Madeleine Lloyd

Fri 07:58PM
Why?

She's not quite sure why she is here here, the penmanship--the paper it had to be -him-, but she had come nonetheless. The gypsy-hued shawl that usually hangs from her hips is self-consciously pulled about her shoulders now, as if if to ward away the bite of ocean breezes.

Chin lifts higher as she holds the rail under white knuckled grip (As if to ward away the bite of uncertainty. Never that.) punctuated by the fine weave of the shawl threaded between her fingers.

Kaj'sha

Fri 08:04PM
"Thank you for coming."

She had not heard his approach. Few enough do, when he does not wish to be heard; few enough moved with the blonde youth's deft grace. Dressed all in black - though the shirt beneath the woolen overcoat may have been silver-grey - his skin fairly glows; his hair is a halo. So fine, so lovely and so dignified as to transcend gender and race, Kaj'sha is simply beautiful in the way art and angels are.

His hands are gloved, and they rest upon the railing as he steps beside her and smiles. He wears spectacles, their sheen giving the illusion of light to his lightless (hopeless) eyes. This is the only concession to human imperfection; but then, he is not human after all.

"I know the notice was short. Am I keeping you from anything important?"

Madeleine Lloyd

Fri 08:21PM
The wind lashes them both her muscles jerking briefly as she hears the sound of syllables to her left. Long ( breeding so pure it seemed she was not real.) colorless strands of hair toss and curl about her in the wind, as cool-grey eyes slide toward the sound. Face only follows eyes as good manners would dictate, the edges of her lips curving slowly. Had she anticipated the pleasure this visit would bring her?

Mouth parts in--

It is always startling to set eyes upon him. Something about him seemed to draw even as it warned. As if he were, at this moment too awfully beautiful, too horribly perfect, that she might (..Oh Semele, you have betrayed yourself—look away.) catch burst into flames at her very impudence.

--greeting.

Foolish girl, next thing you’ll say is you believe those inbred neanderthals are really saviors of the earth—pssht.

“It was my pleasure. Well yes, now that you’ve kept me from my afternoon of lounging and napping I am simply overwhelmed by the thought of making it up. Of course, I fully expect you to make it up to me, Oliver.”

Kaj'sha

Fri 08:28PM
"How can I make it up to you?" Marvel, that his smile can be so guileless; Philodox of the Spiral, Alpha of the Heart. "Ask anything of me and you shall have it if I am able."

You crack me
in
two.

His eyes flit away, black as no one's eyes should ever be. They used to be blue, but night has long since fallen on this sky. In the silence which passes, waves crash to the shore and recede. The wind whips color into his smooth cheeks, but Kaj'sha is motionless as a statue.

He spoke to Asher last night.
Her fate is already sealed.

Madeleine Lloyd

Fri 08:36PM
A silvery hued brow rises while head cants to the side indicating they should walk. The boardwalk is chilly that night, though as she moves it seems the cold does not touch her at all. Along with the high curve of her cheekbones, the comfortable erectness of her posture (Did Atlas shrug? Never.), the long thin hands that slide into her pockets as she turns toward him mid-stride, all of it details rendered irrelevant to the sovereignty of her words.

Get on you knees.

“Have you seen Percival?”

Kaj'sha

Fri 08:41PM
So he walks, a easy stroll, effortless and regal. Such a matched pair they are, Silver Fangs to the core and back again. "Hm?" Percival. Percival? "Ah yes. He had a family emergency, I believe. Didn't he leave you a note?"

How easily he lies. Yet three more steps, and he turns to her, though his pace does not falter. His face is intense, serious.

"Can I ask you something?"

Madeleine Lloyd

Fri 08:48PM
Family Emergency.
(But didn’t Percy say that his fa--..)

Thoughts stall time stalls as his words ring out across (a small space say 3 feet.) the distance between them. Maddie with the grace of a fencer, dancer of bladed steps, twists toward him halted by his simple inquiry. Lashes sweep low in deference older etiquette.

Instincts.
“..I believe you just have.”

Evolve.
(A small smirk twitches at the corner of her lips as she sneaks a glance through the shield of long eyelashes she’s erected.)

Kaj'sha

Fri 09:08PM
A glance away. A pause, as his flawless brow furrows in thought. Then, carefully, he takes his glasses off and tucks them into his shirt's breast pocket (it is silver), inside the coat.

For the first time that she has seen - though he does not look at her - his eyes are naked. For the first time that she has heard, he gropes for words.

"If - I were to tell you - " a maddening delay as, head down, the beautiful youth (creature.) struggles to frame his thoughts, which were not born human, which would never be human, " - if I were to say that I am - "

No, no. He couldn't say that. It was risking too much.
Father...

