Who, What, Where, When, Why, How
Author: tsunderes
Character/Fandom: Diva and Amshel / Blood+
Prompt: 16. apoapsis
Word Count: 1393
Summary: With the introduction of the Astral Plane, Amshel and Diva's relationship seems to be changing more than a little.
Author Notes/Warnings: YES THE PROMPT IS RELATED, ACTUALLY. It's just an interpretation of the definition in a kind of metaphorical way.
Slightly questionable content, but this one is pretty clean. Yep.
It's their love. Together they are a twisted play of pain and pleasure, and an eternal wrestle of dominance. She holds the method, and he holds the madness. Their love is one that is quiet and two-sided. Together they stand to the world as a loving father and too beautiful daughter. When the world closes it eyes to them, they are lovers playing a dangerous game. His lips kiss her skin, her fingers dig into his skin like claws to turn it an angry red. But when she digs too hard to let the crimson blood spill out, it's no longer she that's in control. His hands grip her waist and push her against the wall, but she only digs harder in response. His lips kiss her neck, trailing up carefully until his lips rest upon her ear.
"Who is Sam, Diva?" Amshel whispers quietly.
She turns her head away and remains silent.
---
In a rain-soaked alley, she stands before a man that cowers and cries. Her beautiful white dress is freckled crimson where he had shot her through the head. The white cloth clings to her every curve and turns transparent from the rain, but the man still sputters incoherently as he scrambles away from the woman that came back to life. The wall stops him from escaping, and Diva just watched coldly. He curses her. She is a witch, an angel, a monster, a goddess, a devil, a saint, all in one. His indecision does not bother her. It's her own indecision that bothers her. Her hands wish to kill him and rip out his yellow heart. She steps forward, and he throws the gun away in fear, and she's tempted to pick it up. But, she wonders, wouldn't that be breaking that promise. They think that killing is bad. He will forsake her if she turns back. She wants to turn away and leave him at that, but a
bang
and the man slumps, dead.
"Why have you changed, Diva?" Amshel asks her sternly as he throws the gun to the man's feet.
She turns her head away and remains silent.
---
The sun shines brightly in town. It's an unusually warm day for March, and she thinks that it was a good idea to go for a walk after all. People bustle about with smiles on their faces, their hearts all beating a rhythm in tune to celebrate the warmth of a spring day. It's a symphony of joy, from those hearts that she alone hears, to the whistle of bugs flying about to finish their business and the chorus of birds looking for love. The sun shines down upon the ground, encouraging the flowers to grow, and even now some buds are peeking through the soil to let their beautiful faces soon come to life in a colorful smile. The canal that no one questions, or, she wonders if they see it all, shines and reflects the clouds that lazily drift across the sky. She thinks that perhaps she could walk down the street to see if Sam's in his apartment, but she decides against it, instead leaning against the railing to stare up at the newest addition of buildings so high that some clouds can probably scrape the tops. But as she walks, watches, and silently blends into humanity, the clouds grow lower and lower until the sun is blocked out. So she leaves, quick to get home before the rain falls.
"Where do you go, Diva?" Amshel says, there to greet her at the door as she reaches for the brass handle.
She turns her head away and remains silent.
---
It's the snowy nights that are trips to memories. In the snow, there were so many memories. In the snow of France, she can remember the bitter cold and pain. There, in that tower, the snow would drift in lazily and provide a moment's wonder until her warmth made it disappear. But in the cold that the snow brought, she would freeze, snapping her toes like twigs so that they could thaw. In the snow of Russia, she can remember the warmth of alcohol and inviting fires within the palace. Together, they would gather and prance about in their perfectly timed dances, speaking and conversing more than usual as the harsh taste of vodka settled itself comfortably to flood the chest with warmth. In the snow of Italy, she can remember the wonder and culture. There were buildings with unimaginable beauty and paintings scattered with such mysterious beauty that she would stare in wonder at the silent stories of the paint. In the snow of Germany, she can remember that there was a heartbreak like no other. Josef and she would spend the snowy nights together, basking in that human comfort of another's warmth until they finally, bitterly parted. Yet, here, in the snow of New York, she can only think of fear and apprehension. It would be this time of life that she would die. However, like a whisper in her mind, she can imagine that perhaps there was hope that Saya could forgive her.
"What can you do to change Saya's mind, Diva?" Amshel questions coldly, as if he could read her thoughts.
She turns her head away and remains silent.
