked, not wanting to incite anything between them that could damage their already-fragile trust. She was a killer and he a beast. Why should they trust eachother?
As he looked round, Malice felt a dull pounding in her head and remembered how tightly her hair was bound. She usually untied it before sleeping, only this time she'd been far too tired. With Darsidian glancing about the room, a distance in his eyes, Malice untied the ribbons and unbraided her hair until it hung over her shoulder, down to her stomach; it was nearly white with golden strands. Had he seen her like this yet? No, she recalled, because when would he have? He turned back and she smiled a little as his eyes focused again on her. She dare not ask what was on his mind, though she did glance over to the red-stained room with somewhat of a grimace.
She went as she was told, finding the end of a loaf of bread, and sat down at the table with it. Her eyes were fixed on him and she watched with analytical curiosity. What was he trying to prove with his facade? He did not have to be so strong. And neither did she. That was something she was learning now. "Come, sit with me. Share more of your words." She smiled, invitingly at best, and shot a glance to the chair beside her. He did not have to worry himself over all of this now; she would always be here to help him.
 STATUS complete TAG Darcy ATTIRE link to outfit
LYRICS Falling Slowly; Glen Hansard WORD COUNT 710 NOTES notes here
COPYRIGHT Flik of Roleplaying Extras |
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Post by Darsidian on Dec 26, 2012 23:21:23 GMT -6
Darsidian shrugged slightly. “I get hurt often enough to make it worth my while to have healing in my blood,” he said. And it was true that he gave thanks every day for the knowledge that his mother passed on before her death. It had saved his life more times than he might have liked to admit, especially when he was first learning to live with the beast. He offered a smile that he hoped was reassuring. “I’ve at least learned what is serious enough to warrant concern. I’ve bounced back from all of them so far.” He shook the hair away from his face as she paused at the staircase to look at him. He could feel the questions in her stare as she kept her eyes on him. He blushed lightly under the scrutiny as he moved to look for something in his cupboards.
He smiled at her, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I ought to be careful, hmm?” he said. “Can’t have you finding out all my secrets so soon. No fun for you to piece it all together.” He could tell he had thrown her off balance with his reaction to her statement. He hadn’t meant to hurt her or anything, he was just so terrified of the word after he had destroyed everything he had loved before. He was too afraid to let anyone love him or for him to love anyone else. He shrugged.
“Your feelings are your own. No one can tell you to change that or tell you how to feel. I wouldn’t dare to try, else I might find a dagger in my throat.” He smiled to let her know he was teasing. “As I said it’s been a very long time since I’ve had that said to me. You just…surprised me is all.” The dance around the truth was one that was well practiced and Darsidian hoped that he wouldn’t have to use many more steps. He pulled a rag from one of his cabinets and he moved over to the basin of water he had used the night before to clean his wounds.
Darsidian watched Malice with an appraising eye as she walked over to find the bread. She certainly was an attractive young woman, and she wasn’t much younger than himself. Both of them had secrets to hide, and he assumed that she was just as willing as he was to protect those secrets to the grave. It made sense for the two of them to be together. So why was Darsidian fighting it so hard? Why did he shrink back at the thought of allowing another person into his heart? Was it because deep inside he knew it was something he didn’t deserve after everything that had happened?
Shaking his head after a moment of watching her, he moved and knelt next to the largest splotch of blood on the floor. He wet the rag in the basin and splashed the spot on the floor. He felt his heart pick up again. He couldn’t stand the sight of the blood on the floor. It had to be clean. He saw, reflected in the imagined pools, the lifeless eyes of his family staring at him, accusing him. He scrubbed a bit harder than might have been necessary, but he needed the blood out of sight. He could concentrate on nothing as long as it was there. It only reminded him why he could never have anyone that he cared about.
He waved off the invitation to eat. He didn’t think he could stomach the thought of food without taking care of this first. “I’ll eat momentarily. I can’t have my business looking like someone died here,” he said. He couldn’t help the tears that started to form at the edge of his eyes. Whenever he had to clean up messes like this, he couldn’t help the fact that he became that little boy that had never cried for the death of his family. He had been too scared to. He blinked quickly, hoping that his attention to the task at hand would at least disguise his momentary weakness. She could never understand this weakness. She said herself that she had killed many men, and yet the sight of blood did not appear to repulse him in the same way it repulsed him. He cleared his throat as it threatened to close with emotion.