"Madeleine," he has never called her by her given name, ever, "do you trust me?"

Madeleine Lloyd

Fri 09:19PM
She swallows briefly.

Right hand trembling as if barely restraining the urge to cross herself (Its only that you are so beautiful..) And watching him fumble she reaches toward him, the fleh of chilled hands grasping at his gloved own ( I wonder if you might tell me your name—so that I know which saint it is I implore--) Oh but it isn’t easy for her, and Madeleine Anne Lloyd has been many things…

Never a liar.
(..When I go on my knees at night.)

“I want to but—“

We do not know each other.
I am so volatile.
You are so calm.
We don’t know each other.
Attraction fades.
You are so perfect.
I am so flawed.

We do not know each other.

“—have you trusted me?”

Kaj'sha

Fri 09:24PM
She takes his hand and he grasps it, clenches it. His touch is, for a moment, terrifying.

He is not strong. She is likely stronger than he is. His grip does not hurt, but - there is a desperation there (keep me from falling apart), and a hunger that is black.

Not an angel, after all.

He releases her with an effort. "I have," because she is no tiger, and he is no lamb. "I do."

He sucks a breath.

"If I should tell you that you were in danger." He speaks it just like that: a statement, finished. "If I were to tell you that you should run, and never look back, and never stop running. If I should tell you 'Percival' was a monster who received his just retribution--"

--and I am Michael, Archangel of the Sword--
--and I am Lucifer, Son of the Morning--

"--would you believe me?"

Madeleine Lloyd

Fri 09:37PM
Her eyes reach out to him, chilled grey fog hardens into unrelenting concern. Madeleine’s gaze darts wildly about him as she holds his elbows in reassuring grip. Can feel the vibrancy of her form—the (..pathetic) human muscles toned and fit. Comforting and warm, it is she (..noblisse oblige.) who draws HIM near.

“I would believe anything you say, darling.” The softest touch of condescension. “..have you been alright, lately?” Only worse (..corrosive as any poison.) -ened by its mixture of love.

And what was Lucifer’s sin? (Pride. Wrath. Vengeance. Lust. Greed--) No it was a vanity to presume that he in his infinite greatness weighed more than a fly in the cosmic scheme—and so banished from eternal beauty and joy. Cursed to know its taste but never truly savor the fruit.

But do not fear, all things must fall away.
(…even God will not outlive his own self-image.)

Kaj'sha

Fri 09:49PM
And so drawn, he approaches: his rightful mate, come too soon.

His is so armored: his black overcoat covered everything, woolen and thick and warm as oblivion. But when he takes those steps toward her, the armor cracks - he cracks - and for a second, he could, almost does, weep.

Lucifer. Always. Wanted. To. Go. Home.

Oh, but condescension. You don't believe me. You don't believe in me. Even that touch of it, even if it's unconscious, innate, inborn: the trademark of the Silver Fang that's stamped even across his brow and in the tilt of his fine jaw, even now: arrogance. Nobility. Vanity.

When they fall,
they fall hard -
never to hope again.

He smiles. It comes so easily. "Of course. I'm spouting gibberish." A laugh - so simple that she might think she had imagined it: the tension, the madness.

Patch the holes, heal the crack.
With.Draw.

"But thank you," he adds, "for your concern."

Madeleine Lloyd

Fri 09:56PM
Uneasy.

He can feel it in her exhalation, in the rising blush that colors pale cheeks as she realizes she's gripping him. (When all I wanted to do was kiss you..) Releases her hold with the elegance of royal distraction (..meet me in the antechambers.) Her hands going again into her pockets.

"Quite right, of course I don't think you shall ever lack for concern, Oliver. You're blessed."

Kaj'sha

Fri 10:06PM
He stops. He turns to her.
His eyes are black.

In a moment, he strips his gloves from his hands; holds out those hands for hers, takes her hand in his, looks at it, cradles it as he might a wounded animal. His skin is cool, but when he brings her hand to his lips and kisses it, his breath is warm, and his mouth is warm.

"My name is not Oliver," he tells her, softly, and there is no interrupting him. "My name is Kaj'sha. I am a Silver Fang as pure as you."

That doesn't sound like a Silver Fang name--
I never fell. I don't care what they say. I am still. Fang.

His eyes search hers. Search into hers. He sees right through her skin, and those eyes are not natural.

Soft, softer, softest of all:
"And I am sorry."

Without waiting for a reply, the beautiful (tainted) creature drops her hand. He turns and, wrapping his coat tighter about his slim frame, walks away: steadily, crisply, and without a single glance back.