We'll work out payment if the treatment's a success.
[ kinda stupid but
she feels better just talking to him like this... she's not thinking about it. as if needs the reminder, she'll drop a ping to her location thank you. still the valentia, even down to the floor and room... she'll be the one with duck decor on her door whenever he gets there they can keep talking until then. ]
[ working out a payment after the fact would be a fool's deal...
or so rafayel is on the cusp of texting back, but the reality was... he didn't actually care about all of that. instead, he sees the pin drop, and follows it. it feels weird to walk back down the halls, even stranger to be visiting another person within it. he still recalls the first time he set foot there, and...
it's not exactly a fond memory. it's why, he mindlessly wanders the halls a bit, before he eventually gives the door a knock. or two. if she takes longer than two seconds to respond, he's already knocking in some strange rhythm. ]
[ malkuth jumps on her side, about to tell whoever it is that she's alive and someone's coming to check on her already and
oh. it's probably rafayel. annoying... and yet, so relieving. every part of her wants to open the door and invite him in, even if she isn't sure what to do after that. explain? ask to kiss him? put him on the bed like she did against that stupid wall of ugly figures and
she plops down on the ground and knocks back, lower. sets her syntrofos aside. that's not needed, now, even as his message remains read and unreplied to. ]
[ just throwing out some ideas. ] One single apple?
[ lmao, but eventually he does have to ask: ] Buuut, is this a new game we're playing?
[ where people don't open doors and just talk through them? while rafayel knows there is likely a fully logical reason for this, it doesn't stop him from making light of a scenario in which could very well be the opposite. is this evidence to her not doing nearly as well as she pretended over text?
whatever the case, he still stands at the door, his arms crossing over his chest. ]
[ she closes her eyes. focus. maybe this was a bad idea. even his voice is-- nice, it's always nice but especially right now. would it be worse if she could see him? definitely. pathetic. that's what she is. or how she feels anyway, the lack of immediate banter back just as telling as the obvious refusal to open the door.
not that the door is locked. but he doesn't need to know that. he can assume it's locked, she's forgotten to entirely. ]
... Sure. Sit down with me, Rafayel. I'm-- sick, so I don't want you to catch it. That's all.
[ doc checked out and everything, just as instructed. if only she could just... she wishes these doors had a crack beneath, just a little one to peek her fingers under, brush against him. maybe a little touch would help. maybe.
get yourself together. it's half a lie, maybe, burns her throat but it isn't too bad, she's sick. in a way, sure. ]
I've never gotten flowers before. [ who'd give them to her. ] Do you have a favorite?
[ even now, he discovers himself listening for any hint of her being sick. it's not that he thinks she's dishonest, but that he thinks there's clearly more to this. to be fair, he doesn't exactly hear it in spite of his attempts, but he can catch onto to the vague idea that she may sound strained or exhausted? or, perhaps that's just an illusion of what he knows and how he's subconsciously trying to fill in the gaps.
still, he doesn't flat out argue with it, either. ] What, and a phone call wasn't good enough? [ not that he can blame her for wanting some company. he just wonders... why it's him? still, he pulls his sketchbook out from under his arms and leans his body against the door. ]
Never? [ he tears out a piece of paper from the sketchbook, and he's already beginning to deftly fold it. ] Hm, there was a flower I've seen in a book. Apparently, it only thrives or grows in water. [ extinct for now. he wonders how that research is going now that he's not home.
[ strained, careful as she's being to hide it. it comes out a bit more in her laugh -- no, it might've been good enough, but how long would it have been until she'd asked (pleaded?) for him to drop by anyway? embarrassing. no, this is better. she can just tell him to go away when she's had too much.
flame lilies sound pretty. similar in color, probably. a plant that only thrives in water... maybe it's a water lily then. ha. her own... what does she like. what does she remember, in the florists she'd visited just last month. ]
Hmmm. Sunflowers look nice... I like warmer colors. Reds, oranges, yellows... pink. Daisies are cute. [ ... what else... what was it called. ] Daffodil...? I think. The trumpet sort of one.
[ a motion with her hands that he can't see, staring at them raised and then dropping them to her lap again. shifting her legs, sigh slightly shaking. ]
I think anything that was given to me would be my favorite, though. I'm not picky.
he ponders on each one for a moment, taking time to envision each one as he completes one fold after another with careful dedication. he finishes one piece of origami before moving onto the next. he still speaks casually as he works on this. ] Kind of like the dresses you were looking at. [ consistency...
but, he thinks it suits her in a very general, intuitive kind of way. ] There are more than one trumpet or bell-shaped kind of flower. Million bells, lily of the valley, datura... [ he lists off a few, before nodding, even if she can't see him either. ]
If I'm too choosy, then I might miss out on something I like.