“What words did you want to hear, Malice? Words of poetry? Words of business?” he asked, trying to keep her from seeing his emotional vulnerability, but knowing he was fighting a losing battle.
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Post by Malice MacArran on Dec 28, 2012 15:37:23 GMT -6
With a slight twitch of her eye, Malice took in his words and had to think to convert them to a response. She was extremely tired, after two partly-sleepless nights, and her mind was not working as well as it normally did. Perhaps that also contributed to her easy show of emotions, her somewhat vulnerability. Her words didn't come easily, though.
"I'm glad at least for that. Perhaps you should teach me some of what you know, in case... In, well, you know." She looked away sheepishly, thinking about how foolish she'd sounded. Sometimes her words left her wondering how Darsidian, educated and masterful with words, did not look upon her with more disdain. She was a very fool; while her ideas may have occasionally been worth his time, she could never craft into the right words those things she wanted to express. Maybe that was part of the reason she felt unworthy of him.
She smiled a little at his comment, thinking quickly of a witty response. "I know your lie now," she said quietly. "But I find that the puzzle was not quite enough a challenge. My best challenge shall be figuring out how to get you to let me stay." She was honest; she did not wish to go elsewhere. And it wasn't just that Malice wanted to stay here physically. She also wanted Darsidian to let her in. To let her get to know him. But she knew better than to push something like that. Nothing was quite as painful as the pride of a man. "I mean to apologize then. I don't want to say anything wrong. Honest, it surprised me too." She tried hard to smile at him.
"You might be wary, for I may anyway," she answered lightly, though she had no dagger anywhere near her. With her hair down and but a layer of fabric around her, there were no places to hide a weapon. She wished she'd taken a surcoat or at least her blouse to wrap around her, just to not feel so vulnerable. At least, she thought, Darsidian wasn't going to hurt her. She was no more wary of him being near her--well, perhaps a bit, for it was difficult for one to shake the lessons of a violent life--and she knew that at least the man in him was good. Even if he did not believe so.
She could feel his eyes on her and she felt slightly bare. She had no weapons on her and now that her hair was down Malice felt slightly like a young girl again. Smiling to herself, Malice took the bread to the table and watched Darsidian as he cleaned. She would have offered her assistance but she knew he was wary of her. She had to internalize the dramatic personality and emotional changes she'd endured in the past two days. She shook her head.
"When you are done, do join me." She ate in silence, reflection, trying to pry her eyes off of him. But she wasn't watching so much as thinking. The look on his face didn't register until he tried to hide it. She furrowed her brow but did not inquire. "More poetry," she answered gently. How she loved his words.
STATUS complete TAG Darcy ATTIRE link to outfit
LYRICS Falling Slowly; Glen Hansard WORD COUNT 710 NOTES notes here
COPYRIGHT Flik of Roleplaying Extras |
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Post by Darsidian on Jan 10, 2013 23:42:51 GMT -6
Darsidian leaned against the wall and watched as Malice struggled to comprehend his words. He could tell by her face that she must be exhausted, with everything that he had put her through without the chance for a respite. When she did at last speak, Darsidian considered her request for a few moments. Malice did have a point. While there hadn't been any nights where he came home and had been unable to treat himself, he certainly had had some close calls. If Malice intended to stay with him for as long as she appeared to want to stay, Darsidian supposed that he could take advantage of her offer. "You do have a point, Malice," Darsidian conceded. "It's probably best if I teach you to help me if I'm far enough gone that I can't help myself. Well I hope you never have to use that knowledge, it's never a bad thing to learn. My mother always told me that it is always better to have knowledge that you don't need than to need knowledge you don't have." It was a philosophy that Darsidian had taken to heart after his parents' death. However, though the spirit of his philosophy was rooted in the words his mother had told him, Darsidian's philosophy had twisted and warped throughout the dark time after his parents' death. While his mother had used this philosophy to encourage her family, especially her children, to broaden their intellectual horizons, Darsidian used the principle as a means of survival and made it his business to know everything he could about everything he could. Darsidian knew the truth of the words 'knowledge is power' and he knew that the more he knew, the closer he was becoming like the god that inhabited his body. "So I believe," he said, "that this means that I am to teach