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Post by Neviah Athen on Jul 4, 2014 18:45:42 GMT -6
340 words notes: them feels LISTEN TO THE WORDS OF WISDOM The waters surrounding the little island Neviah was known to live in had been rocky for days now. The weather had been shoddy and sight of the now deceased god Dym had not been seen by a single soul for at least a week. Who could blame her? For the first three days she had not even stepped foot in the realms, had simply stayed in the oceans in part unknown. Not like anybody wanted to mess with her. Hell not even Jag had bothered to try and look for her.
But now the girl was back home.... but at what price? Well the seas were rocky around the semi immersed home and there was a clear sound of screaming. Things breaking, things getting pushed around from the inside. Neviah was a wreck. Dym was dead. She was throwing vases against the walls in rage, ripping dresses apart, throwing jewelry across the rooms and halls... Well to say the least the place was a confusion. Reaching for a box, she was about to throw it open but stopped, slowly opening it and looked inside.
Her stomach stopped at her throat... It was those damn earrings... Why... Why were they coming back to haunt her. The girl lost the strength on her legs and dropped to her knees, starting to sob uncontrollably "Dyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyym....." a wail left her lips as the rather unkempt hair dropped over her shoulders and face. Her cheeks puffed, eyes red and nearly bloodshot.
It was impossible to read the hurricane of emotions she was right now... but what was visible? She was in pain. Closing that stupid box, Neviah would attempt to throw it across the room but she just... couldn't... Not anymore. Dropping the box simply, she'd literally got up and slumped her way across the room and flopped face first on her large bed, reaching for one pillow to stuff her face on it, trying to get her tears down. Of course that wasn't going to happen.
Neviah felt like she was long broken now
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Post by Jag on Jul 6, 2014 16:54:16 GMT -6
Jag strummed a few notes on his guitar. Each sounded hollow. He knew the scales. He knew the chords. More importantly he could usually feel them. But the notes had no meaning today. He couldn’t find any note to harmonize, until he had an epiphany. He knew the next note. The only one that could harmonize with the feelings that were festering inside. Jag took the guitar by the neck, strangling it, and introduced it to the wall. The two met with a cacophony of crashes and disharmony and Jag continued the conversation until all that was left connecting the neck to the body was the thin jugular of the high E that could snap at any moment. He threw down the guitar in disgust, hearing a death rattle of random vibrations and feedback from the amplifier. Was that how Dym died? Angry and out of tune?
Jag walked over to a mirror and stared. His brother’s eyes stared back like inglorious epithets to the recently deceased. As a consequence of Dym’s death he had begun absorbing his powers and his responsibilities and it had been taxing. Music and booze could only distract it all for so long—eventually he would have to take up his brother’s mantle. Dammit Dym, couldn’t you have taken your responsibilities with you? He punctuated each thought with a swig from some rum he had hidden away for a rainy day. There were fallen soldiers scattered around the floor.
He had felt the gentle tug to some unknown forward for a week now. It brought with it a sinking feeling. Empathetic but alien. It was only now did it demand an answer. Was this Aquavia that he felt in his chest, stagnant and broken? If it was, it was among friends there in that intraperitoneal prison. But he could feel something in the mourning of his nation. A voice that seemed to yell louder than the rest of the crying masses. Jag closed his eyes. It was easier to concentrate on finding the voice than it was to remain in reality, trying desperately to leave. It was coming into focus through the dissonance and Jag finally recognized the screams. It was Neviah. Dym had left a vacuum for more than just him—they had been close, if he remembered. Yeah, they had been. It was selfish of him to be moping around in solitary confinement. He had always had a sandpaper and skin relationship with Neviah (Jag always maintained he was the skin in this metaphor). She was uptight and never seemed to appreciate the finer pieces of mortal life. Five by five. But Dym saw enough in her to make her a speaker and now they both sat in the void he had left behind. Wasn’t his brother’s approval enough?