[ so better not to be too picky, to be open, which she could say is exactly why he's here over anyone else... but it wouldn't be the truth. so it remains unspoken, smiling at the memory of their window shopping. malkuth could afford one or two of those now, she knows. yet... the money that's finally stopped appearing is going elsewhere, to other things, her own yearning unattended as ever.
it can always been satisfied later. lots of things can be. ]
But... when I do really like something, [ or someone, ] I feel like overindulging in it. That's why I have to be careful.
True. You do seem like the kind of person to give everything a chance. At least once. [ ... and he would argue it's her strong suit. even in artistic endeavors, it was imperative not to shut off ones minds to the various possibilities and avenues.
when one looked, there could be beauty found in the most unexpected of places, after all.
it's why he does hum a soft sort of agreement to her words. ]
[ he says, but recently he's just mostly been into melon.
he doesn't focus on that though. is there a window? he looks back at the door, before staring back to his hands and the third origami he's working on now. ]
Aren't some things good because they're so specific? [ versatility is great and all, but what about having that one craving and it being sated... ]
[ specific, like how his hands might feel around her wrists. specific, how he might annoy her with teasing remarks and still, for some reason, go along with what she asks. specific, like the feeling of his hair between her fingers and the press of lips on
there is a thump as her head hits back against her door, groaning slightly. no. god. if that sounded like it hurt, it's because it did. ]
You're making it worse. [ what. her "yogurt" craving? ] Change the subject.
there's an instant protest on the tip of his tongue, especially because he can't help but feel like he's being wronged somehow. in spite of that, he breathes in a tight exhale, before sighing. ] You really... [ he places his next piece down, before grabbing opening on a fresh page in his book.
this time, he begins sketching something out for a moment. the sound of lead scribbling on paper before, he looks back at the door, even knowing he can't see her. ] What happened to not being picky? [ but, he will forgive her because yeah...
[ pain at least helps distract. she shouldn't take any lesson from that, and yet. she does. the questioning accusation flusters her in a different way and she turns back too, knowing damn well she also can't see him as she protests. ]
I-- I'm not, but my other soul is. It's a real proud thing. Pretty stuck up sometimes, too.
[ except right now where it wants her to open the door and ]
You do realize how sus that sounds, right? I don't know if I've ever heard a more convenient excuse, actually. [ yet, the easygoing tone belies any actual evidence of offense. ]
If I was going to badmouth Miss Manager, though... [ he seems to make a soft hum, before: ] I thiiiink I would talk about her propensity for violence first. [ he wants to be hit so bad. jk, but maybe he's making the joke knowing... he's safe. ]
[ and he would now, if... she could open the door and hit him.
...
it is a convenient excuse, though. but it's also the truth. malkuth drums her fingers on her thigh, considering how much nicer it would be someone else's, and groans. would it just... help? stop? if she gave in? isn't she the one who keeps saying to accept, to make space, whatever-- these souls?
because there's no other explanation for it. it didn't happen before, it's never happened before, but it's happening now and she hopes it doesn't happen again. maybe... a moment of embarrassment will be worth just having her head clear. ugh. she squeezes her eyes shut and stands up slowly, using the door as her crutch against her trembling legs. when she speaks again, it's with a softer, almost pleading tone. ]
... Look, Rafayel. I'm in kind of a pickle. I can't... ask those three, because it'll be awkward to work with them after, but it's driving me up the wall. [ she swallows. ] So will you hear out a favor? And I'll owe you, or whatever, if you're okay with it.
[ the sudden shift in her tone surprises him. enough that he doesn't realize when his own hand pauses over his work. he doesn't end up finishing that line that forms the stem of the flower, before he listens intently for any inkling of what's hidden behind her request. it's clear that her words don't have pretense, though.
despite him being accustomed to deceit, treachery, or lies... he never finds a hint of that here. she wasn't pushing him into something as much as calling for help. he places his pencil down for a moment, before he leaves the origami flowers he folded on the floor by her door as he steels his own resolve. ]
How about I see your condition first and decide from there?
[ his voice is slightly more serious despite how nonchalant he pretends on being. ]
[ he's really, really such a nice person. for all he can be-- there's a reason that she wants to trust him and does, even if she's still hesitant to-- to ask this of anyone. whatever happens between them feels like it just... rubberbands back to normalcy, though this might test it and she knows that.
malkuth can take a rejection. she's been suffering this for the past few days, she can suffer it until it ends. but if she has the chance...
