For What It's Worth [Closed]

[Myk]

The air seemed lighter now, the darkness fading. Myk had managed to alleviate any melancholy and now they had determined to set themselves on the path to distraction. Myk was happy with the result, happy with the chance to take this young woman away from her troubles and deliver her to a land of fabulous mischief. Because mischief was exactly what the white-haired Telepath had in mind. He was mildly cautious about revealing his plan to Jezebel until the moment that they were in the right place and fully prepared. First they would buy out the craft store’s stock of brightly coloured paper, purchase a few packets of brightly coloured pens, arrange luggage of some kind to cart the materials and later the resulting planes, and then they would find an empty warehouse to prepare the paper planes. It would be a lot of work with just the pair of them, but Myk was fine with that. There was plenty of hours in which to work and he had dexterous, supernaturally-gifted little hands – they could potentially make thousands of planes!

With his focus on making it to that particular store and his head in the clouds where a rainbow of aircrafts would soon be soaring, he didn’t pay any mind to his surroundings. Myk barely registered that Jezebel was talking to him and even staring at him; he smiled sweetly and bobbed his head where it seemed right to do so. The red of his lips between the bone-whiteness of his teeth, complexion and hair made that smile of his particularly bold. Fortunately, he didn’t register the people who’d crossed the streets to avoid them either. It really wasn’t an unusual thing, but it was better that they cross the street away than to cross the street toward Myk and Jezebel to begin harassing them. That wasn’t an uncommon reaction either, Myk had learned, but at least he was better capable of defending himself these nights. Myk never wanted to start a brawl with anyone because he was certainly too capable of losing his cool and snapping people’s necks. This seemed to happen a lot with the police, as it happened, which stood to reason why they were usually trying to arrest him. As distinct as Myk was, it was amazing how easily he could become invisible – even without trying.

Tonight he was dressed quite inconspicuously save for the make-up; white foundation, fluttery fake-eyelashes, coal shimmering eye-shadow and red lips. Even when dressed with just a simple pair of black jeans, a white vest top, combat boots and a leather jacket, Myk still managed to look quite feminine. His white hair, the length of his elbows now, had been straightened and fell either side of his face; the shorter pieces framing his eyes and the angle of his chin in its layering. Myk’s hair was thick and textured, so it never fell around him like a carpet or a white sheet, but trickled around him like frosted milk. Originally a brunette, Myk had taken to bleaching the locks when he was around the age of 16 and had never tried to go any other colour. Once he realised that the clean bone colour suited him – and since white was one of his favourite colours – there didn’t seem to be any reason to go another colour. Myk admired the fabulous colours that other would go – neon pinks, blues, greens, dark red, fuchsia, teal, gold, lilac – and since he’d had a stint or three in a salon as a make-up artist and colourist, he’d known more than a rainbow of other shades too. Still, sometimes black was best – black complimented everything and when you had gorgeous blue eyes and pale skin like Jezebel, it was all you needed to stand out.

Myk smiled at his companion as they continued to walk, still squeezing her hand warmly from time to time and giving her an encouraging smile. That was, however, until an unwarranted thanks was given and Jezebel released his hand again. Myk paused, confusion contorting his soft features into a frown, but he wasn’t frowning for long. Slender arms were wrapped around him, a head nestled someway into his chest; Myk smiled and returned the embrace. He felt like patting her on the head in that affectionate, weird way of his and despite all the concerns in his head, one hand had already found its way onto the top of her head – the other too distracted by snaking around her back and snuggling her tight to stop the wayward limb. Myk let out a soft sigh, the kind that animals make when they are relaxed and so ridiculously comfortable. Or, more accurately, the kind that cats make when they’ve stolen their favourite spot of warmth and squishiness. There was a purr in his voice as he spoke to her as well.

“I don’t know whatever for,” he said. “But, you are welcome.”

Pewter eyes lifted from Jezebel and over her to seek out the black brick and yellow glass which made up a line of shops on a high street. He must have recognised them unconsciously before he was aware of it because that wide grin and sparkle came to him before he squeaked.

“Oh! And we’re already here,” he said, drawing her out of the hug gently and turning her as though it was a dance. “Look. The store. It’s just up there.”

