(Untitled)

[devilears]

BROKEN PORTAnother scene right out of a painting. The ocean stretches out to the west and north, and hilly island terrain fills your line of sight when you turn your back to the water. Smells of sea and pine mix in the early autumn air, and the breeze that gently ebbs and flows like waves gives the place a comfortable temperature

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[houseisonfire]

[ Oh, a scene from a painting, how picturesque. Ladybird has certainly seen it before and she knows she'll see it again. It's not particularly a problem but the tediousness of it all has left her sour-faced with a small frown. At least there weren't any people around to beg wishes and favors off of her, so she takes a begrudging comfort in that (albeit, huffily).

To pass the time she flits from this house to that, entering them without much care or notice to the things that once belonged to a people now-gone. The autumn chill in the air makes her slightly drowsy, though she fights the urge to sit on a rock somewhere and try to warm out in the sun. Instead, she stands on the porch of a house and plays with a lock of her hair -- bored out of her skull. Perhaps she'd be better off just flying away. ]

if I'm awake coffee jittering I might as well be productive...

[reposing_spring]

[The sea. Something he shares with his hated sister, he in need of water to grow, to rot, she in need of snow. He has no real affection sand and so he stays back from shoreline. He isn't here for the scenery besides. His elder sister had brought him a rather amusing message, amusing enough, in fact, that here he was.

He brings with him cloud of perfumes that are his namesake, they coat his skin, giving him a pale beautiful luster. Vines crawl the crumbling walls at his approach, stone crunching under their strong grip, taking back a few more inches of the land.]

Bored, dear?

no sleep for you yet? :[

[houseisonfire]

[ It is not secret (and Ladybird has many) that Reposing Spring is her favorite. The sweet cloy of his breath, the lengthening of his days, these things speak to Ladybird in ways that none of the other seasons can. His presence is enough to awaken her dulling senses, a flush of color (as bright as her infamous wings) graces her cheeks as she lets go the stubborn ringlet of hair and ducks her chin down in a sign of coquettish respect.

Dark eyes (black pupils set inside equally black irises) dart their attention across his face and then over and around at the new growth that he's brought with him. Her small pink mouth forms a smile, though her voice remains sulking and petulant. ]

Frightfully. No humans means no wishes. Which is both a good thing and a bad. But now that you're here... [ Her smile slides into a smirk. ]

my heart rate is hoppin. 8||||| magic of caffeine

[reposing_spring]

[There are many things to like about this little creature. First and foremost that she favors him. His vanity is always well served by this, but her flush makes his lips part with his languid (hungry, admiring) smile. Ah, an admirer in our midst, I see. But he had known that, heard from his sister what sort of meeting the two of them had had.]

In the vein of wishes, [He takes her curl for himself, soft warmth of his fingers very close to her face,] it pleased my sister to be offered one of yours.

[He has no real affection for Lydia's little pet, the boy is neither particularly handsome nor particularly charming. Spring would have brushed him aside like the bug he clearly is if he had been any other mortal. But his sister, his sweet sad sister, likes to brush his hair and coo to him, and what pleases her pleases him. She is well loved.]

much too much :O

[houseisonfire]

[ His closeness makes her flourish, so very like the creature that she is -- set adrift on the scent of green things, of warmer days that are not yet here. Whenever it is not Spring, Ladybird finds herself sullen and sluggish more often than not; her joints become stiff like so many disused wings and her wishes become more begrudging and all the more spiteful.

Her attention turns towards the finger in her hair, the closeness of him. It makes her breath tremble in her chest as she laughs -- a soft clicking noise behind her still-smiling teeth, like the sound of beetle wings in mid-flight. ]

Well. Your sister was nice to me -- not greedy at all when so many other people are. A little thing like me gets misused so very often. But not by her. [ Her attention slides to one side as she shrugs. ] She wouldn't take any of my other offers. Figured if anyone deserved to be selfish, it'd be her.

[ Ladybird begins to pout. ] I even promised to ruin the hunters for her, but she wouldn't have it.

oh ffs

[reposing_spring]

[His little sister is not fond of bugs, obvious from the fact that she kills them all with her chill, but less obvious that she is frightened of them. Even blizzard bitches need weaknesses. For himself, he is fond of them, the sleek lines of their bodies, their delicate composition that makes them both fragile and resilient, insignificant and dangerous. He admires the fire in her hair before he leans in conspiratorially.]

How lonely should the doe be if the hunters ceased to chase her. While she may profess to hate them, she has been the ever elusive prize for longer than even I have lived. For all her humility, I think even Lydia should miss the attention.

[He loves this sister, but he has his nature and his nature is a wicked one. King of snakes, father of poison, proponent of sin. Even Lydia flushes under flattery and what greater flattery than to be so sought after? All things are selfish, he knows, he embodies it, revels in it. He tips his head, cruel smile painting his lovely pink lips.]She does not know the word selfish as

/SEES NOTHING

[houseisonfire]

[ Oh that tone, oh those words. Truly if she were the child of something, it would be him. After all, what other being would lavish such delightful colors onto the world, though only as a means to obscure the dark, skittering things that lie underneath. Despite all of her glittering sheen, truly Ladybird is black inside: a wish-giver preoccupied with dolling out curses instead, true selfishness given a soft round face.

Her shoulders lift and then fall again in an airy sigh. More clicking -- languid now, like a bug lazily batting itself against a half-open window on a summer evening -- fills the hollow of her mouth. ]

That's a sad thing, if you ask me. Everyone ought to be selfish. Everyone ought to want everything.

let's try this sleep thing one more time....

