[Seven] All I’ve ever learned from love was how to shoot somebody who outdrew you.
(This is a thread from Mizahar's fantasy role playing forum. Why don't you register today? This message is not shown when you are logged in. Come roleplay with us, it's fun!)
Considered one of the most mysterious cities in Mizahar, Alvadas is called The City of Illusions. It is the home of Ionu and the notorious Inverted. This city sits on one of the main crossroads through The Region of Kalea.
Victor could not see through the tears in his eyes, shards of salty pain framed in fuzzy, venom-laced darkness. He could not feel enough of his lip to even clean it of the mess that seeped from it. Thinned by a pale yellow sheen, his blood dripped from his shocked hand to the shirt beneath. The pain there tasted like the familiar heat of the kisses he had forgotten to crave, but it hurt more than he could have ever wanted, having pulled him almost instantly from utter bliss to a muffled whimper of protest. It tore through each of his senses and rendered him momentarily witless, but as soon as he recognized Seven’s voice in his ears he spat out the only possible response.
“No.”
He attempted a smile, but the strange expression he saw on Seven’s face discouraged it. Instead, he met those frightened reds with a confused mix of emotion that culminated in peering eyes and a shifting brow.
The game was over, as far as Victor was concerned, but stubbornness died hard.
“Damn me.” He grimaced, shrugged, waved toward the door. “You hate me so much, you get out.”
He would’ve crumpled in that moment had his will faltered. He would’ve let his forehead press against Victor’s toes and beg he reconsider through broken sobs. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. Something flashed across Seven’s pale and wet face before he suppressed it with a hard swallow. His tingling mouth tasted like the copper tang of blood.
Then he rose, praying his weak knees held him upright. “Fine,” he rasped defensively, sighed, and shook his head. The fire had died. “Fine.”
Seven turned from Victor, gathering discarded clothing with compromised dignity. He dressed in silence, gathered his canvas haversack in silence, and stepped over an abandoned trunk as he crossed to the door in silence. Only after a heartbeat of fingering the latch did he look again to his bird, bottom lip half-hidden behind a habitual look of consideration. He thought he could hold that stony grey gaze for an eternity before his own wavered and blurred and his eyes began to sting. Seven squinted.
“I’ve never loved anyone else,” the confession came as a wavering murmur under his breath. He tugged the heavy door from its berth; the tavern below wafted in as a lukewarm breeze. He couldn’t say it—he mouthed the word, but didn’t linger to find out if Victor had even seen it. The door whispered shut and his feet thumped a fading trail down the creaking staircase.
The silence in Seven’s retreat became more real than ever. The words echoed in his memory for many long chimes, mixed in his mind with the low throb of spreading venom and the recurring sight of tears. He had seen sadness then; he knew it the same way he knew his own emptiness, because he had seen it before in all its sincerity and felt only the same hollow apathy. It made him doubt his own perception of the world and the way he had always thought it worked, until that became too difficult and he stood instead.
He found himself at the wash basin, and only then did he hear every door he had slammed along the way. The one at the bottom of the stair was long closed, but he listened closely for it as he spat into the bowl and watched as the threads of his blood spread in the water. He looked up, and the mirror showed him the familiar flatness of his bleak, grey eyes. He exchanged them for red ones.
I’ve never loved anyone else, they said. Victor knew what that meant, but chose to believe an alternate meaning. Seven was already regretting his foolishness, already remembering the happiness that bound him like the silvery mark on their necks. He would be angered after too long in the city he could not predict, and he would forget the sadness which his only love had inflicted. He would come back after a few hours, pleading for forgiveness.
If ever there was a thread that made me want to cry this would be the one. Is this the end of this pair? Is their love, however one-sided, destined to fall apart? I feel like I need to tune in for the next episode >.>
I am not sure what you two did but your writing in this thread was probably the best I have seen of you two yet. It was filled with so many descriptions, images and fine uses of rhetoric (Yay I used the word right XD) that I almost felt like I was back in literature class grading for an essay. I even started picking out some of my literary terms today. Haven't done that in a long time lol.
Victor you make me want to strangle your PC! Ugh why can't he just love? It makes me sad to see Seven give so much, feel so much pain and still we all know it is in vain. Oh Victor, if I could give one thing to your character it would be that feeling that Seven has every time he sees him... Lol all mushy gushiness aside, that was a great thread and I enjoyed every second of it. I still more than enjoy seeing the both of you when you post your threads for grading, and I get a little thrill when I think "What will happen to victor and Seven next?" ^.^
This was a story progression like you said, and so there were not many points or lores to be had. I did attempt to give you some relevant lores from this though lol. Seven, yes I gave you a point in Rhetoric for your FINE use of 2 words in your 4th post