These words he spoke directly into Jezebel’s ear, his hands perched on her shoulders like she were a branch he was ready to spring forth and capture some poor mouse he’d seen below.

[Jezebel Tzasun]

The metaphorical weight was lifted from the woman's small shoulders. That ever insufferable, suffocating veil of darkness had been lifted and light crept through the gap like an unwelcome but oddly needed intruder. She had often shied away from such things, but it seemed to make her companion for the evening happy. It was a small blessing, or so she guessed. If it made him happy then it was more than worth breaking out of her comfort zone.

Slowly, as if she was overly cautious even with her own thoughts, the woman found herself being drawn in to the imagery of vividly bright paper planes flying through the air. Marvelous things they were, or at least the way she imagined them. All brightly colored and decorated with various designs. Each one soaring, swooping, and looping in near perfect circles. The mere imagery of it all amused her, probably a bit more than it should have since she was never one to like colors. It was in that brief moment of her mind imaging all of that, that she finally somewhat understood how the prospect of doing such a thing could bring such joy and happiness to someone. Perhaps it truly was the little things in life that could bring the most happiness to a person's life...unlife?

No matter what she did, more often than not, she found herself staring at him. Oh how she tried not to be so creepy but it just didn't work out very well for her. The others though, they didn't escape her line of sight easily. People could be rather harsh and unforgiving of differences. They crossed to the other side for whatever reason they deemed acceptable. The Necromancer found herself glaring at a them as they continued on their way but did her best to hide it using her hair. She wasn't one to lose her temper easily but when she did all hell would break loose. In fact, she did her best to keep her temper under control, otherwise it would be as if the gates of hell had burst and every demon imaginable had escaped. In a way she was the 'living' embodiment of the saying “it's always the quiet ones.”

Despite all of her efforts, every little conscious effort she made, the woman kept finding herself staring at her companion. Any others they passed by after a while did little to catch her attention. They were so plain, dull even. Conforming to social norms on what a man or a woman should look and behave like. “Such boring lives they must have. It's almost enough to make you want to pity them.” Jezebel mumbled to herself. They were so boring compared to him and for a fleeting moment, she feared she must have appeared just as boring in his eyes.

The Necromancer loved hugs, loved physical contact in fact. She nuzzled her face into his chest, inhaling out of habit and the fact that she wanted to inhale his scent. It was wonderful, though she couldn't pick out the individual scents that made up his, it still brought her joy. A carnal, almost animalistic urge welled up inside her. Her hold on him tightened ever so slightly, and those delicate digits of hers dug into the leather jacket. She was careful not to damage it though. The little woman was lost, too far gone to realize he had returned the embrace or was patting her on the head for that matter. It wasn't long before she realized his arm was around her.

Sweet Gods above and below! She was lost. Lost in her own mind; consumed by his scent and the ever growing need inside her. If it had been possible, it was almost as if every nerve in her body had sprung to life. She was suddenly aware of him, of his body pressed against hers in that embrace they shared. A soft sigh escaped her and it took every ounce of her self-control to be able to pull herself away, even if all she managed was just an inch or two, but she knew she needed to put a bit of distance between them.

“You are truly amazing, Myk.”

Jezebel looked up at him. Those pewter eyes of his were gorgeous. Hell, he was gorgeous. Strikingly handsome actually. She couldn't resist the urge to gently caress his cheek. His face was flawless; the white foundation, those amazing fake-eyelashes, and that beautiful coal shimmering eye-shadow. It was perfect. Her gaze drifted over his features landing on his beautiful colored red lips. How could someone not notice his lips? They stood out so much surrounded by all that white. If there had been a need for her to breathe, in that moment, he would have stolen her breath.

It took her a bit to realize that he had said something else. The words replayed over and over again in her head until they made sense. He had broken the hug and turned her around. For a few seconds she had wanted to protest but once she saw what he was talking about, it all made perfect sense.

Her lips parted as if she was about to say something but all that escaped those lips of hers was a small gasp that had somehow turned into a faint whimper. His touch, the feel of his hands perched on her shoulders made her shiver. Somewhere in her mind was a little voice urging her to maintain her composure but her body had a mind of its own. Slowly, as to not startle him too much, she reached up with one hand and touched his lightly. Almost with practiced ease she inched her way out from under his touch and turned to face him.