...
the door slowly opens, and she peeks out, face flushed and lips slightly parted. it clear she's been really, really, trying to be normal, and she's very, very much not. her gaze seems focused on his face in the way that she's actively trying to keep it there. ]
It's not a fever.
[ before he can say a word, or reach out and touch her, even if she'd really like that. malkuth isn't even looking at his feet. ]
[ when the door gradually pulls open, he gets up as his eyes naturally scan over her features. he looks for evidence of flushed cheeks, pale skin, and any other physical indications of sickness. granted, he's no stranger to the affects of the changes they're undergoing. when she says it's not a fever...
he doesn't have a whole lot of room to consider what else it could be. maybe it's the other soul? maybe she would suddenly have a desire for blood, or maybe she has a want to kick him in the shins again? the thought it a little funny, and a break against the severity of their joint circumstances.
his hand is raises slightly, just the backside of it brushing against the front of her fringe. he isn't sure if he feels her skin as much as her hair tickling his skin. ] Are you sure? It is feeling a little hot.
[ it's enough that she stiffens with a sharp, shaking inhale, eyes fluttering close as she tries to reign it back. explain. concise, clear. focus.
a shake of her head, grip on the doorknob tight. ]
I wish. So my favor, [ the thing she wants him to hear out, trying to control herself in every way from tone to body to word choice, ] is a scientific experiment.
[ a horribly embarrassing experiment, shameful to elijah, to the old flame still burning in her heart.
but there is no denying how her body confirms it's a good experiment to try, eyes opening again as they flick briefly to his mouth and then away again. ]
Will you kiss me?
Edited (wait. i cant miss my chance. how could i forget the waterbreathing bonus) 2025-09-16 20:50 (UTC)
[ there's a flicker of surprise for just a moment before he manages to temper it. there was an initial desire to play it off, and yet he can see the way her posture seems unsteady, her demeanor... starkly different and yet the same. he knows how shameful it is to get swallowed up in your own desires if just because he's experienced something quite similar. back then he thought of it as just another inconvenience to living in the surface world, and being in such proximity to person he shared a bond with.
he leans in a little, settling his fingers against her skin, as they travel from the side of her face to her jaw. eventually, his thumb settles on her lower lip. his foot inserts itself between the gap of the door, as he shuffles it open a little wider. ] There's nothing scientific about this. [ he gives a soft chuckle. he isn't sure if it's a sensation he imagines, but for a moment the soul that exists within him seems drawn in by her, and he instinctively isn't sure he likes it.
it felt like infringing on something he's purposely kept locked away from others.
he leans in, his lips incredibly close to hers for just that moment. ]
[ malkuth doesn't know how to feel about the lack of hesitation in his touch, how it feels like sparks against her skin that has her throat tight and stomach warming, doing all she can not to lean into his fingers even as her lips (without her consent, eager) part near-obediently as his thumb's rest.
the door is the last thing on her mind, for a moment. who could see. who could hear. just being so close is dizzying, her soul scratching at the metaphorical dirt in want to push closer and malkuth not wanting to coerce a friend into something he can't possibly want to do. with her? absolutely unimaginable, that's why
why rejection would be easier than the question he poses, the warmth breath that'd been so closer replaced with cooler air, and her eyes snap back open (when had they closed?) as she scowls, cheeks darkening more. ]
I-- No, of course not. Don't be stupid. I don't even want to-- to impose on you, Rafayel, you're...
[ ...
he's... what. malkuth doesn't find an answer to that, but the lingering electrifying feeling of his hand against her cheek is answer enough to her experimental query. she huffs, stepping back inside and leaving the door open as she all but falls into her bed, curling up on the blanketless surface, sheets long since kicked off. muffled, but audible: ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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theres also an extra tax for being a cheeky patient yeah
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We'll work out payment if the treatment's a success.
[ kinda stupid but
she feels better just talking to him like this... she's not thinking about it. as if needs the reminder, she'll drop a ping to her location thank you. still the valentia, even down to the floor and room... she'll be the one with duck decor on her door whenever he gets there they can keep talking until then. ]
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or so rafayel is on the cusp of texting back, but the reality was... he didn't actually care about all of that. instead, he sees the pin drop, and follows it. it feels weird to walk back down the halls, even stranger to be visiting another person within it. he still recalls the first time he set foot there, and...
it's not exactly a fond memory. it's why, he mindlessly wanders the halls a bit, before he eventually gives the door a knock. or two. if she takes longer than two seconds to respond, he's already knocking in some strange rhythm. ]
wait should i have brought something
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oh. it's probably rafayel. annoying... and yet, so relieving. every part of her wants to open the door and invite him in, even if she isn't sure what to do after that. explain? ask to kiss him? put him on the bed like she did against that stupid wall of ugly figures and
she plops down on the ground and knocks back, lower. sets her syntrofos aside. that's not needed, now, even as his message remains read and unreplied to. ]
What could you possibly want to bring?