you to read, to write, and to heal." He frowned, picking at a string of his tunic. "I can't promise you that I will be the most amiable of teachers, nor the most patient, nor the most agreeable. I can promise you, however, that I will teach it to you to the best of my abilities and hopefully in a way that will be meaningful to you." Darsidian let out a deep breath as Malice admitted that she had found his lie. "Yes I suppose you do. I've blathered on enough that you probably know more than that." Oddly enough, Darsidian didn't seem as threatened by this as he thought he would. In fact, even having not said much about his past, he knew Malice wasn't stupid. On the contrary, she was a very shrewd woman and he was sure that though she could not read or write, she could just as easily and just as correctly put two and two together and come up with four. She knew from the lines in his hands that there had been a tragedy in his young life. She knew by his own admission that he had a family. And she knew, also by his own admission, that he had been on his own for 13 years. It didn't take a genius to figure out that his family was dead. The only thing that she didn't know, and Darsidian wondered if she hadn't already guessed, was that he was the one that put them in the ground. Darsidian shrugged. "Stay or go as you please, Malice. I am no heathen. I will not turn you out for as long as you consider this your home and as long as you present no threat to me or to the beast." He stepped over to her briefly, laying a hand on her cheek, and gave one of his trademark smiles that seem to have a secret hidden behind his charm. "But it's not a challenge, my dear, if you've already done it. We had a gentleman's agreement in which you would stay, like it or not, if I allowed you to ask your questions. You have outfoxed me in my own foxhole, catching me in an agreement where either way I had to concede something." He smiled to let her know that he was teasing her. He would volunteer some information if it meant that he had a chance of living a life that was no longer lonely. After all, their gentleman's agreement had left enough wiggle room and he was still able to be selective about the information he chose to share. Darsidian waved off her apology. "There's no harm done." He smiled. "We are both surprised but neither one of us is injured, physically or emotionally. And now that I've had time to let it sink in, I don't find the idea quite as jarring as I did at first." He laughed. "I may very well have to sleep with one eye open around you, my dear. I have no doubt that you can kill me eight different ways until Saturday. And I'll bet more than one of those would be in a way that not even I would expect." Darsidian knew that despite how much he considered them both to be well on the right side of the law, they were both killers. The difference between them, however, that Darsidian relied on brute strength to finish his kill and he knew that Malice had to be a killer that relied on finesse. After several minutes scrubbing, Darsidian could bear to look at the floor, though the ghost of the small puddles remained. He slowly got to his feet, careful not to put too much pressure on his injured arm as he hoisted himself to his feet. He laid the wet rag on the bench near his work area and moved over to join Malice at the table. He took a piece of bread and began to eat with her. "Let's see. What kind of poetry can I offer you?” He thought for a moment. “How about a poem from my homeland?” Little bird! O little bird!
I wonder at what thou doest,
Thou singing merry far from me,
I in sadness all alone!Here he reached forward and took a strand of her hair in his hand. He twirled the end of it in his fingers as he tried to remember the stanzas that his mother had spoken to him in the days before the fever delusions had taken control of his mind. He continued: Little bird! O little bird!
I wonder at how thou art
Thou high on the tips of branching boughs,
I on the ground a-creeping!His hand never wavered from its measured twirling, his eyes fixed on the strands. The gesture was one he found soothing, though it was altogether foreign for such an intimate gesture to comfort him the way this one did. Little bird! O little bird!
Thou art music far away,
Like the tender croon of the mother loved
In the kindly sleep of death.He looked up at her and smiled. “How did I do?” -------- OOC: Totally didn’t write the poem. Totally don’t know when it was written. But it sounded good. So I’m going to go with it. Here is the link to it www.poetseers.org/the-great-poets/irish-poets/celtic-poems-2/little-bird/. |
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Post by Malice MacArran on Jan 12, 2013 18:15:21 GMT -6
Malice listened nervously to his words. She was not certain what it was about them that made her nervous, but there was this odd feeling that was pitted in her stomach as she watched him; it had to be anxiety. What else might it be? Again, at the thought of tending his wounds, should he come home in such a state, Malice's heart seemed to change its beat. Certainly, she never wanted it to be that bad.