A mischievous glint danced in those blue orbs as she looked up at him. That same delicate hand that had touched his raised back up just as slowly as before. Those fragile digits touched his hair at first, careful not to mess it up. It was hard for her to believe that such absolutely gorgeous locks could possibly exist, even if they were bleached. Surely it took a decent amount of effort to care for such wonderfully colored locks. With the endless patience of an artist seeking perfection, that hand continued to move slowly, no doubt she was enjoying the way his hair felt on her skin. Finally, those fragile yet nimble digits found their way to their target, the nape of his neck.

At first the touch was feather light, a gentle caress at most. Curiosity gnawed at her, ate away at the very core of her, the edges of her sanity or at least what was left of it after so long. The small Necromancer moved closer to him, just a tad bit closer. Still those nimble little fingers of hers moved again, this time venturing into the hair at the base of his skull. All of a sudden her touch changed as her fingers seized his hair though still she went out of her way to make sure she didn't mess it up too badly. Then again, she did find herself wondering exactly how the Telepath would look with his hair messed up. The image of him with those gorgeous white locks all messed up and that lovely shade of red smeared from one thing or another flooded her mind. Staring at him was an exquisite form of torture.

If it were possible for her to blush, there was no doubt in her mind that she would have at that particular moment in time. Nervous? Oh yes, she did get that way, more than she would ever admit to anyone. Out of habit she drew in a deep breath, trying her hardest to drive away the nervous feeling of butterflies fluttering around in her stomach. That small effort though was done in vain. It did little to calm the small woman but she was almost certain that she didn't want to be calm. Jezebel, in that moment, would have preferred to let the metaphorical flames consume her than to be perfectly calm again.

Slowly she increased the pressure on the back of his head, gently urging him down closer to her. Her fingers gave his hair one good tug as if it was some form of unspoken encouragement for him to simply follow her lead. The Necromancer's free hand trailed and traced its way up his stomach and chest. They danced their way up, the tips barely making contact on their journey. She had them skip his neck, not because she didn't want to pay that lovely bit of flesh attention, but because she knew she couldn't trust herself to play nice. Before she knew it her thumb was tracing his bottom lip.

She swallowed, another nervous tic. Bright blue eyes stared up into his pewter orbs. Never before had she noticed how magnificent his eyes were. If Jezebel wasn't careful she could get lost in those orbs. Once more she tugged, a bit harder than before. As soon as she was happy with how close they were, she smiled. Those long lashes of hers fluttered as she blinked. The fluttering lashes and that smile combined were just a failed attempt at looking innocent.

Innocent, that was a look she had been incapable of pulling off in many years. Not that it really mattered around him though. Her weight shifted some, pushing her closer to him still. The closeness alone sent those devilish chills dancing their way down her spine. Her face inched closer to his, stopping short just before her lips could touch his. Oh Gods those lips. She wanted, no needed, to know what he tasted like. The woman hesitated and talked herself out of kissing his lips. A sigh left her as a somewhat silent though reluctant admittance of her cowardice. She opted for kissing his cheek near the corner of those torturous lips.

“Sorry.” The apology left her before she could stop it and before she could prevent embarrassment at her actions from sweeping through her. Reluctantly she removed the digits that were still tangled in his hair. At least she was nice enough to smooth the locks back out as well as gently remove any possible tangles that had resulted from her actions.

Jezebel took a couple of steps back; she desperately needed the space. She turned her attention back to the store that was their destination. The images of the planes flying through the air shoved their way back into her mind. It was a much needed reminder of what their evening was supposed to consist of, fun. “Shall we continue then?”

[Myk]

People were forever the mystery to Myk. Regardless of which form they came in or where they were from, their behaviour, their thought patterns, their idiosyncrasies and wants and urges and dreams astounded him with perpetual ease. The mystery, the thrill of the chase, the veritable need to sate his curiosity, had him at a complete surrender. There was no choice – not as far as he was concerned – Myk had to discover what it was that made people tick. Alice should have been his name for the way he followed that flickering white rabbit wherever it went, yet his pursuit was not all in child-like curiosity. Myk shared a hunger with the Big Bad Wolf, for once he had that hopping, squirming bundle of heat in his hands, his instinct was to break its neck and squeeze out whatever it contained. Myk was an addict, not a student and a child. He craved knowledge because it brought him a semblance of power, and sometimes peace – things that were greatly lacking in his chaotic, dangerous life. And sometimes, knowledge brought him things he never would have expected, like opportunities to mine deposits of sweet indulgence.