---
Perhaps there could be reason, she thinks. Maybe she can convince Amshel she can change. Maybe she can say that this isn't what she wants. If there's some chance that he can accept that, maybe it's worth it to ask, she thinks. After all, that life would be happier. It might be nothing more than a dream, but even dreams come from some reality. She wants to believe that her dreams can come true, just like Saya's can. She enters his office shyly, and he looks up from his work as if bothered by her interruption. But it's important. Even is Solomon and James are gone now, it can be possible, in her mind, for her remaining Chevalier to live with her so that Saya can't take them away again. She approaches the oak and cherry desk, trailing her fingers against the familiar texture as she looks down at the red tinted wood. So, after a moment to draw forth her courage once again, she asks, she asks if they can just live peacefully.
"When will you understand, Diva?" Amshel asks with an unamused frown, looking right back to his work.
She turns her head away and remains silent.
---
The smell of wet rocks and moss permeates her senses until it makes her dazed. It's the smell of the tower, after all, and it bothers her. But hand in hand with her Chevalier, she can trust him to lead her. He will lead her where he pleases, as usual, but here in the cellars and dungeons, she can only wonder what it is that he so desperately wants to show her. Along the red-tinted light they stroll quickly, until he stops at a door made of thick iron and steel. She wants to pull away, for a reason she doesn't know, but before she gets the chance, he opens the door and brings her inside. There are racks of wine, but the smell of wine is even stronger, since some of them have toppled. But the smells do not compare to the sounds. There are the sounds of young, beating hearts, fresh and full of life. She has not eaten for some time, growing to hear another's disapproval when she kills for her meals, so her teeth ache hungrily. The children huddle in a corner in fear, surprised at that sudden intrusion.
"You haven't eaten," he states simply.
She doesn't look at him, her eyes fixed on the far wall.
"I'm worried about you, he continues, letting go of her hand.
She doesn't run.
"So, remember, this is all for you, of course. When you eat, you'll be able to open the door easily."
It's then that she turns and tries to leave, but he grabs her hand easily to push her back. She gasps in fear, and starts to follow.
"How will you continue from here, Diva?" Amshel speaks solemnly, closing the iron door to leave her in the darkness with the sound of sobbing children and tempting hearts.
She turns her head to her hands and cries.
Character/Fandom: Diva and Amshel / Blood+
Prompt: 16. apoapsis
Word Count: 1393
Summary: With the introduction of the Astral Plane, Amshel and Diva's relationship seems to be changing more than a little.
Author Notes/Warnings: YES THE PROMPT IS RELATED, ACTUALLY. It's just an interpretation of the definition in a kind of metaphorical way.
Slightly questionable content, but this one is pretty clean. Yep.
It's their love. Together they are a twisted play of pain and pleasure, and an eternal wrestle of dominance. She holds the method, and he holds the madness. Their love is one that is quiet and two-sided. Together they stand to the world as a loving father and too beautiful daughter. When the world closes it eyes to them, they are lovers playing a dangerous game. His lips kiss her skin, her fingers dig into his skin like claws to turn it an angry red. But when she digs too hard to let the crimson blood spill out, it's no longer she that's in control. His hands grip her waist and push her against the wall, but she only digs harder in response. His lips kiss her neck, trailing up carefully until his lips rest upon her ear.
"Who is Sam, Diva?" Amshel whispers quietly.
She turns her head away and remains silent.
---
In a rain-soaked alley, she stands before a man that cowers and cries. Her beautiful white dress is freckled crimson where he had shot her through the head. The white cloth clings to her every curve and turns transparent from the rain, but the man still sputters incoherently as he scrambles away from the woman that came back to life. The wall stops him from escaping, and Diva just watched coldly. He curses her. She is a witch, an angel, a monster, a goddess, a devil, a saint, all in one. His indecision does not bother her. It's her own indecision that bothers her. Her hands wish to kill him and rip out his yellow heart. She steps forward, and he throws the gun away in fear, and she's tempted to pick it up. But, she wonders, wouldn't that be breaking that promise. They think that killing is bad. He will forsake her if she turns back. She wants to turn away and leave him at that, but a
bang
and the man slumps, dead.
"Why have you changed, Diva?" Amshel asks her sternly as he throws the gun to the man's feet.
She turns her head away and remains silent.