Jag’s surroundings began melting (impaired teleportation was always interesting) as he began following her cry, revealing a scene that he had been feeling. Neviah’s abode was destroyed by her own grief and he couldn’t blame her. His guitar was testament to that. It was good that his tear ducts were empty—Jag knew that this nation of wild waves and deep trenches needed an island to weather the storm somewhere above the water. He would have to be that haven. First for Neviah, then for Aquavia. He would have to keep himself going in the meantime. He looked down at the half empty bottle of rum—could this combust? No, it would have to be stronger. He couldn’t run an engine on this but he supposed it would help him.
“Neviah…” he sighed from beyond the doorway, looking in. His eyes heavy. His heart saddled by a repressed depression. Another swig to prepare himself. No two and it was long. Jag gathered himself and knocked on the frame with the knuckle of his forefinger. “I guess asking you how you’re doing would be a pretty stupid question, huh?” He cracked a smile into his hardened face. Jag swayed to a nonexistent rhythm before leaning against the frame for support. He shook his bottle by the neck like a baby with a rattle. “If there was a time for a drink, baby, it’d be now.” He rose up the capless invitation and leaned the top toward her.
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Post by Neviah Athen on Jul 7, 2014 7:29:50 GMT -6
330 words notes: --- LISTEN TO THE WORDS OF WISDOM The tears just kept streaming down her eyes but it was when she heard a voice from the hall that she seemed to cease. The girl still had her head stuffed in her pillow as she would slowly move her head up as she heard Jag's voice. What the hell was he doing here? He had no right... No right to be here, especially when he was drinking. Oh the irresponsible fool, never changing.
Sitting up slowly, Neviah looked at him and pushed the tears away from her eyes before she'd freeze. His... eyes were now starting to remind her of Dym. No.... No this couldn't be. The girl gritted her teeth and would give off a soft sigh "I'm good..." she'd mutter before she'd get up from the bed slowly, her frame just showing how in shambles she was right now.
Her hair was a mess, her clothes...whatever she hadn't ripped in shambles was in a pile and what she did have on was all wrinkled. Cheeks red and puffy, eyes watery and reddened. Neviah didn't look like the shining example of beauty right now but the shell of someone who had given up.
A drink? Was he serious? Aquavia had lost one of its gods and all Jag could thing about was grabbing a fucking drink? Neviah's arm reached for the vase on the bed stand and threw it over to the wall right next to the door, staring into his eyes "Why are you here?" her words would sting like poison seeing that she was pissed "The nation needs you and you'd rather drown your sorrows in the deep end of a bottle? What would Dym think of you now of all times?!" she'd yell out before turning her back to him.
Arms crossed as she muttered "Leave." straight to the point. There was a mixed emotional aura emanating from the demigoddess but one thing was certain, she couldn't bare to look at Jag right now.
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Post by Jag on Jul 7, 2014 9:43:49 GMT -6
“Well that’s not going to solve anything,” he quipped dryly. A shattered invitation from a shattered woman. Jag walked into her bedroom slowly counting each step as if the numbers would give him balance. One. Two three four. Five. A drunken staccato. He looked up from his feet to Neviah—this grieving process was taking its toll on her.
“I’m here because I had to check on my one and only speaker!” he boomed punctuating his sentence with a small hiccup. Neviah had never enjoyed his company, especially when he was drunk, but Jag shrugged it off. “Bottles,” he retorted, shaking his rattle at her like a wagging finger. “I can’t imagine Dym would think much less of me. In fact, I can’t imagine Dym is thinking too much about anything right now.” Ah, dammit. He probably crossed a line there. No, screw it. It was his brother. He had a right to cathartic humor even if it killed him (probably via Neviah). “More importantly, how would Dym think of you? Sitting here, moping around while our country lay paralyzed in mourning?”
He ignored her demand to leave and took it as an invitation to take another swig and walk closer to the bed. Finding it with his free hand, Jag sat down on Neviah’s bed and proceeded to lean back slowly and exhaling deeply. He leaned his bottle against his thigh. A leaning tower that promised its proselytes a more bearable today. He stretched his legs in the air before letting them drop to the ground again. “I can’t imagine Dym would think very highly of either of us right now,” he said lowly with church-like reverence. He could feel his sadness changing to anger and back into grief turning and shifting down there in his stomach like wild waves and he knew it was all Dym’s fault and here he was just trying to keep it all together and he just needed something to hold back the oncoming flood. So he took two drinks. One to dam the tide. Another to damn Dym. Some of the second drink began to dribble out of his mouth. His mouth rejected its pretenses. He wiped it away with his bare arm and then stretched both out, exposing the bare middle of his chest to the world. One hand nailed to the bed with his bottle. The other nailed to Neviah as he slowly reached for the middle of her back. That’s how normal people console each other, right? They did it through contact? Through empathy? Understanding? His eyes stared up toward the ceiling with an austere prayer for rain. Rain would be nice. Not that hard rain they had in the winter—a soft summer one.