There were many things about people that confused the Telepath, even with his new-found competence in personal appraisals. Myk had had absolutely no clue about Jezebel’s desires toward him until she rebelled from the light-hearted prancing upon her shoulders, determined to play games of her own. Jezebel had turned about to face him, sealed their bodies together, and drove her hands through his hair, softly yanking those bone-white tresses to urge him forward onto those sweet lips. Even their colder physiques generated insufferable heat, bringing colour to their skin, and Myk was certain that any mask of reserve she had seen him in had melted away. The Telepath’s hands found their way to the blades of her hips, delicate fingers splayed to feel out and command as much of her form as he could. With the same force of the encouragement she’d implied on his hair, the Telepath pulled her toward him. With heavy-lidded eyes, Myk watched the swirl of desire and embarrassment in those cerulean orbs, admired as the balance of power between the two emotions oscillated and her attention dithered.

She wanted to kiss him and he certainly had no reason – no conscious reason – to stop her. Jezebel edged forward and so did he. Pewter eyes closed in anticipation, until he felt the brush of heat stamp the side of his mouth and not his lips. Myk’s eyes flew open, staring indignantly as Jezebel suddenly moved away. Her apology fell on frustrated ears when she left him standing there red-faced and wanting; his hands still holding the warm air she left behind. Swivelling on the spot did little to nothing to relieve his impatience, and while Jezebel must have been chiding herself for acting so boldly on an impulse, Myk was not in such a state. The Telepath stepped forward, striking out the distance she’d put between them. After scooping those raven locks over her shoulder, pale hands found their way to Jezebel’s waist, his thumbs overlapping the curve of her last ribs. Nestling his face in the crook of the little Necromancer's neck and shoulder, Myk purred onto the sensitive, vulnerable flesh beneath his lips.

“Of course,” he murmured in that butterscotch voice. “Though… you might have to remind me what it is exactly we’re supposed to continue…”

[Jezebel Tzasun]

The woman mumbled to herself, no doubt chiding herself for acting in what she considered a somewhat foolish manner. It was something she could never understand about herself, or others for that matter. She forced control at all times meanwhile there were others that so easily threw caution to the wind for the sake of whatever it was they wanted. People were such strange things. Sometimes the behavior made sense and other times it made none whatsoever. It was all very confusing yet somehow above all others, her own behavior left her feeling more perplexed than any other.

Despite the fact that she was busy mentally yelling and cursing at herself for her behavior, a small part of her was overly aware of him staring at her. Then again, she always felt like she was being watched. The realization that he was probably still standing there staring at her, made her feel somewhat self-conscious. Considering that her appearance usually draws a lot of unwanted attention one would think she would be used to someone at her. Well, apparently not. For a moment, a very brief fleeting moment she thought about turning back around. Could she handle looking him in the face after what she had just done? Well, she would have to eventually since their night of fun and mischief wasn't over with just yet.

That brilliantly dark mind of hers was lost. Consumed by her disappointment in herself and her actions. What did she possibly do to him in that moment of weakness? Wait, was it really weakness if it she was merely acting on something she had desired to do from the very first time she laid eyes on him? As soon as she was done chastising herself for it, the only thing she regretted was backing out of it at the last possible second.

The Necromancer let out a soft sigh. Heat still lingered despite the distance. Somehow it had followed her. If it had followed her then surely it had lingered with him as well, right? The heat was borderline annoying, yet comforting at the same time. It was a welcomed change from the cold that normally embraced her so easily. In the end, Jezebel figured that the cold was no different than her dear old friend Death. Always welcomed and sometimes sought out for the odd comfort that came with it in her times of need.

Still lost to her own thoughts, consumed so easily of fantasies that varied from what it would have been like to have just simply died to more sordid images that would haunt her in the nights to come. The heat had almost dissipated; in its wake was a chill that pierced her to the bone and left her longing for the comfort that little bit of warmth had offered.

