Persephone, the Destroyer (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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maskormenacelogs2017-02-05 04:38 pm
pummelgranite) wrote in maskormenacelogs2017-02-05 04:38 pm
February Open Prompts/Catch-all
WHO: Persephone vs everyone
WHERE: various cities
WHEN: through February
WHAT: A few prompts, please poke me if you want something else
WARNINGS: discussion of violence/depression/disordered eating likely as always
A. Nona- A Strange Performance in a Tiny Jazz Club
[ It's not her typical venue, not by a long shot. It's a small space, with a simple stage. She even lets them use their own lights instead of miracling up herself something more impressive. There's no dance floor, and they hardly advertised for her at all. It's more a jazz club than anything else, too small for her sound, really. But that's alright. She's not here to perform her normal mass.
She isn't in high heels, or armor, or war paint. Rather, she comes out in a simple black dress and veil, ornamented with white flowers. What she sings is no persistent climax. The rage and defiance and violence usually typical of her songs is missing as well. Instead, it's something bittersweet and heart-wrenching. It's like an intimate aria sung in that same untranslatable language, but the message is clear: winter will always fade, spring will always come, but there are still so many things lost that can never return. Just because spring is coming, does not mean you will live to see it.
The piano and cello duet that follow her aren't bad either. After her performance, it might seem like anyone else would pale in comparison, but if anything the opposite is true- they, too, sound breathtakingly beautiful in the space that she's blessed. The goddess herself makes her way to the bar. Her normal companions seem absent, and most of the patrons don't dare to make eye contact, let alone approach. Do you? ]
B. The Hotel Castille lounge/lobby, evening
[ Persephone WAS at the bar. But now she's in the beautiful, glittering lobby. She is sprawled in a chair that looks like it cost several normal human's paychecks, in a way quite disrespectful to the quality of the upholstery. Her feet dangle over the back, and her head hangs towards the floor. There's a soft cloud of colorful hair beneath her. In her hands is a notebook, and in her mouth is a pen. Every once in a while she takes the pen out of her mouth to jot something into the notebook, but mostly she's just chewing on the pen.
C. Maurtia Falls Art Museum, reasonable business hours
[ If one were to happen into the museum that day, it would be hard not to miss her. She parks herself on a bench in front of a particular piece of art, and doesn't move for over an hour.
The art in question is probably no surprise- it's a Renaissance work by a not-so-terribly-famous artist, depicting Orpheus playing for Hades and his queen. There are headphones in her ears, and the only sign she gives that she's not a statue herself is pulling out her phone every so often to change her music. ]
D. South Maurtia Historic Cemetery - literally any time you'd like, day or night
[ What the fuck is she doing now? Is she sleeping on a grave? It's a single grave in a family plot, but the headstones are all so old that the names have long since faded. So... yeah. Sleeping on someone's grave. Cool, cool, cool, cool, normal. ]
WHERE: various cities
WHEN: through February
WHAT: A few prompts, please poke me if you want something else
WARNINGS: discussion of violence/depression/disordered eating likely as always
A. Nona- A Strange Performance in a Tiny Jazz Club
[ It's not her typical venue, not by a long shot. It's a small space, with a simple stage. She even lets them use their own lights instead of miracling up herself something more impressive. There's no dance floor, and they hardly advertised for her at all. It's more a jazz club than anything else, too small for her sound, really. But that's alright. She's not here to perform her normal mass.
She isn't in high heels, or armor, or war paint. Rather, she comes out in a simple black dress and veil, ornamented with white flowers. What she sings is no persistent climax. The rage and defiance and violence usually typical of her songs is missing as well. Instead, it's something bittersweet and heart-wrenching. It's like an intimate aria sung in that same untranslatable language, but the message is clear: winter will always fade, spring will always come, but there are still so many things lost that can never return. Just because spring is coming, does not mean you will live to see it.
The piano and cello duet that follow her aren't bad either. After her performance, it might seem like anyone else would pale in comparison, but if anything the opposite is true- they, too, sound breathtakingly beautiful in the space that she's blessed. The goddess herself makes her way to the bar. Her normal companions seem absent, and most of the patrons don't dare to make eye contact, let alone approach. Do you? ]
B. The Hotel Castille lounge/lobby, evening
[ Persephone WAS at the bar. But now she's in the beautiful, glittering lobby. She is sprawled in a chair that looks like it cost several normal human's paychecks, in a way quite disrespectful to the quality of the upholstery. Her feet dangle over the back, and her head hangs towards the floor. There's a soft cloud of colorful hair beneath her. In her hands is a notebook, and in her mouth is a pen. Every once in a while she takes the pen out of her mouth to jot something into the notebook, but mostly she's just chewing on the pen.
C. Maurtia Falls Art Museum, reasonable business hours
[ If one were to happen into the museum that day, it would be hard not to miss her. She parks herself on a bench in front of a particular piece of art, and doesn't move for over an hour.
