Closed RP: WOAH, we're going to Ibi--Scotland.

[hellminxmel]

Maia's not one of the English breed of travellers. She would not ever wear socks with sandals, for example, nor wander into a warzone and ask the leader of the guerilla soldiers where the nearest cafe was. She's more low-key than that. Her travelling outfit is the same as her normal--black on black, red lips and a smirk--and her bag for the journey

Comments

[fiercefluffy]

Ever punctual, Octavian arrives at the time they've arranged. He has an unattractive but effective backpack, the kind with extra straps you can fasten about your waist for support.

"You said we'd have an unusual method of transport. I won't wind up smelling of sulphur all day after, will I? People will stare."

[hellminxmel]

'Does this look like Hell to you?' It's a rhetorical question. 'The bag just stinks 'cause I haven't used it since I left school.' It's scattered with the usual teenage paraphernalia--phone that she's not switching on, not like that'll stop them if they decide to call--a few magazines, purse, iPod, a couple of pens, makeup and hairbrush.

'People will stare anyway, with that throwback from the nineties on your back. I suppose it can't be helped. Grab onto me.'

[fiercefluffy]

"The nineties. Ancient history." Gaius Julius Caesar Octavianus rolls his eyes. "Very well, let's be off." He stands behind her and slides an arm about her waist, under the strap and bulk of the sulphurous bookbag. Although he knows they're not going to move forward as in a chariot, he stands braced for movement nonetheless.

[hellminxmel]

She smiles at his comment. 'Time, essentially, has no meaning.' His arm curls around her waist in a very pleasing fashion, and she reminds herself not to read too much into this. It's probably what he saw most useful, though her arms are still free, aren't they?

Maia shuts her eyes, and black smoke curls around them both. It's harder, with a human, but not impossible; none of these fancy portals the angels get, no. With her, it's a wish and a prayer...to some extent. The smoke rises higher and higher, before plunging down, and they're travelling almost underground. It's dark and dreary, with occasional cries of pain and the roar of battles--Hell's greatest hits, in a sense. Maia's become desensitized to it. It's at odds with the quiet beach on which she stops, just in Portree.

[fiercefluffy]

The chill of those blank faces remains with him long after the travel has ended and he's strolling with near-automated ease through lush and living gardens. Caesar told him once of the voice that through a triumphal procession must sound always at the victorious general's ear, a slave tasked to murmur over and over: Remember you are mortal. The intent, Caesar explained (though Octavian did not need the explanation), was to remind the general that despite the adulation of the people, he was not a god; to remind him of his limitations, keep him grounded.

Octavian will stay grounded.

He wonders what the faces remind Maia of.

The gardens do entreat his attention, more in its design than in its presentation of nature. He contemplates the work that has gone into creating and preserving this bounty, and the potential uses to which it can have been put (the brochure tells him: A walled kitchen garden and glass-houses would have provided the Castle with freshly grown produce. Octavian loves the brochure

[hellminxmel]

A job well done, nothing more; enough stock that they--Hell--don't want to immolate her instantly. Maia has theories on Mel. Like, neither of them is meant to win, because it would upset the balance of the universe. Maybe they've lost this century, but they did win a soul off Lola.

It is not yet known how she would feel if Octavian was one of her faces

Maia is admiring the statue of the otter--good luck seeing any real ones when you're hanging about with a demon--when she hears his question. She wouldn't have thought the future emperor of Rome would go into that sort of thing, but she considers his slightly sweet inquiry.

'It's too quiet for me. Big, sure, but what's space when you have a whole city to explore?' Were you expecting her to say she wants quiet? Maia feeds off energy. It's what she lives for, literally. 'Plus, there's too many animals--and it's too green for me. Give me urban decay any day. What about you?'

[fiercefluffy]

He doesn't need to consider this topic long to formulate an answer. "To me, a place like this is a foundation. Agrarian estates and their produce are needed in order to support a city. A family who can maintain an estate like this one is a family prosperous enough to bring much leverage to bear, if they know what they're doing, in the city. In that sense a place like this is good to have. I wouldn't want to live here. It would mean I'd been driven into disgrace. It's what a man does when the city will no longer countenance him, and his allies cannot protect him: move to his country villa and go into retirement."

He turns to her, head tilted, eyes sharp and clear. "If this isn't your sort of place either, then let's go someplace that is."

[hellminxmel]

He's that eager to experience Hell again? Maia raises her eyebrows. Goodbye, castle. 'I see. You wouldn't keep your family here, then? In case of uprising in the city? Keep the location secret except to your most loyal guards--your Pullo--and then if you were killed they'd be able to escape.'

Maia flips her hair back, and stands, holding out her hand as a deliberate test to see if he takes it or if he prefers her waist instead. 'But sure, let's go find the horses.'

[fiercefluffy]

Sleep well. Isn't that a nice little sop to courtesy. He sleeps restlessly, eschewing the use of drugs or potions. It's stupid to drug yourself into a stupor when you're from a family that's often targeted by assassins. In the modern world he's hardly a prime target for assassination, but old habits die hard.

The days are full of sightseeing of a companionable and largely silent sort, Octavian going all analytical over architecture and city planning. Nights are different. They have an en-suite bathroom everywhere they stay, so there's privacy; usually by the time he gets out of the shower, she's already gone or ready to be gone for the night. Because Maia, being a demon, doesn't need to sleep.

One night, though, when he emerges (damp and rumpled in pajama bottoms, rubbing at his curly mop of hair with a thin hotel towel), she's sitting on her bed, reading some glossy magazine or other.

He doesn't say anything. He sits on his own bed and continues to dry his hair.

[hellminxmel]

Maia, over time, has developed a shameful passion for celebrity magazines. You read 'KERRY KATONA'S BABY HEARTBREAK' and such gems as 'I thought he was my son--he was my HUSBAND'S NEPHEW' and you can't help laughing. Currently she's flicking through a group of celebrity haircuts (for long to medium hair) when he comes in, and she doesn't look up.

Has she got slightly more demonic over the days? Maybe, maybe not. She's staying in tonight because there might be a bit of earth angel energy down below--that means demons, that means a fight, and she does have a responsibility not to die this week.

Is it out of the blue? Not really. Maia has been out, and she has been looking at couples. It makes her think.

'So when you kissed me, what was that all about?' She doesn't look up.

[fiercefluffy]

Octavian tenses (visible, what with the shirtlessness, his muscles tensing) and stops with the hair-drying. "Well, that was a difficult evening for everyone, wasn't it? I can apologize if you like."

[hellminxmel]

'I was glad you did it,' she answers, and she can sense him freezing, like a rabbit in headlights. She doesn't need to look, and is it easier if she doesn't? 'I just didn't think we should be doing it then. Is there any chance of you doing it again, or was it just because it was a...'a difficult evening'?'

Maia has looked up now, unable to resist, and her mouth is almost petulantly pursed as if she's anticipating a 'No chance'. It wouldn't be the first time, but anything's easier than this edgy atmosphere. Still, wouldn't it be--no, Maia, hear his answer first, she reminds herself.