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[ just throwing out some ideas. ] One single apple?
[ lmao, but eventually he does have to ask: ] Buuut, is this a new game we're playing?
[ where people don't open doors and just talk through them? while rafayel knows there is likely a fully logical reason for this, it doesn't stop him from making light of a scenario in which could very well be the opposite. is this evidence to her not doing nearly as well as she pretended over text?
whatever the case, he still stands at the door, his arms crossing over his chest. ]
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not that the door is locked. but he doesn't need to know that. he can assume it's locked, she's forgotten to entirely. ]
... Sure. Sit down with me, Rafayel. I'm-- sick, so I don't want you to catch it. That's all.
[ doc checked out and everything, just as instructed. if only she could just... she wishes these doors had a crack beneath, just a little one to peek her fingers under, brush against him. maybe a little touch would help. maybe.
get yourself together. it's half a lie, maybe, burns her throat but it isn't too bad, she's sick. in a way, sure. ]
I've never gotten flowers before. [ who'd give them to her. ] Do you have a favorite?
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still, he doesn't flat out argue with it, either. ] What, and a phone call wasn't good enough? [ not that he can blame her for wanting some company. he just wonders... why it's him? still, he pulls his sketchbook out from under his arms and leans his body against the door. ]
Never? [ he tears out a piece of paper from the sketchbook, and he's already beginning to deftly fold it. ] Hm, there was a flower I've seen in a book. Apparently, it only thrives or grows in water. [ extinct for now. he wonders how that research is going now that he's not home.
he shakes his head. ] I also like flame lillies.
What about you?
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flame lilies sound pretty. similar in color, probably. a plant that only thrives in water... maybe it's a water lily then. ha. her own... what does she like. what does she remember, in the florists she'd visited just last month. ]
Hmmm. Sunflowers look nice... I like warmer colors. Reds, oranges, yellows... pink. Daisies are cute. [ ... what else... what was it called. ] Daffodil...? I think. The trumpet sort of one.
[ a motion with her hands that he can't see, staring at them raised and then dropping them to her lap again. shifting her legs, sigh slightly shaking. ]
I think anything that was given to me would be my favorite, though. I'm not picky.
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he ponders on each one for a moment, taking time to envision each one as he completes one fold after another with careful dedication. he finishes one piece of origami before moving onto the next. he still speaks casually as he works on this. ] Kind of like the dresses you were looking at. [ consistency...
but, he thinks it suits her in a very general, intuitive kind of way. ] There are more than one trumpet or bell-shaped kind of flower. Million bells, lily of the valley, datura... [ he lists off a few, before nodding, even if she can't see him either. ]
You should be a little choosier, you know.
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[ so better not to be too picky, to be open, which she could say is exactly why he's here over anyone else... but it wouldn't be the truth. so it remains unspoken, smiling at the memory of their window shopping. malkuth could afford one or two of those now, she knows. yet... the money that's finally stopped appearing is going elsewhere, to other things, her own yearning unattended as ever.
it can always been satisfied later. lots of things can be. ]
But... when I do really like something, [ or someone, ] I feel like overindulging in it. That's why I have to be careful.
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when one looked, there could be beauty found in the most unexpected of places, after all.
it's why he does hum a soft sort of agreement to her words. ]
Like bread? [ lol. ]
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[ absolutely nailed that. staring down her window. is it too high. or too low. which would be a bigger issue. ]
It's tasty and you can do a thousand things with it. Harder not not to get carried away with such a versatile thing, huh?
[ haha. ha. anyway. ]
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[ he says, but recently he's just mostly been into melon.
he doesn't focus on that though. is there a window? he looks back at the door, before staring back to his hands and the third origami he's working on now. ]
Aren't some things good because they're so specific? [ versatility is great and all, but what about having that one craving and it being sated... ]
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there is a thump as her head hits back against her door, groaning slightly. no. god. if that sounded like it hurt, it's because it did. ]
You're making it worse. [ what. her "yogurt" craving? ] Change the subject.
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there's an instant protest on the tip of his tongue, especially because he can't help but feel like he's being wronged somehow. in spite of that, he breathes in a tight exhale, before sighing. ] You really... [ he places his next piece down, before grabbing opening on a fresh page in his book.
this time, he begins sketching something out for a moment. the sound of lead scribbling on paper before, he looks back at the door, even knowing he can't see her. ] What happened to not being picky? [ but, he will forgive her because yeah...
that did sound like it hurt. ]
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I-- I'm not, but my other soul is. It's a real proud thing. Pretty stuck up sometimes, too.
