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Entry tags:
open | prompt six | DEMONS
| prompt six | D E M O N S be careful in casting out your devil ‘lest you cast out the best thing about you. ( friedrich nietzsche ) |
[ She might not look like much and Polly Q might be as brash as fuck, but she's also the product of the Academy, which means underneath all those fists and dirty words, there's a mind that's a lot smarter than anyone gives her credit for. Shrugging, she tries to pass it off as nothing in particular as she tucks a strand of bright mellon hair (newly dyed) behind an ear. ]
S'German.
S'German.
[ Francis doesn't quite manage an answer. Even after all this time, he still isn't sure how he feels about most of what happened. The only thing that he is sure of is that he loves Phillipa, and he loves their child. He keeps his head bowed, even as he mulls over words that he'll never quite put together into complete sentences, picking at the threads at the hem of his sweater.
At length: ] Okay.
At length: ] Okay.
[ Francis may not be sure how he feels about what happened but Phillipa is more than certain. Things got desperate and then things got bad, but it's nothing that she hasn't come face-to-face with before. (This is what she tells herself, at least; the truth is rather different. Because even though life has always been riddled with both hardship and death for Phillipa, being haunted by your mother's ghost is one thing. The sharp flash of a knife brandished in her direction is quite another.)
She has their son (Francis. His name is Francis.) cradled against her breast as he dozes. With a soft hand she brushes the dark fuzz of his head, her wet eyes watching him. ] We don't have to talk about it. [ A beat. ] Not if you don't want to, Francis.
She has their son (Francis. His name is Francis.) cradled against her breast as he dozes. With a soft hand she brushes the dark fuzz of his head, her wet eyes watching him. ] We don't have to talk about it. [ A beat. ] Not if you don't want to, Francis.
[ The corner of her mouth crooks just barely. ]
Doesn't make it any less true, does it?
Doesn't make it any less true, does it?
And here I was thinking the British were meant to be paragons of good taste.
[ Funnier than not and yet Mockingbird does not seem amused by the prospect. She is not a dour girl, by any stretch, but her once effulgent beauty and smile has been tempered by her time here in Downside — by sentence after sentence, both passed and contracted. ]
And who's treasure does that make us?
And who's treasure does that make us?
[ Piano's mouth forms a tiny, petulant frown, both of her hands curling in the hem of her sweater, threatening to tug it to misshapen. ]
You're not the devil, Perahia. No, no. Never him.
You're not the devil, Perahia. No, no. Never him.
Show me someone who's found it easy to take that advice and I might consider it.
[ Evgenii seems — at most — politely perplexed. (It isn't in his nature to swing too easily to one extreme of emotion or the other, having lived too long to allow that to remain a viable modus operandi. The exception comes in the form of his sister-wife, but the understanding between them is arguably much better than that of most of the other tsars and tsaritsas.) ]
Define a devil, then.
Define a devil, then.
[ Politely perplexed. Oh, how that makes her heart burn; oh, how she seethes to see such a sentiment in his expression. While Evegenii is cut from a most temperate cloth, Xenia runs both hot and cold, as fickle as the flightiest of birds. The only thing about her that rivals her beauty is her unparalleled vanity and the Tsaritsa of Birds takes it as a slight that any being — whether it be man or miser, whether it be pauper or tsar — does not rile to know her.
She tips her chin haughtily. ]
Perhaps I will play the part and show you one instead.
She tips her chin haughtily. ]
Perhaps I will play the part and show you one instead.
[ The pocket of her cheek pinches as she chews on it thoughtfully from the inside. ]
It's not— [ No, wait. She starts again. ] You can't break a person down like that. It's never— y'know —that straightforward. People aren't angels and demons, they— they just are.
It's not— [ No, wait. She starts again. ] You can't break a person down like that. It's never— y'know —that straightforward. People aren't angels and demons, they— they just are.
[ He gets distracted, sometimes, when he's with her. It isn't that he's thinking of someone or something else, but simply that he gets caught up in watching her, in the way her features move when she speaks, when she feels something, in the way she holds herself. He can't help it. He's a Duke — that's the way he's programmed.
Still, he snaps out of his reverie as she finishes speaking, only just managing to piece together what she's said. ]
Doesn't stop people from trying t' categorize things that way, anyway.
Still, he snaps out of his reverie as she finishes speaking, only just managing to piece together what she's said. ]
Doesn't stop people from trying t' categorize things that way, anyway.
Pretty sure I remember that adage. [ Arthur says this but it's obvious, given the way that his mouth crooks dryly that he knows precisely which one. ] Something about a scorpion and a frog?
Dunno — it could just be a matter of perspective.
[ She speaks like she's walking over burning coals as she does — there's never been a time that she's been particularly eager to argue, but perfection is more a subjective issue than not. What person loves, another might hate, so on and so forth. ]
[ She speaks like she's walking over burning coals as she does — there's never been a time that she's been particularly eager to argue, but perfection is more a subjective issue than not. What person loves, another might hate, so on and so forth. ]
[ Her hands are folded before her, wrists covered and bent, chin tucked. Whenever Roksana shifts her weight there comes with it the sound of a heavy jangle, like iron and rust slipping beneath the folds of her skirt. ] Best not to cast such things out. Best to keep them close.
[ Her head tips to the left, legs slowly uncrossing as she slides off the edge of the metal guardrail. She walks heavy on the tips of her toes so her heels don't get caught in the grating, mouth pursing slightly. ]
Not a believer in the concept of starting fresh, huh?
Not a believer in the concept of starting fresh, huh?
[ Her smile pinches at the corners. Polite, maybe, but not agreeing. ]
I don't know about 'best'.
I don't know about 'best'.
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