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Post by Malakai on Aug 14, 2012 16:56:23 GMT -5
Colorado, after any given other trip would smell sweet. But with the guilt of her last meeting, shoulders sagging with foreboding, Malakai cannot smell anything but the acrid scent of impending doom.
She is a casanova in relationships as much as a dog is in table manners. But she knows on some basic level that someone else kissing her is not just ''okay''. Even right there in the bible it shadows adultery and this is surely the knobby legged sister of it? If she hadnt had a one way bus ticket to hell she had one now. With Hitler sobbing like a incomprehensible child and kicking her seat the entire way. She was now a adultering murderer in love with another woman. Add Bin Laden screaming in islamic at Hitler in the background.
The car ride back to the mansion is quiet and heavy with tension. When she makes it back the first day she chooses to ignore the subject at hand in a dry attempt at procrastination. She promises Lyra a audience when she is less busy. She crawls into bed with her with little words exchanged, the promise of sleep addling her tone and fluttering eyes. It passes for the first day just fine, and even the second. But Lyra is no fool and by the third Malakai has asked her to walk the garden outback.
She chooses not to comment on the horse stables that lay adjacent.
No, in fact Malakai is the perfect angel. Smiling brightly at Lyra, opening the door. Listening to her with no sarcastic or negative feedback and egging her on. For the time period of thirty minutes Malakai is the perfect partner. With all of the stepford double dosed.
( Oh that's a excellent idea! You are so bright! So amazing! Im so lucky to have you! Im going to cook you something tonight, should I schedule a spa date? You need more diamonds! You like diamonds right? Rubies? Emeralds? I'll buy them allll because you are my speshulist snowflake from the most unique snowstorm.)
Well, up until she adds fumbling in a conversation about chrysanthemums casually, "..they symbolize in some cases death. It was said after a reaper gathered his victim a seed of the flower would bloom the next summer -- speaking of reapers, death, and flowers -- Liam kissed me the other night. But anyway, I think they would look lovely and symbolical somewhere over here by the roses."
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Post by Lyra Everhart on Aug 25, 2012 18:59:44 GMT -5
She has been wondering about Malakai’s strange behavior since the woman returned from wherever she had gotten off to this time around. Lyra is used to Malakai disappearing for days, sometimes weeks, though she is also accustomed to being notified – and it wasn’t as if she had been disappointed on that front this time around either. What had disappointed her was the fact that Lyra was strictly used to Malakai returning home and sweeping her off her pixie feet and into the older – that’s an understatement, folks – woman’s arms for gentle reunions and passionate lovemaking. She’s thusly thrown off guard when her lover returns and – and spurns her.
She passes it off as exhaustion the first day. The second day she tries to make excuses for her woman and they invent themselves in her head every time Malakai turns her away. Busy. Distracted. Absent-minded. Daydreaming. But eventually those excuses turn into possibilities and she starts to worry them, gnaw on them with the sinews of brain matter encased within that skull of hers and they turn into What is she so busy with? What has distracted her? Why is she not thinking of me? Who is she daydreaming about? And yes, the what’s turn into who’s and suddenly she is terrified.
Has she replaced me?
By the third day Lyra is suspicious and worried and nervous and sick with it all, and as she walks out to the gardens, past the stables, it is only increased tenfold by Malakai’s acquiescent nature.
They’re chatting of chrysanthemums and she is listening, distracted but listening, and her response flows naturally; “Would they? We should correlate the colors, and -- …. WHAT?” And she whirls, and in a flash there it is, the glint in her eye and the curve of her fingers.
“He did – what?”
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Post by Malakai on Aug 25, 2012 19:20:29 GMT -5
Malakai is no stranger to Lyra's rage. And although any other time the fae could be compared to a unicorn, majestic, exotic, and rare. There was also the matter of the bright candycane bone jutting from her forehead. And the sharp hooves and bludgeon teeth to consider. Needless to say Malakai's attempt to gloss over the incident fails horribly and Lyra immediately takes the offensive.
