(Untitled)

[oldromansaint]

[OOM: For the birthday girl]

Santino moved into the bar, leaving behind a lovely black automobile. Jacket- black leather, new and fresh. Pants? Curdoroy, black. Shoes? Polished, black.

A lump of somekind in his pocket.

He sat down, awaiting company. He was hoping for one person, but would never shun more.

[OOC: Mun has to run for an hour and

Comments

[stygian_promise]

Never, dear?

Dark (black) eyes watch him - graceful, fine - quiet and thoughtful from behind a cup of hot, bitter (black) coffee.

Oh, and what a pretty picture he makes.

[oldromansaint]

And he's staring back, all too easily. But he isn't staring at her flesh, is he?

Oh, god, she's beautiful like nothing else and there's Desirepainlovehate in his eyes.

Styx. He didn't need to ask her name, it was obvious.

[stygian_promise]

Well that takes an awful lot of the fun out of the game, now doesn't it?

She blinks slowly, with an air of false innocence perfected over the longest of years.

Though, she must admit, he is quite the lovely toy - foolish and beautiful and proud - such fine taste her little nymph has.

[oldromansaint]

Santino remained neautral, almost dark in expression.

Don't play coy. He chided, as something twisted within And she's beautiful, isn't she? Not forms, not skin not eyes nor bones nor anything in between. But- she- is beautiful. Darkly beautiful, like the last words of a drained corspe and Santino failed at his attempt to look away.

[stygian_promise]

"Coy, dear?"

The voice is light, playful - dark and twisted and oh so knowing, all those parts of you - cannot reach them anymore, can you dark thing? - eyes like bruises intent on his.

"Hardly."

[oldromansaint]

And he's standing before her, trying to speak with the tongue of hate, almost succeeding.

"May I join you?"

And this quandry she's presented with- this Santino- this dark thing, formed from a mould that is lost beneath her waters. And where the imperfections arose, unable to fulfill the blueprints, they are patched with fire and energy. What's left of a soul held within tightly by glowing tentacles and glowing energy, some infinitely tiny peice of Amel securing the whole bundle into a barely-functional entity. And he has no idea, does he?

[stygian_promise]

Brave as well as foolish then - she watches his approach with interest, this incomplete, patchwork creature. Strong but oh so broken, trying to hold on to such a righteous, useless hatred - for he was simply hers. No amount of trust from bright-eyed little girls could change such things.

She smiles - wicked and sharp - back at him.

"Would that please you?"

Because we're all about making others happy here.

[oldromansaint]

"Greatly." A single word, doused in the venoms of black desires, of a thing that sees her with inferred horror from something else and one that sees her as the greatest anything. Add hatred to the cocktail, sparked from the sufferings of beloved Lethe.

And she's with Frost, isn't she? But she doesn't play that game, no, how could she? And he doesn't care how many ice-men he angers, now.

[stygian_promise]

With Frost? Certainly. But smaller games - idle ones - are hardly a threat. Especially when they are so eager to play.

"Well then - by all means, dear."

She tilts her head invitingly, ducks her chin with a charming smile - a borrowed habit, subtly and skillfully played.

"It would hardly be polite of me to refuse."

[oldromansaint]

And it's working, it's all working.

"No, quite impolite." Amazing that he could even make conversation.

And can she remember his name? Remember him that's lost and sunk to the bottom?

[stygian_promise]

She always knows their names, it is whether she uses them or not that is a completely different story.

A low hum of agreement - finger idly twirling a dark strand of hair. "Can't have that, can we?"

She smirks - trying so hard, aren't you? - eyes amused.

"You can sit, dear."

[oldromansaint]

"Thank you." He bowed, low, to the full reach of his flexibility, then sat fluidly. He moved inhumanly, losing the act, unable to concentrate.

"My name is Santino."

[stygian_promise]

The smirk only widens - such scattered thoughts from her beautiful, broken little doll - but this was a secret unshared - trust, dark thing, is sometimes easy to break.

"Charmed Salvatore," the end of his 'name' is a purr, dark and wicked. "And I will assume you know me already, dear."

It isn't a question, not really.

[oldromansaint]

And he falters, a little, at mention of his alias- she's stolen it from Lethe's mind, hasn't she? Then Styx knows of the time he's spent with Lethe, and he's only bringing future pain upon her, isn't he?

Voices of morality quelled quickly by thunderous hunger, and he's grinning, feirce and toothy.

"I called you by your name, did I not?"

[stygian_promise]

She pauses - makes a show of pouting thoughtfully.

"Perhaps I was distracted, dear," peers up through lowered lashes, suddenly shy and coquettish. "You are quite a lovely thing."

Shameless? Why yes we are.

[oldromansaint]

"I am to please , my Love."

And perhaps she learned these very wiles from Lethe's innocence? But how can he think of that now?