[reposing_spring]

[He nods, glancing out over the sea, expression distractedly contemptuous. He has never understood Lydia's modesty, admired it, found it suited her, found it kept her safe. If she stayed in her forest there was little for Summer to find fault in. Had she never wandered from it, perhaps she would smile more. But she had wanted something, hadn't she, and it had made her into a sad thing.

Clearly, she had not taken to tide her through the mean years.]

Were it in my power, dear, but alas I have my time and then it is gone and my brother cleans up all my mess.

[He shrugs loosely, does not sound particularly mournful.]

nini~

[houseisonfire]

[ Ladybird likes it when she gets called 'dear', at least when it's by the likes of Reposing Spring. Still, her mouth purses into a frown, lips puckering to form a small bee-stung shape and then slides into a pout. Mention of his brother (the old one, the harsh one, the Burning Path) is more than enough to force her mood to pitch downward. She watches his profile as he looks away and then offers, expectantly: ]

You have your time and I have mine. When you are gone I continue your work. Always have and always will. [ If she were a different creature, Ladybird might have even sounds reverent. But she's not, she's as self-centered as Spring himself. Sounding eager instead will just have to do. ]

[reposing_spring]

[A feline smile curls at the corner of his mouth and he looks back to her quietly for a moment. He has reverence for his brother, but he knows The Burning Path is too severe for most to understand. That makes loving his brother all the more special to him, and it means there is less competition for affection. Lydia he does not mind sharing with, it's just that blizzard bitch.

He leans in to her, brings his cloud of sweetness with him and kisses her eager sounding mouth lovingly, linger over the pout of her lower lip a moment. He supposes she may consider it a blessing, but it is merely what he desired.]

You do your work well.

[houseisonfire]

[ To Ladybird, desire is a blessing as much as it is a curse. She knows this, has been this, ever since she was weighted down with her tedious responsibilities; the difference simply lies in the individual who wields it. If she wanted to, she could be so many's salvation, could offer up succor and satisfaction and completeness. But Coccinella transversalis is as hungry as the being that's kissed her, has a carnivorous appetite to fill those soft cheeks.

When he pulls away to speak idle praise, allowing her to bask in the cloy of his breath, she is brash enough to lean forward and kiss his mouth again. The little glutton grins. ]

I learned from the best, didn't I?

[reposing_spring]

[What an excellent little creature she is, his green eyes say. He leans back against the cracked walls, hands laced loosely at the small of his back. Moisture and erosion sinks in from his fingertips, weeds sprouting violently from every nook and cranny, creating new cracks by pure force of will. The salt in the air disagrees with him somewhat, but he hides it well, is master over this artificial skin, it appears as he wishes it to.

A warm wind stirs from the land, sweeping in over the coast unnaturally, a tide of flower petals and moisture, he finds that more to his liking, pleasure self-satisfaction pinching the corners of his eyes.]

I think you hardly needed any tutelage.

[this was playing while I was typing.]

oh god that is perfect

[houseisonfire]

[ Praise. Whether or not that's now he intends it, that's how Ladybird takes it and to hear it coming from the mouth of Reposing Spring makes Ladybird sigh again, somewhat dreamily. Her attention drifts to the new flourish of growth, obviously pleased by how quickly it spreads. Everything in excess, that is their way.

Ladybird gives a small shrug. Her bright curls bounce. ]

Things were different in the beginning. I was easy. And soft. [ The bridge of her nose crinkles in mild disgust as she remembers uneasily just how hard she used to try, how much she struggled to placate humans when her powers were just newly-given. ] But not anymore.

[reposing_spring]

[Laughter ekes its way up out of him, a throaty murmur of his appreciation. He thinks about beginnings. They are his favorite he supposes, because everything is soft, soft and loamy like swamp land, perfect for planting seeds in, malleable with endless potential and no defenses, nothing to stop him from sucking them dry. He frees one of his hands, drags the back of his knuckles along the curve of her cheek very lightly, the whisper Spring on her skin.]

We are all forgiven a little softness so long as it is pleasing.

[houseisonfire]

[ Ladybird turns her face to chase the touch, though she keeps her black-on-black eyes still trained on his face. She wants to learn how to glean such continual approval from him, wants truly to be considered one of Spring's favorites. A child without a father, looking to be taught the path to proper selfishness. ]

Pleasing to them, maybe. Wheedling wishes out of me left and right. [ Ladybird pouts again, her mouth begging for attention and appeasement, the kind that only Spring could ever lavish on her to be satisfying. ] I don't like being used.

[heirship]

[ Aubrey doesn't recall how or when he ended up to close to the shore. Somewhere in chapter one, he supposes. Slender fingers press down the corner of one page (--soon her eye fell on a little glass box that was lying under the table: she opened it, and found in it a very small cake, on which the words 'EAT ME' were beautifully marked in currants--) before he tucks the novel under his arm, looking out across the quiet village. His feet carry him absently along.

He's been craving times like this. When it's quiet-- just him and the words printed on pages. With the impending wedding, everything in his home seems a chaotic scramble for preparations, and if he were to be perfectly honest, he would confess that he couldn't give less of a damn about napkin colors or suit fittings. He doesn't understand why all the ceremony and ritual is necessary at all. It isn't a celebration of love or romance. It's a contract. A signed paper would do