She smiled softly, thoughtfully. Malice, as illiterate and uneducated as she was, did value knowledge. She needed to know how to survive, how to maipulate. She needed to understand how one's mind worked and how it could be broken. But now, she felt like that knowledge was useless. Darsidian was here now, and she did not feel the need for self-preservation as she always had before. He would protect her. "Then I deem your mother to have been a rather brilliant woman. No doubt passed on." She wondered, in that instance, if that might have touched a nerve, and drew her eyebrows together in worry. She did not wish to hurt him.
Darsidian did not, to her ears, sound entirely convincing. She knew his personality now, and how valiant his intentions always were. No; he could not be so callous as a teacher, either. Malice drew a smile and let her response be simple. "I know that everything you do is meaningful." She stubbornly clung to her belief in his good nature, despite all that she knew about him as the beast. Oh, he was a good man. He had to be. Because there was nothing else that would have stopped her from piercing his heart when she'd been given the chance.
She thought about his answer. Malice had told herself but a minute ago that she wasn't going to worry about that, and she wasn't going to tell him, but she'd already done one of those things. Now, it was impossible to keep her mind from running ceaselessly. She watched his face and dismissed it, saying "I know only what I need to." It wasn't meant to be mysterious; just to buy her a couple more seconds to make the final deductions. She knew he'd had a family once, and she knew he'd been alone from a young age. What had these in common? Had her reading been correct, it meant that something had happened to them, that they were likely dead. And by the way he spoke of his mother--so lovingly--it made sense. So what had killed them? What was so horrible that he wanted to hide ev--Oh.
A confused and slightly disbelieving look crossed Malice's face, and she caught her breath. It dissapated quickly, and though she could hope it wasn't so, she knew he'd notice. Was that what he was hiding from her? Had it really been him? She was nearly frightened, but told herself there had to be a reason. He was too good to kill in cold blood.
"I'll stay, I know," she gulped nervously, mostly just to assure herself. She was glad to hear his teasing; it made her feel better. And she could see in his eyes that there was benevolence. She looked up hopefully, trying to forget the thoughts that had just crossed her mind, and smiled. "Enough to permit my use of it?" Some part of her kept fighting the idea that he could ever kill; she wanted him to be her protector.
Malice smiled to him and shook her head. "Oh, but I would never. I can't hurt you." When he came over to join her, Malice had to fight the urge to reach for him, to feel something of him. She was blocking all undesirable thoughts and letting him be with her, letting herself believe what she wanted to. And she believed he was good. His poem was beautiful, and her heart and stomach began to flutter as he reached out to touch her hair. What was wrong with her? Why should she be letting him do this, and why did it feel so wonderful that he was? When he was done, she could no more help herself.
"Darcy," she said softly, smiling. She put her hand on his and gave him the slightest of kisses on his lips. "It was lovely." She knew better than to think him bad. Her heart wouldn't allow it.
STATUS complete TAG Darcy ATTIRE link to outfit
LYRICS Falling Slowly; Glen Hansard WORD COUNT 710 NOTES notes here
COPYRIGHT Flik of Roleplaying Extras |
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Post by Darsidian on Jan 18, 2013 17:04:46 GMT -6
Darsidian’s brows drew together at the mention of his mother, not in anger, but at the memories that surfaced. He missed her so. He had always been his mother’s boy, with his brother taking more after his father. He had nothing but sweet memories of his mother until her death. “Yes. She was a brilliant woman. Strong and beautiful, gentle and loving.” He moved over to one of the shelves of books and ran his fingers over a few of the spines before coming to a well-worn book. He pulled it off the shelf and brought it over to Malice, his fingers flipping the pages carefully before finding what he was looking for. He turned the book to her, a sketch of a smiling woman with a braid over her shoulder on the faded and worn pages.
“My father drew when he wasn’t working. This is a portrait he drew of my mother.” He stood there, holding out the book, but shifted his weight a little restlessly. He didn’t know if Malice would even care. But Darsidian looked very much like his mother and talking about her…well…he wanted Malice to know her. He was sure that his mother would have liked Malice had she lived to know her. But then again, if she had, he might never have met Malice. He looked at her as he let that sink in, and that he was thinking was clearly evident in his eyes. He moved to take the book away. “I’m sorry. You must think this terribly stupid.”