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Post by Neviah Athen on Jul 7, 2014 10:19:41 GMT -6
476 words notes: --- LISTEN TO THE WORDS OF WISDOM As much as she hated being around Jag, her reasons to hate him were rather stupid. I mean after spending over a century getting called 'My brother's lap bitch' her mood to putting up with him was long gone. As much as she hated it she didn't move from her spot until she felt him sit on her bed.
What the fuck was he doing? He was going to just sit in her bed? The girl would look over her shoulder and sighed softly before his hand pressed to her back "Disappointed to all hell...." why was she speaking out like this? She didn't like Jag... Well maybe she had over reacted in the past
Her eyes closed as she lowered her head "You still going to insult me like you did...?" she'd say, starting to move over to him and grabbed his bottle of alcohol "...The cheap kind? Nononono...." she'd whisper and pulled the bottle away and got up "Wait there..." she'd say before walking out of the room, pushing some of the mess with her feet
Reaching over to the kitchen area, barely used and one of the few places not a mess in the home she'd place the bottle on the table and reached for the drink cabinet. One thing was that Neviah provided was her God with anything they needed. Dym didn't do the alcohol like Jag did, and Neviah did enjoy a drink once in a while.
The girl would pull out a special bottle of Aquavian reserve, a small gift she got last time she did her duties... most of what she had alcohol wise was a gift considering most mortals never let her pay. The girl would start to walk back to the room with the bottle and two glasses, peeking inside as she realized the mess she made.
Truth is told she needed to help him with his new duties. After the process of mourning was over they had a lot to get to "...Listen..." the girl reached over to the bed, placing the two glasses down and poured him a drink and herself one "One thing I learned from your brother is that as a Speaker I must tend to my God's needs... Gods deserve only the best..." she'd say before reaching him the glass over, swirling the liquid a bit.
It was scotch, one of the finest reserves in the land "Only reason Dym never needed humans worshiping him... was simply because I tended to his needs.... I did a good job from the looks of it..." she'd say before reaching for a small velvet box and held it in her hands as she reached the glass to her lips, taking a small sip "......I don't know what to do now though Jag... you're different than him... in many ways... But i'm certain i can adjust..."
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Post by Jag on Jul 8, 2014 19:12:55 GMT -6
Jag shrugged on the bed, “Like lap bitch? I don’t regret that.” He took his drink from Neviah (he would never refuse free, high-quality booze). He didn’t sip just yet. “Because of exactly this.” He sat up now pensively holding his drink as evidence before looking at Neviah, “I don’t need you to please me, Neviah. In case you forgot, pleasure is my field of expertise. I don’t need you. Dym needed you. He needed a lap bitch. Aquavia needs you. Because Aquavia needs her speaker.” He took a sip. Hot damn that was good scotch. “The way I figure it, I speak pretty well on my own. I need someone to speak for Aquavia to me, not the other way around. I can give them what they want; I need you to tell me what they need.”
He lay back down on the bed with the glass on his chest his eyes closed for a moment. It was going to be difficult to not run Aquavia into the ground. Jag knew he was going to have to make adjustments and none of them seemed too particularly pleasing to him—working? Building? Sure, if that’s how you got your kicks then who was Jag to judge? But it was too stressful for him. In fact, this whole damn thing was too stressful for him. Better to just take another sip instead. He raised his glass up to Neviah, “Here’s to Dym. That dick.” Jag drank long from his glass until it was empty and the only memory he had of the drink was the burp that followed. Aw shit. He was pretty drunk. He could feel the drinks from earlier set into him like a cathartic cold.
