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. ]
no subject
But if John can sense all the eyes on him after a few minutes, he can only imagine how she feels. It's like vultures circling, waiting for their beloved celebrity to make some sort of mistake so that their little lives that something to talk about. It sours the warmth of the whiskey he'd been enjoying, flask still half-yfull in his pocket. He smirks, otherwise maintaining the hard stare between them. ]
D'you mean like cards or literally? One of those I can talk to my mates from Thursday Poker to deal with, but the other might be a trip to the drug store.
no subject
[ She finishes the last of her drink, then turns lazily back to him. ]
Gotta . . . close the tab. 'N I want coffee.
no subject
Not tea?
no subject
[ She saunters over to the counter- still a gymnast's grace when three sheets to the wind. ]
Coffee.
no subject
Yer' the boss. But y'know, you say that often enough we could probably make a killing if we put it on shirts or buttons.
[ Damn near tempting to bring back his old punk jacket and start collecting flair for it again, but she never, ever needs to see that part of his history. If Newcastle and the death of Zatara didn't give her nightmares, his ass in those old jeans and jacket just might. ]
no subject