Post by mikhail on Jan 6, 2019 17:26:52 GMT
Go sleep with the fishes
There's no room for you here
room for you here
Wrap your teeth
around the pavement your body's a message
send regards to hell
fall upon your knees and scream
❝ This is my body and soul ❞
It was not a date.
It simply was not a date. The arranged meeting between one side and another, the distinct border being drawn between owl and apex, defined itself not as a romantic endeavor but as one solely for the purpose of gathering information. There was no need to consider the possibility of attachment, as Lyov was firmly aware that it wouldn’t have happened; There would be no flirtations, no shared gimmicks between the two, that would have otherwise changed the meaning behind their scheduled rendezvous. Had those attempts been made - either by himself, which was unlikely, or by Apex, which was significantly more likely - he would have taken it upon himself to abandon the meeting with his head held high. There was no room for attachment in the life of the Harbinger, sparse accommodations made for those who had cemented themselves as family figures.
In the morning light, an owl had found his perch.
With a new mask donned, beak hanging at a low curve, he’d wait. The building he’d selected - an abandoned palace five stories high, peaceful on the city outskirts, resting dormant as a sleeping giant - was plain on the inside, an air conditioning unit being used as Lyov’s makeshift throne. The building itself may have been under construction at one point or another, given the presence of equipment here and there, but the project surely would have been cast aside; The reasoning behind this was unknown, not that he cared to know to begin with. It was a skeleton, a deserted building with no use for the rest of the world apart from being used as a shelter for lesser rats, where dead gods came to linger and dwell on their time in the limelight. It must have been pitiful to haunt a building soon to be inhabited by predator and prey - and more pitiful to have been one of the two clashing forces.
Cutthroat - the owl, the harbinger, the end all - had busied himself by removing and replacing his right glove, letting a chill settle over the air whenever he dared to take it off. Each time, ice fell out. And each time, he expected no different outcome; Had the glove came off baren, he would have assumed the worst had happened to the rest of his arm. Boredom set in sooner than he would have preferred and, no more than ten minutes after finding a comfortable spot, Lyov rose again to stroll along the corridors, a phantom. Frost followed him, as it always did, his eternal companion.
He had found his resting spot sooner rather than later, fiddling with a revolver loaded with unnamed bullets. Frozen air drifted out from the slits in his mask, deft hands spinning the chamber once, twice, three times. The building held two entrances to any floor, a staircase or deserted elevator shaft - and oh, he could only hope that Apex would choose the harder climb, as stairs were predictable. Should he have appeared from the shadows near forgotten elevator doors, Cutthroat would be ready; To his credit,he was always ready, but the meeting was no place for arrogance. Not yet. A small package of chocolates was present at his side: A soon-to-be parting gift for the not yet deceased.
To kill or converse, to speak or slaughter, to save or delete, that was his decision to make.
Apex. A smile formed beneath his cover. I can’t wait to dance with you.
MADE BY VEL OF GS + ADOX 2.0