She laughs, the sound sweet and chiming. Musical. Like a bell. She pinches Linast's cheek. "Aren't you just precious?" The touch is soft, playful. UNTIL she digs her fingers in hard, tugs at the skin.

"Now. Get in the car~"

Linast had been holding onto his self-control by a thread, tolerating the touch only because it wasn't enough to restrain him, only because he knew that his first instinct — to cut off the offending fingers and toss the rest of this human back into the car she came from — was an unacceptable overreaction.

But then the touch turns painful, and the thread of that control snaps. Linast slaps Malyneia's hand away with a wordless snarl, heedless of the stinging scrape of fingernails as her hand is forced away from his cheek. There. No magic; he thought of something less drastic.

Linast doesn't care what Clemcy wants to learn about this woman or what he'll do about Linast's defiance. He turns to run.

❛ there is poetry in brutal efficiency. ❜ Malyneia to Keerin. :3c get silly with it if u wanna

Keerin tsks. Pale hands wipe against the rough fabric of the rag as they glance up. "My dear, it's only vegetables." But a thin smile plays on their lips anyway. A small bloom of pride warms their chest as they turn their attention back to the cutting board.

It's a colorful collection of cut vegetables. Slices of bell pepper line the sides and a set of sliced carrots sits demurely in the corner. In the center of the board nests a handful of green onions. Next to it is the knife.

"I can't say that this is anything particularly special, but I'm glad you're enjoying the show." Keerin flashes a quick, confident smile before picking up the knife. It snaps against the board in rapid staccato, leaving the onions in thin slices.

"I do feel a bit bad that you're just sitting there," they say, head tilting in quiet invitation "You're welcome to help me, if you'd like." The knife edge glitters in the light as it gestures towards the grocery bags. "You could grate the ginger while the pan heats up."

Malyneia's laugh glimmers and rings, like a polished bell. A slight sliver of irritation tarnishes the inside, just out of view.

"Oh, I-rok-sa, darling, you are too much." Her hand gently slides across the table, strokes one soft, slim finger along their knuckles.

"It's Mah-lin-ney-ah, not Mah-lee-enn-ah. Malyneia." She touches her chest as she demonstrates, wags a finger at the incorrect pronunciation, and then gestures towards the other, clearly wanting to hear them say it Correctly.

Iroksa leans their cheek into their hand, resting their elbow on the table as a lazy smile spreads across their face. They flip over their hand as her finger passes over it, their gloved fingertips sliding across her palm.

"Mah-lin-ney-ah," they purr, tasting each syllable as it passes over their tongue. "My apologies. It is a beautiful name you bear; do you know the etymology of it? It is reminiscent of another name I know, Melaniya. Derived from the ancient Greek melaina, it is a name that means blackness and dark. To me, such a name captures all the velvet mystery of the night, the seen and unseen within it. It is one of my very favorites."

Alice E5 or Malyneia F1 UNLESS. you would prefer to Not!!!! ♡

@scxrytxles - expression sheet

how are you doing that with your eyes

+

why do I find you attractive suddenly. stop that. stop immediately

"You make an effort to appear conventional, but I know that you share my love of all things bizarre." - Malyneia ( said politely, but definitely with an air of Smugness. )

spooky scary supernatural scenarios ･ﾟ✫ @scxrytxles

'I wouldn't call it that.' Her words are spoken slowly and deliberately; she must choose them carefully lest she gives too much away. 'I'm just doing what I need to to succeed in my career and, frankly, I must be doing it right. 'But I don't shy away from my interest in, like, horror and things people would consider scary. In fact, I've mostly only seen positive things about that aspect of myself.' But she glosses over the dark magic, over the old gods and the cult, acting oblivious that this could be something Malyneia was talking about (but how could it when she kept such things so well hidden?), despite the fact she had only recently purchased a vial of a most potent liquid, which still sat comfortably in her bag. 'It'd be boring if I was just cute or whatever all the time.'