The small Necromancer gasped in surprise. His touch had caught her off guard and yanked her from her torturous thoughts like a knight rescuing the fair maiden from the evil dragon. At first she went completely still, almost stiff as she stood there, a willing victim to his devilish touch. Her body shuddered as the warmth returned, chasing the bitter cold that had settled into her form away.

That purr of his was as evil as his touch. Those cerulean orbs of hers fluttered a bit before closing. Before she knew it the tiny woman found herself leaning back against him. Myk's presence left her somewhat confused. Emotions, at least for her, ran rampant, but no matter what, she was always comfortable around him. Still, his purr and voice sent chills dancing their way down her spine. That voice of his was more than enough to drive most women and men mad with desire.

Jezebel's mind went blank and she found herself scrambling to try to remember what they were supposed to be doing. Maybe she could buy herself some time somehow. One of her hands inched its way up toward his head. Those frail looking digits of hers finding those beautiful locks once more. The fingers of her other hand danced their way lightly over one of his hands; gently tapping out the rhythm of some strange tune she had stuck somewhere in the back of her mind.

“I honestly have no idea right now.” That wasn't what she had intended to say but apparently her mouth had a mind of its own. “I'm sure it had something to do with pretty things flying but I'm not entirely certain anymore.” Her fingers toyed with those absolutely gorgeous locks, “Though I have no objections to this continuing.”

[Myk]

Myk wasn’t scared of the dark, except for when he was. It was silly really, because not only was he in his late twenties now, but he also rather liked the dark. How could he not, right? He was a Vampire, and before that, he was a monster of a different kind. Myk liked the way the dark drenched things that were barren-white in silver, how it shadowed imperfections – glossed over them like concealer over a scar – and hid what should best be forgotten, never to see the sun again. Yet, at the same time, Myk hated the dark. It was darkness that allowed the mind to bravely tear through spider webs and wander into dusty rooms that sat in distant parts of the brain, places that people never dared to visit when the sun smiled down at them. It had always been night when Myk broke through the skin of sleep with thoughts of terrible things lingering in his soul – or questions about whether he had ever been granted one in the first place. He had even found Temperance at night, in the darkness, and for every night after their meeting, Myk felt the darkness ingrain its power deeper and deeper into him, intensifying this complex love affair with shadows.

The Telepath worried constantly. He worried about what he was, what he was doing, what he would do, and what he would become. There was no escaping the anxiety, the worms of disgust thinly masquerading as anxiety, that thrashed about in his stomach as he repeated a great many questions a great many times. Sometimes it would be nice that instead of the blankness the darkness gave – an open chalkboard to draw one’s thoughts onto – the darkness would simply become a vacuum. Sometimes it would be nice to escape those maddening thoughts, to have them sucked out of his head so he could find peace. Then again, peace was boring. Why have everything so nice and easy when you can be terrified, on edge and constantly questioning yourself? Truth be told, the more he felt uncertain and afraid, the more he felt the thrill of what could be. It was almost carnal, the rush of excitement he felt whenever things went badly or well, against his wishes and expectations. Jezebel was another example of that.

Speaking to people, really speaking to people was not something Myk had done in a long, long time. Vague explanations of what he thought and felt about things, blurred descriptions of his past and present, were the only things people were ever likely to get out of the Telepath. It was the only way he knew to keep people away from him, at a safe distance – not merely for his benefit, but for theirs as well. Myk didn’t know exactly what he was, but he knew enough to make him comprehend the danger he presented. He could hurt people so easily. He could crush them and taint them and make their lives hell. These things he could do without intent, without control, all because of the mindless, chaotic creature that he was. And they could hurt him too. He could let them into his heart and have them leave him. He could let them know just how vulnerable and weak he was and they could tear him from the inside out. Leaving yourself exposed liked that was just foolish. Yet despite all his years of learning lessons the hard way, Myk wanted to repeat his mistakes and let Jezebel in.

