Summertime...
If Demeter wanted to, she'd just kill Xavior and be done with it.
That's the problem...
She may be utterly heart broken, frustrated, want to tear the world down around their ears, but she can't come up with a good reason to just kill the guy.
They have something akin to the early relations betwixt Benedict and Beatrice (who are my fave couple in all of Shakespeare, by the by). The warring of wills, acidic tongues, words that cut like blades.
Which means, of course, they have incredible sex.
Oh what to do with our dear Demeter? I want to see her fight, solve a problem or two, and have a good time doing it. Tell a joke or two. Exact vengeance. That sort of thing.
Plus, I long to see X slide on like he's never left, like the tomcat that he is, well fed and well hung, looking for any leftover cream that he may have missed. His game is that he's incredibly vain and silly. You'd never see the knife coming, essentially. He's the Scarlett Pimpernel. He's the Cheshire Cat.
And he's incredibly devoted to Demeter, despite himself, despite actions by either of them, through out the years. He seeks stimulus, because life everlasting gets boring...really quickly.
I remember him having a knife would scar on his side, from being cocky in a barfight, let's say...in Tuscon? or somewhere in the Old West. Think Vampire Hunter D, but with Cowboys and Indians. And platinum blonde. And with green eyes.
Dem's a version of Me...but more amber in the eyes, and hair more like myne was as a wee one. Taller, too...not much, like two inches. This makes all the difference, sometimes. Add something like 20 lbs of muscle/bulk, too, with a predatory grace. I could always visualize her from the side, looking down, like over a balcony, trenchcoat on, hair flowing in a breeze, blue silk wide collared french cuffed shirt.
She hits the floor running. Tuck and roll, baby, tuck and roll.
She can use a hand gun, easily--she has adapted to the times; X still prefers blades, of all shapes and sizes. Sword cane, especially. He lived through the French Aristocracy that broke that nation, and has a flair for the dramatic of a Marquis of that era. One specifically comes to mind--as they were friends, X&D stayed with our beloved De Sade, at his summer home, and participated in his wild theatricals. This was a time when D let her guard down. She was happy at this time...this changes as the Reign of Terror takes hold of France.
Flash to a two story home, rain pouring...a sable coloured cat making its way upstairs. The sound of a shower running...and a flash of lightening. The room is lit with a few candles, and a shadow can be seen on the balcony. The water turns off, and Demeter freezes, towel in hand.
The door is open to the outside, with rain streaming inside. The cat has curled up on the bed, one eye looking toward a rocking chair against the opposite wall--in shadow.
There is a smell of old leather, wet&muddy. Smoke hangs in the air. Demeter walks forward, one foot in front of the other, towel in her left hand, roughly folded over. There is a gun under the towel, and the seated figure in the shadows knows this, placing his hands in the air. She knows he is male--it is obvious in the way he is sitting, but most especially for the fact that he hasn't showered it what seems like weeks.
"Why, darling, you don't look happy to see me!" The voice is soft, but clear...it is all too familiar.
....
This is where I always see this beginning...I even found a printed version of this in a bunch of crud from like ten years ago, the other day. lol. *sighs* we'll see what happens. Last year, I wanted them to fight demons/aliens/Outer Dimension-y creatures...and had an interesting time writing the letters to/from each other, along with a few reports from their descendant...was it Emily? I can't remember now.
tah for now...the dead kennedys are distracting me.
That's the problem...
She may be utterly heart broken, frustrated, want to tear the world down around their ears, but she can't come up with a good reason to just kill the guy.
They have something akin to the early relations betwixt Benedict and Beatrice (who are my fave couple in all of Shakespeare, by the by). The warring of wills, acidic tongues, words that cut like blades.
Which means, of course, they have incredible sex.
Oh what to do with our dear Demeter? I want to see her fight, solve a problem or two, and have a good time doing it. Tell a joke or two. Exact vengeance. That sort of thing.
Plus, I long to see X slide on like he's never left, like the tomcat that he is, well fed and well hung, looking for any leftover cream that he may have missed. His game is that he's incredibly vain and silly. You'd never see the knife coming, essentially. He's the Scarlett Pimpernel. He's the Cheshire Cat.
And he's incredibly devoted to Demeter, despite himself, despite actions by either of them, through out the years. He seeks stimulus, because life everlasting gets boring...really quickly.
I remember him having a knife would scar on his side, from being cocky in a barfight, let's say...in Tuscon? or somewhere in the Old West. Think Vampire Hunter D, but with Cowboys and Indians. And platinum blonde. And with green eyes.
Dem's a version of Me...but more amber in the eyes, and hair more like myne was as a wee one. Taller, too...not much, like two inches. This makes all the difference, sometimes. Add something like 20 lbs of muscle/bulk, too, with a predatory grace. I could always visualize her from the side, looking down, like over a balcony, trenchcoat on, hair flowing in a breeze, blue silk wide collared french cuffed shirt.
She hits the floor running. Tuck and roll, baby, tuck and roll.
She can use a hand gun, easily--she has adapted to the times; X still prefers blades, of all shapes and sizes. Sword cane, especially. He lived through the French Aristocracy that broke that nation, and has a flair for the dramatic of a Marquis of that era. One specifically comes to mind--as they were friends, X&D stayed with our beloved De Sade, at his summer home, and participated in his wild theatricals. This was a time when D let her guard down. She was happy at this time...this changes as the Reign of Terror takes hold of France.
Flash to a two story home, rain pouring...a sable coloured cat making its way upstairs. The sound of a shower running...and a flash of lightening. The room is lit with a few candles, and a shadow can be seen on the balcony. The water turns off, and Demeter freezes, towel in hand.
The door is open to the outside, with rain streaming inside. The cat has curled up on the bed, one eye looking toward a rocking chair against the opposite wall--in shadow.
There is a smell of old leather, wet&muddy. Smoke hangs in the air. Demeter walks forward, one foot in front of the other, towel in her left hand, roughly folded over. There is a gun under the towel, and the seated figure in the shadows knows this, placing his hands in the air. She knows he is male--it is obvious in the way he is sitting, but most especially for the fact that he hasn't showered it what seems like weeks.
"Why, darling, you don't look happy to see me!" The voice is soft, but clear...it is all too familiar.
....
This is where I always see this beginning...I even found a printed version of this in a bunch of crud from like ten years ago, the other day. lol. *sighs* we'll see what happens. Last year, I wanted them to fight demons/aliens/Outer Dimension-y creatures...and had an interesting time writing the letters to/from each other, along with a few reports from their descendant...was it Emily? I can't remember now.
tah for now...the dead kennedys are distracting me.