He chuckled softly. “Yes. Everything I do has meaning. Meaning to myself. My methods may be outlandish, but hopefully they will be as effective as I think they are,” he said. He’d never spent enough time with others to teach them anything, so he hoped that he might be a good teacher, if only for her sake. He smiled at her. “We’ll start once you’ve had a chance to settle in a little bit.”
Darsidian watched Malice as she worked through his reply, and he knew the instant she connected all the dots, his eyes flashing gold a moment. Though Darsidian didn’t think she would do anything to him, the beast inside him wanted to remind her that he was still lurking beneath the surface. He folded his arms across his chest. The stare he gave her dared her to ask.
“Of course,” he said. “Ask anything you want. But just remember, I don’t always tell the whole truth. And even if I did, they might not be the answers you want to hear.” He said. He offered his trademark smirk. “Well it’s good to know you couldn’t hurt me. Though I wouldn’t say that too loud to just anyone.” He blinked in surprise as she brushed her lips against his and was glad that he had enough of his wits about him to return the kiss for the brief moment their lips connected.
“I’m glad you liked it.”
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Post by Malice MacArran on Jan 21, 2013 12:55:11 GMT -6
It took all that was in Malice to not think too much on her own family. She hated them, really, to some extent, and some more than others. Her mother was loose and immoral; she was a wasted soul. Her only true brother was cruel and wicked and very likely out to take her life so that he could truly claim the MacArran throne. And her father? She'd never known him, but she had heard that the clan he ruled was bloodthirsty. What had ever made her want to join it? Now, here in Darsidian's home, she felt like there was a part of her which had long been missing that was being restored. She was no more alone.
Malice looked at the picture with a wonder-filled gaze in her eyes, and then looked up at Darcy. The eyes, they were so similar, and the structure of the face symmetrical. She smiled and drew in a shallow breath. "She was lovely, Darsidian. And she looks very much like you." Not noticing the parallel to the picture, Malice had begun to sweep her hair off of her back and braid it again, as she normally did every morning. As she did so, she was unable to take her eyes from the picture, the semblance impressive. This was what must have pulled at his heart, to not have the love he'd once seemed to have. And she pitied him; she'd never gotten the love that she wanted and it did hurt. Then she watched his eyes, and wondered.
"What? No!" she protested. "You have many stories that lurk, I can tell. They're much better than mine and... And I like to learn about who you are." She was not lying, and she knew so, but she was pushing it with the last sentence. There were things that maybe she shouldn't know about him, but if she was going to bare her soul to him, she may as well know. Was there anything too much for her to handle? No, she thought not.
Malice liked to hear him laugh. It was an assuring sound, a nice and pleasant noise. And it was one that she rarely got to hear. It made her smile in spite of herself and she answered him softly. "I do not doubt you in the least," she told him, exuding a light confidence. As good to her as he had been already, as much as she had learned about herself and her world, surely there was not a single thing he could not teach. She was very much appreciative of it, and of him, and there was a small part of her that truly wished there were words enough to thank him.
But then she found herself playing with this dark, dangerous fire, and Malice looked away. His eyes turned to those of the wolf for but a moment, and that was one thing that scared her. Darsidian may like her, may want to keep her safe, but she had learned already that the wolf and he were not always parallel in their thoughts. Their desires were not always symmetrical. She shuddered for a moment under this look, but did not make a sound. Imposing as he looked, her curiosity and her hunger for satisfying herself won out and she asked in a very small voice, "Did you do it, then? Are they gone because of... the beast?" She fought for the words and wanted to find more that would reassure him of her... was it love? "I'm not going to run, and I'm not going to... love you any less for it," she finally declared.
She thought about it for a second and realized that it really would not matter. She was attached to Darcy, by word and emotion, and nothing would make her leave him now. This was her haven. His lips on hers felt like paradise itself, and she told him, "I'm not going to hide from you anymore, then. I think I may already have implied such, but I want you to know that I have feelings for you, Darsidian." She smiled softly, warily, wanting to meet his lips again. But she restrained from doing it; what if he did not approve, what if that made him dislike her?
STATUS complete TAG Darcy ATTIRE link to outfit
LYRICS Falling Slowly; Glen Hansard WORD COUNT 710 NOTES notes here
COPYRIGHT Flik of Roleplaying Extras |
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