❛   indulge .   find  my  muse  drinking  to  cope . - Your Choice of Muses

Keerin tucks a strand of hair behind their hair. Their eyes glance up to Malyneia. "Mm, hello darling," they hum. Their legs cross and they gently smooth out the invisible wrinkle in their pants. It's habit. It's something they've been trying to break lately- it's a tell, their grandmother said. Something they do when they're nervous.

"Care for a drink?" They've already worked through most of the bottle at this point. "It's not particularly good, unfortunately, but it's been doing its job." Keerin laughs and sits back. "Of making me forget all the bad decisions I've made lately."

They tilt their head and pat the cushion next to them. "Come and join me, hm?"

❝ i’m sorry. for what i said. ❞    Malyneia to Keerin

Keerin laughs, a sharp crack of bitter sound in the cold night air. "Mal, please," they say. "We both know that's not true- we've been in the game long enough to know that apologies don't mean anything. Don't pretend like it does."

They waved a hand languidly, dismissively. "Let's move on from this and pretend it didn't happen, mm?" But it did, of course. It did, and Keerin would remember. Oh, they could say they were fine, that they weren't bothered, that they would move on, but that wasn't true. It never was.

They would put her cold, cutting words away, file it into the back of their mind, hold it in the dark part of them that resented and remembered, and never ever forgot.

Malyneia's shoulders jerk as she shrugs Keerin's hand off. The prying gaze of their adoring public has long since faded to a distant pinprick on the horizon, left behind at the venue still humming with activity.

Her teeth grind, her jaw aches, and the jagged, internal sound of bones and molars scraping against each other sets her further on edge.

"That was too last minute. I need more advanced notice, the next time you need a plus one." She says, coldly.

Keerin ought to be offended. Hurt, perhaps, by their friend brushing away their attempt at comfort. Their pale hand drops, gently shaking the budding frost off of their fingers with a bemused grin.

They should be upset.

But they aren't. It's a bit hard to care about such silly things in the face of inevitable loving annihilation. It's a bright, vivid peace that sits in the cold hollow of their chest- a black void that offers empty reassurance and infinite peace.

"My apologies," Keerin hums. "I would've invited Iroksa, but they happened to be busy tonight. Attending to my brother, I suppose." Their head tilts, silver hair glittering like stars in the flickering lights, eyes glancing over Malyneia not unkindly. "Do you need to sit down, my dear? You seem a touch strained."

Malyneia has never been particularly interested in concerts. But! This particular idol is cute and her music is interesting enough. Had she not won a backstage pass, she very likely wouldn't have come.

She did, though, so here she is. To be clear, she had enjoyed herself. It wasn't often she got to slip out through the glittering bars of her gilded cage or the tight laced confines of her career and enjoy the city in its imperfect splendor. Sip a cocktail, enjoy the sights, lose time in the spectacle provided by Ms. Hana Morishita.

Her red eyes sparkle in the light, a genuine smile curling her rose petal lips. A nervous peal of bell-like laughter.

"Would you believe me if I said I'd never done this before:? I have no idea how these meet and greets go." She adjusts her hair, glancing to the side and noting a sigil on a scrap of paper, half stuck out of an unassuming black book at her vanity. Interesting.

"Malyneia. It's so~ nice to meet you."