[ except right now where it wants her to open the door and ]
So if you're gonna badmouth anything, it's that.
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If I was going to badmouth Miss Manager, though... [ he seems to make a soft hum, before: ] I thiiiink I would talk about her propensity for violence first. [ he wants to be hit so bad. jk, but maybe he's making the joke knowing... he's safe. ]
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[ and he would now, if... she could open the door and hit him.
...
it is a convenient excuse, though. but it's also the truth. malkuth drums her fingers on her thigh, considering how much nicer it would be someone else's, and groans. would it just... help? stop? if she gave in? isn't she the one who keeps saying to accept, to make space, whatever-- these souls?
because there's no other explanation for it. it didn't happen before, it's never happened before, but it's happening now and she hopes it doesn't happen again. maybe... a moment of embarrassment will be worth just having her head clear. ugh. she squeezes her eyes shut and stands up slowly, using the door as her crutch against her trembling legs. when she speaks again, it's with a softer, almost pleading tone. ]
... Look, Rafayel. I'm in kind of a pickle. I can't... ask those three, because it'll be awkward to work with them after, but it's driving me up the wall. [ she swallows. ] So will you hear out a favor? And I'll owe you, or whatever, if you're okay with it.
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despite him being accustomed to deceit, treachery, or lies... he never finds a hint of that here. she wasn't pushing him into something as much as calling for help. he places his pencil down for a moment, before he leaves the origami flowers he folded on the floor by her door as he steels his own resolve. ]
How about I see your condition first and decide from there?
[ his voice is slightly more serious despite how nonchalant he pretends on being. ]
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malkuth can take a rejection. she's been suffering this for the past few days, she can suffer it until it ends. but if she has the chance...
...
the door slowly opens, and she peeks out, face flushed and lips slightly parted. it clear she's been really, really, trying to be normal, and she's very, very much not. her gaze seems focused on his face in the way that she's actively trying to keep it there. ]
It's not a fever.
[ before he can say a word, or reach out and touch her, even if she'd really like that. malkuth isn't even looking at his feet. ]
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he doesn't have a whole lot of room to consider what else it could be. maybe it's the other soul? maybe she would suddenly have a desire for blood, or maybe she has a want to kick him in the shins again? the thought it a little funny, and a break against the severity of their joint circumstances.
his hand is raises slightly, just the backside of it brushing against the front of her fringe. he isn't sure if he feels her skin as much as her hair tickling his skin. ] Are you sure? It is feeling a little hot.
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a shake of her head, grip on the doorknob tight. ]
I wish. So my favor, [ the thing she wants him to hear out, trying to control herself in every way from tone to body to word choice, ] is a scientific experiment.
[ a horribly embarrassing experiment, shameful to elijah, to the old flame still burning in her heart.
but there is no denying how her body confirms it's a good experiment to try, eyes opening again as they flick briefly to his mouth and then away again. ]
Will you kiss me?
1/2
he leans in a little, settling his fingers against her skin, as they travel from the side of her face to her jaw. eventually, his thumb settles on her lower lip. his foot inserts itself between the gap of the door, as he shuffles it open a little wider. ] There's nothing scientific about this. [ he gives a soft chuckle. he isn't sure if it's a sensation he imagines, but for a moment the soul that exists within him seems drawn in by her, and he instinctively isn't sure he likes it.
it felt like infringing on something he's purposely kept locked away from others.
he leans in, his lips incredibly close to hers for just that moment. ]
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the door is the last thing on her mind, for a moment. who could see. who could hear. just being so close is dizzying, her soul scratching at the metaphorical dirt in want to push closer and malkuth not wanting to coerce a friend into something he can't possibly want to do. with her? absolutely unimaginable, that's why
why rejection would be easier than the question he poses, the warmth breath that'd been so closer replaced with cooler air, and her eyes snap back open (when had they closed?) as she scowls, cheeks darkening more. ]
I-- No, of course not. Don't be stupid. I don't even want to-- to impose on you, Rafayel, you're...
[ ...
he's... what. malkuth doesn't find an answer to that, but the lingering electrifying feeling of his hand against her cheek is answer enough to her experimental query. she huffs, stepping back inside and leaving the door open as she all but falls into her bed, curling up on the blanketless surface, sheets long since kicked off. muffled, but audible: ]
Who.
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justice for malkuth
we should kill him