“I just need you to keep being what you were doing,” Jag said as if he were speaking to someone behind Neviah. His eyes closed slowly and he felt himself beginning to drift off into sleep. He blinked himself awake and looked around again as if he could tell time by the setup of the room. Jag noticed the box Neviah held. A ring? Were they going to hitch up? He laughed inside. Dym getting married—a one woman man. He couldn’t help but feel that would end in tears—well, probably not as many as there were now obviously, but tears just the same. Only one way to know for sure. Jag raised his free hand as if it were weighted down by the poltergeist of his sober self and pointed to her box. “What’s in it?”
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Post by Neviah Athen on Jul 8, 2014 20:41:14 GMT -6
435 words notes: --- LISTEN TO THE WORDS OF WISDOM Her being the same as before? It wasn't... going to be the same ever again. As Jag mentioned the box, the girl became apprehensive before taking another swig of her drink and closed her eyes "Nothing important... not anymore..." she'd sigh before closing her eyes and shook her head. Her memories flashed before her as she looked at Jag again
"...You remember the first time we met? You... were trying to get your way into my panties..." she girl clipped her tongue. Why had she picked Dym to start off? He had always been possessive of her and even if Neviah enjoyed it, there was just way too much she had missed to try in her lifetime thanks to him.
He was gone and what had he left behind to show it? A nation in tears, a brother with her a whole new role of responsibility and her... Fuck she couldn't let herself drown in the sorrows as she took another swig of her drink and placed the box on the night stand "A set of stupid earrings im never going to wear again... that's all..."
Neviah would move around the room and started to pickup what clothes were scattered, separating what was salvaged and what wasn't now, her form while moving delicate but in a bit more than just simply alluring. That was more of a natural thing for Neviah. In the silence of the room the sound of her voice would start to echo softly as she started to hum a song.
It was rare for Neviah to sing nowadays, let alone around Jag because of how much he had pestered her in the past to sing for him but she knew deep down that moping around would achieve nothing. After a bit, she'd stop humming and looked at him "...You need me as well Jag.... You have your brother's duties to tend to now and I'm well aware you're going to struggle with them..." it was then that a bit of something different seemed to change, a side of Neviah Jag had never know "Guess I'm YOUR lap bitch now..."
And with that the female turned around, grabbing a change of clothes and walking into the bathroom "Who knows, maybe one day I will ask to see this field of expertise of yours first hand.... but for now give me a bit... I should probably clean up. Feel free to drink the bottle, there's more alcohol in the kitchen..." she'd smile and disappeared int her own private little bathroom, the soft click of the door being the last thing heard before... silence.
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Post by Jag on Jul 8, 2014 22:57:50 GMT -6
Sore spot. Oh well, it would have been brought up eventually. “Yeah, that was before I knew you.” Jag slurred his words through a sarcastic grin. Little fingers to plug the dam. He looked at her again. Swaying her hips and bending over—was it the booze? Or was it just Neviah? Jag knew that usually this would entice him, but not now and he didn’t know the reason why. An engine with the choke on. Either that or rum and scotch weren’t the best ways to fuel himself. Those days were long gone. He scoffed a bit and listened to her sing instead of dwelling too long on the subject. They were going to get along great if she took up to calling herself his lap-bitch. And with some humor!
Jag got up from the bed after Neviah had entered the bathroom. He probably shouldn’t have had anymore to drink. It would sour what was otherwise a pretty sour day. He stumbled around the room toward the nightstand and opened the box. He held his breath doing so—as if a ghost of his brother was going to jump out at him. But nothing popped out. Only a pair of earrings. He wanted to smash them. Ground them into fine dust and then scatter it on the breeze. He wanted to do that to everything Dym had touched. These earrings. Neviah. Aquavia. If it helped him to forget he would have drowned the entire continent. No, don’t do that. Can’t do that. Don’t forget about Dym. Embrace the time together—wasn’t that the endpoint? What if he never wanted to get there? Jag wanted to stew here, in this room, with his bottle of cheap rum. Not this stuff that tasted good on the way down. Jag wanted the burn. His eyes started hurting as if Dym was scolding him from beyond the grave. He scoffed at that—he had no gods, no masters. Not anymore.