it's always nice to meet a fan? ･ﾟ✫ @scxrytxles

Her fans come in a variety of different shapes and sizes, so she never knows what to expect. Some are genuinely kindhearted people who enjoys Hana's work and want to see the best for her, while others are obsessive to the point of criminal behaviour - she's experienced too many of those. With this in mind, Hana never knows what to expect when it's intended she meet her fans. Even though worry lingers in the back of her mind, she always goes in expecting the best. After all, the chances of her interacting with one who's crazy and scheming are incredibly low, right? She's already smiling when the fan enters, but she feels hear smile grow when she notices this one is a woman. She knows well enough that women aren't necessarily pure and innocent, but the stalkers she's had that were female are nonexistent. A greeting was given and a handshake exchanged before the question was asked of her. Hana's been given enough time between the end of her show and the bringing in of the fan as to have time to make sure she's not looking like she's just used up most of her energy singing and dancing for the past hour or so and so she might not be out of breath while trying to exchange pleasantries. 'There's always a first time for everything!' She's so incredibly cheerful as she always is when she's working. It's not really an act, as she loves being so happy and loving and kind nine times out of ten. In fact, she doesn't even drop it as the fan's eyes roam to the little black book perched atop the vanity. If something is left for anyone to find, then there is a simple explanation for it. Hana's not good at lying, but she does have her story straight. 'Malyneia?' she repeats. 'That's such a unique name, I love it. It's always so nice to meet a fan. 'Like, if there's anything you wanna say or ask, or want a pic together or something signed, then you're free to. I think you're the last person I was going to meet tonight.' So, like, I don't mind if you wanna spend a little extra time.'

Malyneia rolls her eyes, not even bothering to pretend to be interested in this diversion Kalmar has gone sprinting headfirst into. He speaks in florid little metaphors, dancing around anything particularly concrete and sticking himself fervently in the esoteric and nebulous.

"Wo---w, that's really great." She giggles, gives him a saccharine little smile, sticky sweet and laced with strychnine. Her fingers tap dangerously against the table, a clear indication that her patience is running out.

"You're so----o interesting and smart~" She coils a strand of hair around her finger before pulling hard enough to dislodge it from his scalp. "But I want to know more about the scars." What are they there for, and how. Not why. She doesn't care about your family woes. She really doesn't care about your miles-long litany of physical ailments or your connection to some long dead pantheon. She just wants to know how it works and whether or not she can take this information and apply it to herself, please and thank you, you greasy little cretin.

It may prove a viable method of prevention for her and her problems, moving forward.

@scxrytxles

Under normal circumstances, it would be far easier to talk about the magical structure of heka than his own personal feelings on the matter. But she is not his friend, and he is not at all convinced that his body isn’t illegal, and telling her precisely how to dismantle it seems unwise.

The prick at his scalp doesn’t sting nearly so much as the reminder that she’s seen him shirtless, of course.

Kalmar laughs, light and anxious, rearranges his hands on the table. This is getting slightly exhausting, he’ll admit. His leg still hurts. The headache she so kindly cured alongside his concussion is starting to return. And, what the fuck. She could always just shoot me, anyway.

“They’re scars,” he says, with a hint of incredulity, what else is there to talk about, officer?

Well, they hold a certain amount of magical charge, but she surely seems capable of working out that much for herself.

“Form creates meaning, meaning – directs magic. It’s really not all that complicated. I mean, fundamentally.” There are, of course, certain subtleties of application and design that he is not sure he has totally wrapped his head around himself – “I hardly expect you'd care to hear all the tedious detail."

❛ in time you’ll learn that “just” and “right” only mean the same thing when they’re coming from very specific people. please don’t cry. ❜ Malyneia to Kai (Dragon Age Au ♡)

Tattooed arms wrapped around himself, pulling skin tight, pulling body close, pulling himself together and holding it together with pale nails that bite vicious half-moons. He swallows a shaking breath. Brown eyes blink hard- flick up to Malyneia- back to the ground.

Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry like everything is going to be gone- like everything about him, everything that was him, everything he felt was going to be taken away.

But how could he cry? Hadn't he lost everything? His family, his freedom- Her.

But no. He knew there was one thing left to give. "I--" Kai's voice shakes. He inhales and it's like a stab in his chest. "It's not-" What's he going to say? To do? "No."

Brown eyes sharpen, a flicker of blue and purple fire flaring. He could take her. He didn't have any magic- barely anything- but he could-- Malyneia smiles at him, cold and sharp and savage, and his magic stutters and dies and Kai can't think.

"'m sorry," he whispers. It's a small, scared apology, reflexive and weak. "I don't-- I don't want this. I don't- I haven't done anything."