“He did – what?”
And even in that out right rage, the shuck can hear the malice and threat that moves like a serpent just beneath the surface. Retorting something about the roses and chrysanthemums would be in complete vain now that Lyra's sinking her teeth into miscommunication. Never crossing the business woman's mind that her hesitant revelation might play out as sketchy; that doesnt much help the unfolding dramatics either.
"It was stupid." She replies, frowning and narrowing her eyes with the thought. Unable to even find a proper word beyond ''stupid'' to convey her annoyance. "I punched him in the face and kicked in his table, and later on commissioned three men to cheat him out of a gamble." But Malakai is nervous, and maybe a bit frightened, and she rambles longer then necessary in a attempt to divert Lyra's wrath from her and project it to someone more deserving.
"We should book a flight out there, and you should go to his shack and break all of his valuables. We could burn down his house after, we could bond."
Malakai has never been the victim of any situation, but in this case she has no problem learning new tricks." He's a sick perverse disgusting man Lyra, and he took advantage of me."
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Post by Lyra Everhart on Aug 25, 2012 20:30:55 GMT -5
She’s not one to be fooled by fake niceties and simple lies, even the most complicated of tales told to her are unwoven and unraveled, revealed to be the knotted falsehood inside in a heartbeat and the fact that Malakai has been hiding things from her burns – especially when she discovers it has been something so much as this, something that Malakai herself did not do. Oh, she knows it was not her lover’s fault because she can see it as clearly as she can see the scarred-over injury that is Malakai’s eye ever since their first encounter with Lyra’s true form.
She glares and she fights it back, that tidal wave within that wishes to rise up and take her over in a quick merciless coup d’état of her personality and true self, overthrow her natural actions and reactions and toss away who she really is. She fights it because she wants to be angry – she selfishly is refusing to give up her rage to any alternate persona and she stubbornly clings to it like a child to a life vest, just freshly thrown in the deep end of the pool.
“Stupid?” She snarls this, almost advances but instead actually takes a quick step back as if doing so will help reign in her passion. “Good,” she replies shortly, tossing her hair and looking over her shoulder briefly to make sure they are alone.
Then she turns back to her, narrows her eyes. “We?” Watches Malakai carefully, nostrils flaring. “He did…” she mutters this, looks up with a glare.
“You’ve already had your vengeance. I want mine.” And the message is hopefully clear; she goes alone.
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Post by Malakai on Aug 26, 2012 13:43:09 GMT -5
Malakai has never been subservient. It'd taken years for Icus to wilt her. Victor had died a horrible death trying too. And as a child her mother had given up exasperated as she ran around the estate with the boys. Yet this woman has never lifted a intentional hand to her. She has never punished her, she has never berated or belittled her, and Malakai already is ducking a little be shorter. A attempt to look less intimidating and perturbed.
"We? He did…You’ve already had your vengeance. I want mine.”
But Malakai cannot help but rebuke at this, eyes nearly popping out of her skull. She's a rubber band snap straight. And although she isnt growling or demanding (the last thing she wants to do is stir Lyra's boiling pot) there is objection in her tone. "Lyra," She says. Maybe it serves as some kind of warning. Some preemptive lunge,
But her tone flattens, changes pitch to something a bit more placating. Because Lyra is standing there glaring at her and Malakai has developed some sort of complex about sleeping alone now. The guest bed room just isnt the same.
God, she thinks, when did I get pussy whipped?
"Lyra love, You dont know where he lives. You dont know New Orleans. It's dangerous. It's the supernatural boiling pot. I wont let you go alone."
And she likes to think that's that. But knowing Lyra this isnt the end of it. No matter how absolute Malakai looks. Maybe in business affairs this would be the final say, maybe under normal circumstance Malakai would be pulling on the pants in the relationship and buckling it herself too -- but with this? She's knobby knee'd and the breeze is freezing.
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