The art in question is probably no surprise- it's a Renaissance work by a not-so-terribly-famous artist, depicting Orpheus playing for Hades and his queen. There are headphones in her ears, and the only sign she gives that she's not a statue herself is pulling out her phone every so often to change her music. ]
D. South Maurtia Historic Cemetery - literally any time you'd like, day or night
[ What the fuck is she doing now? Is she sleeping on a grave? It's a single grave in a family plot, but the headstones are all so old that the names have long since faded. So... yeah. Sleeping on someone's grave. Cool, cool, cool, cool, normal. ]
D.
The man curses, acrid with panic and fury, kicking out at her in his mad scramble to get upright again, to keep running away like he had been before. Blindly, through a graveyard. In the middle of the night. The man, as it happens, is one of those 417 escaped convicts still at large an entire month after the blackout.
But someone is looking to change that. The thing that the escapee is running from stalks into view moments later, deliberate and measured in his pursuit, and blindingly bright in the dark cemetery: a skeleton, in leather jacket, lit on fire.
Good morning, Persephone.]
1/2
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After a moment's consideration, she sits back against the headstone again, and starts rummaging through her pockets for smokes. Obviously she's gonna see how this one plays out. ]
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Once he locks onto Persephone he turns towards her as much as he can with one arm occupied. The skull moves, tilting slightly, almost... curious.
Alright, the Rider is actually very curious, but fire and bones aren't typically the most expressive medium. Maybe it's how calm she is, or her willingness to help (because those brambles were actually very helpful) when so far he's been butting heads against nearly every other imPort when it comes to his preferred, permanent solution to the escapee problem. Maybe it's the hair. Almost as an afterthought, he sets the trapped, helpless convict in his grip on fire without looking away from her, completely unaffected by the man's garbled screams as he burns alive.
He lets go of the corpse and faces her completely as soon as the deed's done.]
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. . . he deserve that?
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The skeleton breaks its stare and turns away, just a touch jerky where it hadn't been before. The fire wreathing its skull dwindles and then disappears entirely, casting the graveyard in comparative blackness, and by the time anyone's eyes have the chance to adjust, Robbie has his face on again, just a touch dark on the cheeks and forehead where he's finishing growing the skin.
He looks at the corpse before he makes it back around to her, voice scraped raw but a touch defiant anyway.]
He did.
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Her fingers click and there's a deep red flare of power as her cigarette lights itself. Definitely everyone here is a cool hell badass and like. Totally not bothered with murder due to their bad hellness. ]
I hear burning's one of the shittier ways to die.
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He shrugs at her observation, meaning to play it off and ditch the body like he's done with all the others (especially the ones where imPorts were witnesses to the deed), until her cigarette goes bright in the gloom.
His eyes track to it, then back to her face, then to the ember again. She's the second one he's come across, here, and maybe...]
You got the devil inside you, too?
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[ Oh the private jokes you can make, when one is boning Lucifer. ]
But you don't really look like her type.
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What?
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[ She takes a drag and blows the smoke into the wind. ]
Is that what you are? Satan riding shotgun?
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Sometimes shotgun. Sometimes not.
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[ As blunt as possible is about her speed, yeah. She seems to accept his explanation totally at face value- perfectly believable for some other imPort to inform her that it's satanic possession that is turning him into a flaming skelebro, which is also totally normal. ]
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Yeah. So that ain't you? No deals or double acts?
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[ She for her part, seems almost bored of providing the explanation. ]
I'm the Destroyer, Persephone.
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Destroyer of what?
[He says like the name Ghost Rider makes any kind of sense at all.]
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[ She gives a little shrug. Epithets, am I right? ]
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Well, considering the touch of something in her expression earlier, before she'd managed to cover it up, he's comfortable enough to at least shelve the concern for now. He sighs, and rubs a hand over his face.]
I'll move the body. [Since she seemed to be squatting here.]
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[ Said sort of dryly. She can move, she has better spots. But she's curious about this guy. His demeanor seems prrretty different now that he's not on fire, which makes sense, of course. But it is curious. She doesn't bother to cover up her staring. ]
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The act is clearly routine enough for him that his face doesn't even twitch as he pulls it away and disposes of it. He does eventually wander back, though. For whatever reason, maybe even he's not sure.] Why are you sleeping in a graveyard? [There's gotta be less morbid places to sleep. Even if you are named the Destroyer.]
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She considers his question a moment, then cocks her head to the side. ]
Why does your whole face burn off?
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Anyway, you're serious? Who'd you see it to? Luci? Er- uh. The devil orrrr?
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Yeah. [A shrug, bullshit nonchalance.] He was the only one buying.
[He'd prayed to God, but God couldn't be arsed. So.]
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[ There's a long moment where she chews on the inside of her cheek, still looking at him critically. ]
I have it on good authority that damnnations a pretty good time. Y'know. If you're worried.
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