CLOSED | prompt eight | RUIN

[dondarrion]

prompt eight | R U I N dressing-room style. closed to rog.

 

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[perjurer]

[ They say every man is an island. And that right there, that little bit of pity existentialism — that's Gem Rossi in a nutshell. That's Flauros' girl. Not that babysitting one of Hell's most ignoble lords qualifies as 'island' territory, but Flauros is a free agent in a world full of sides and there's nothing, absolutely nothing that the other dukes of hell and heavenly host can do to touch any of them because of Flauros' beat.

So it's with an air of ancient nonchalance that he huffs out a laugh, whistles drawn out and slow. ] You've met the family, right?

[ Grow up in a family like the Rossis and you learn not to take shit from anyone. In that respect, they're not that different. Growing pains, family ties. Fucking expectation. ] Not exactly the Hallmark crowd.

[minding]

[ For a moment, she doesn't respond, her eyebrows climbing a slow trail upwards before she manages a lopsided smile. ]

You're welcome to my next Thanksgiving dinner if you think I'm being frivolous.

[ To be fair, the lords of Hell are capable of a hell of a lot more damage her family is, but human drama is capable of generating just as much metaphysical output (just as many fights, just as many unsettled grudges). In that sense, being allowed a glimpse into the supernatural has proved more a disillusioning experience than one of wonderment. But she isn't ungrateful (she never is) and as sharp as she can sometimes be, she never complains, either. Growing pains, family ties, expectations — you learn, you grow. ]