---
The sun shines brightly in town. It's an unusually warm day for March, and she thinks that it was a good idea to go for a walk after all. People bustle about with smiles on their faces, their hearts all beating a rhythm in tune to celebrate the warmth of a spring day. It's a symphony of joy, from those hearts that she alone hears, to the whistle of bugs flying about to finish their business and the chorus of birds looking for love. The sun shines down upon the ground, encouraging the flowers to grow, and even now some buds are peeking through the soil to let their beautiful faces soon come to life in a colorful smile. The canal that no one questions, or, she wonders if they see it all, shines and reflects the clouds that lazily drift across the sky. She thinks that perhaps she could walk down the street to see if Sam's in his apartment, but she decides against it, instead leaning against the railing to stare up at the newest addition of buildings so high that some clouds can probably scrape the tops. But as she walks, watches, and silently blends into humanity, the clouds grow lower and lower until the sun is blocked out. So she leaves, quick to get home before the rain falls.
"Where do you go, Diva?" Amshel says, there to greet her at the door as she reaches for the brass handle.
She turns her head away and remains silent.
---
It's the snowy nights that are trips to memories. In the snow, there were so many memories. In the snow of France, she can remember the bitter cold and pain. There, in that tower, the snow would drift in lazily and provide a moment's wonder until her warmth made it disappear. But in the cold that the snow brought, she would freeze, snapping her toes like twigs so that they could thaw. In the snow of Russia, she can remember the warmth of alcohol and inviting fires within the palace. Together, they would gather and prance about in their perfectly timed dances, speaking and conversing more than usual as the harsh taste of vodka settled itself comfortably to flood the chest with warmth. In the snow of Italy, she can remember the wonder and culture. There were buildings with unimaginable beauty and paintings scattered with such mysterious beauty that she would stare in wonder at the silent stories of the paint. In the snow of Germany, she can remember that there was a heartbreak like no other. Josef and she would spend the snowy nights together, basking in that human comfort of another's warmth until they finally, bitterly parted. Yet, here, in the snow of New York, she can only think of fear and apprehension. It would be this time of life that she would die. However, like a whisper in her mind, she can imagine that perhaps there was hope that Saya could forgive her.
"What can you do to change Saya's mind, Diva?" Amshel questions coldly, as if he could read her thoughts.
She turns her head away and remains silent.
---
Perhaps there could be reason, she thinks. Maybe she can convince Amshel she can change. Maybe she can say that this isn't what she wants. If there's some chance that he can accept that, maybe it's worth it to ask, she thinks. After all, that life would be happier. It might be nothing more than a dream, but even dreams come from some reality. She wants to believe that her dreams can come true, just like Saya's can. She enters his office shyly, and he looks up from his work as if bothered by her interruption. But it's important. Even is Solomon and James are gone now, it can be possible, in her mind, for her remaining Chevalier to live with her so that Saya can't take them away again. She approaches the oak and cherry desk, trailing her fingers against the familiar texture as she looks down at the red tinted wood. So, after a moment to draw forth her courage once again, she asks, she asks if they can just live peacefully.
"When will you understand, Diva?" Amshel asks with an unamused frown, looking right back to his work.
She turns her head away and remains silent.
---
The smell of wet rocks and moss permeates her senses until it makes her dazed. It's the smell of the tower, after all, and it bothers her. But hand in hand with her Chevalier, she can trust him to lead her. He will lead her where he pleases, as usual, but here in the cellars and dungeons, she can only wonder what it is that he so desperately wants to show her. Along the red-tinted light they stroll quickly, until he stops at a door made of thick iron and steel. She wants to pull away, for a reason she doesn't know, but before she gets the chance, he opens the door and brings her inside. There are racks of wine, but the smell of wine is even stronger, since some of them have toppled. But the smells do not compare to the sounds. There are the sounds of young, beating hearts, fresh and full of life. She has not eaten for some time, growing to hear another's disapproval when she kills for her meals, so her teeth ache hungrily. The children huddle in a corner in fear, surprised at that sudden intrusion.
"You haven't eaten," he states simply.
She doesn't look at him, her eyes fixed on the far wall.
"I'm worried about you, he continues, letting go of her hand.
She doesn't run.
"So, remember, this is all for you, of course. When you eat, you'll be able to open the door easily."
It's then that she turns and tries to leave, but he grabs her hand easily to push her back. She gasps in fear, and starts to follow.
"How will you continue from here, Diva?" Amshel speaks solemnly, closing the iron door to leave her in the darkness with the sound of sobbing children and tempting hearts.
She turns her head to her hands and cries.