He closed the box and dropped it back on the night stand. It landed on its side. He stumbled into the kitchen moving side to side as if weaving between invisible posts. He reached for his bottle and put it to his lips. He kicked up the bottle and back his head and it would have went well had he been sober but he was long past that point. Too much momentum and not enough balance sent him slowly falling backwards like a tree that had been rotting at the base and he tumbled to the ground. In his fall there was a loud thud of body on stone but at least one of Jag’s abilities was still in full effect while inebriated—he’d be damned if he was going to spill his drink. What would Orik or Brynne or Tamesis think of him if they saw him now? Whatever. Fuck them. They didn’t have to see his brother’s body and head as separate objects.
“You alright in there?” Jag yelled. His sentence was stressed sporadically and he spoke in cursive but he didn’t care. He didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts right now. Fix Neviah first. Then fix Aquavia. He seemed to be making good progress on the first front, and that (and his rum) kept him motivated.
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Post by Neviah Athen on Jul 9, 2014 10:49:29 GMT -6
The woman took a while in there. Who could blame her, her hair was a tangled mess and she needed to get cleaned. Of course in about twenty minutes later she was able of hearing a thud somewhere in the house and not that long after she heard Jag's voice. With that she would hurry up and two minutes later she came out of her bathroom, finding Jag not in the mess that was her room anymore. Her eyes scurried around before she headed to the next possible place. And lo and behold there he was, laying on the kitchen marbled floor drunk as a stupor. She'd lean over him, what she wore left some to to the imagination but when was she known for covering herself up?
Two shells tied as a bikini on her chest, a light beige loose robe with marine blue green trims that covered all the way down her legs to beneath her knees. Her hair stereotypical styled like she did, tied in a front with a pearl and then dangled between her cleavage. Few things were missing but not like she was going out anywhere right now "I come back to find you a drunken stupor..." she'd sigh, placing her hands on her hips and looking down at him "I'm not your mother Jag... I'm your Speaker" she'd say those words, still a bit foreign to her now but she wasn't going to fuss about it as she leaned down and got on her knees
The girl would wrap her fingers beneath his head and placed it on her lap, petting the top of his hair "Hey.... I'm still upset but... At least someone came to check up on me... I'm glad for that" she'd say with a small smile before looking down at him "Don't get any ideas however, not even your brother managed to traverse my body like he so damn wished." she'd admit. It was true Dym had gotten close but he never got to even get THAT close to her. This caused her to chuckle "I specialized in denying your brother of what he really wanted out of me... Guess the term 'my brother's lap bitch' never really applied to the situation" she'd say before a single tear dropped her eyes "...He... did get close... and I did care for him but hes gone now.... I can't wallow in self pity, that's a horrible thing to do... in the end" she admitted before snapping back to reality "Oh sorry... I'm probably boring the ever living hell out of you..."
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Post by Jag on Jul 9, 2014 17:13:57 GMT -6
“I think the problem here is that you’re not blind drunk right now,” Jag replied. His words flowed with no particular destination in mind. “And you’re damn right. Get used to it, because I don’t plan on dying anytime soon.” He hiccupped.
“Always the prude, Neviah,” Jag said with a grin. Holding out against Dym was something else—he and his brother both had a taste for women, but Dym worked considerably harder for women and usually got what he wanted in the end. Jag liked his easy mortals. No strings attached, just one night of pleasure and that was that. He always maintained he was the classier one in that regard—the women he slept with knew that it was what it was. Dym had a tendency to break hearts. He closed his eyes for a moment but the realm starting spinning so he anchored himself firmly to the ground by opening his eyes. Fingers through his hair felt good. Soothing. A bit of sun peeking through the clouds. He cracked a smile as he stared up at the ceiling, counting the cracks and holes and imperfections in the stone. He felt a tear drip onto him like water into a cave after it had snuck through the earth. Jag shrugged, “Well, you always bore me. Today isn’t anything especially painful.”
He shot up like a tightly wound spring. “Why are we sitting around here moping? Why don’t we do something?” He had no sooner finish his sentence than his vertigo caught up with the blood that rushed out of his head. The world became blurry and his head light for a second and Jag stumbled in place as he tried to regain his balance. He finally found a wall and attempted to save face by standing relatively straight against it. “I mean, now that you’re wearing something presentable.”
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