Myk’s hands had unconsciously paused with the barrage of thoughts and silence stretched itself over the scene. Myk held his breath as the tension between them thickened – tension that held with it a sense of frustration for having held on for too long as it was. The sensation took on an almost corporeal form and wrapped itself around Myk’s face, smothering him. Jezebel’s touches singed his skin where they reached and burned his senses until, with words said in a voice so low that it was almost a whisper, Jezebel broke the tension with the precision of a scalpel. At first it had seemed that Jezebel had wanted to leap out of whatever curious waters they had started to tread here tonight. The Telepath distracted himself from the throb in his heart, the kind that felt like maggots beneath a wound. He set his teeth on the skin of her neck, poised as if to wound given enough provocation. But soon the truth was made known; she was giving him an out rather than fleeing herself. Myk frowned at the thought before a devilish smile washed his features of doubt.

“You and I…” he murmured in a voice that almost sounded punishing, a voice that muffled against her skin. “We would be terrible company. We would talk all night long. We would come to understand one another so well that we could finish each other’s sentences. We would indulge our curiosities and urges in each other. We would play and have far too much fun. We would find the best and worst in each other and make them indecipherable… And you still have no objections?”

A breath of hot air tickled across her shoulders as Myk laughed. It was muffled by Jezebel’s hair, but still managed to seep through and sit like melted wax upon her skin. He didn’t feel insecure about this offering, about leaping into the deep-end with Jezebel because it was Jezebel. She wasn’t like most people, she danced to the tunes of the night like he did, and was undoubtedly one of the most intelligent women he had known in this city. Myk could have long, deep conversations with this one and despite her reserved visage, Jezebel had already revealed that to be only part of who she was and not the sum. There was richness and depth in her eyes, there was pain and there were anxieties in her heart – no doubt – but they could do well together. They could commit such beautiful crimes together. Myk was happy to drown even, so long as they could do it together.

[Jezebel Tzasun]

Darkness had a way of turning the known into the unknown, the unfamiliar. Things that a person liked or loved had a way of, sometimes, turning into things that were hated and feared when the dark cloak of night would fall over them. It was quite a fascinating thing to witness. To see how those things that were once so familiar became almost unrecognizable once drenched in that unsettling darkness. Some feared that change, and others embraced it, used it as a way to be true to themselves. They used that change to their advantage, to indulge in their true selves or partially buried desires that, if brought to light, would be repulsive to others. Prior to being turned the woman was like so many others, one way by day and different come nightfall. By day, she had been a nervous wreck, full of doubt and fear of what was going to happen, and of her father. Come night fall though, when the majority of people were asleep she found peace. Fear disappeared as quickly as a puff of smoke that managed to spill from the lips of someone caught in conversation.

In the back of her mind she knew she was poison. The cruelest of torments that anyone could ever be sentenced to deal with. Early on in life she had been made out to be a devil, and so, in her own way, that's what she became. People had a tendency to show themselves around her, not the nice, law abiding side of themselves, but the darker side of their personalities. Jezebel had a knack for creeping her way into their minds, twisting and corrupting even the most well-lit corners of their minds. It brought her immense pleasure, until her creations eventually turned on her like they always would. Their demons just couldn't dance together without trying to kill one another. Myk though, he was an exception, even her inner demons stared at him in awe.

There was no awkwardness, forced conversations about pointless topics, just silent, mutual understanding. Anytime the woman had made the mistake of opening up to just about anyone they would use the information to try to hurt her. Often, more times than she wanted to count, they would use her few fears against her. What did she do though? She kept repeating the mistakes time and time again. The Goth knew what would come of it, but she always felt the need to try. She knew what it was like to be hurt, ripped apart, both metaphorically and literally, and left for dead. Monsters, they all had that potential, right? To destroy one another so easily, completely, leaving behind just shreds of their victims. Perhaps only those that were damaged, twisted beyond repair could ever truly understand each other. Oh how she wanted to try with him. If they destroyed each other in the end at least they could go up in flames together.

The tension in the air left her wound up tight. It had snaked its way around them and was suffocating her with almost unbearable slowness. No doubt the tension, if it had a mind of its own, was like a skilled killer longing for the rush one last time before being gunned down. She was becoming restless, but resisted the urge to move, to ease the tension from her muscles. Out of reflex alone her breathing hitched in her throat. All it would take was one small move, or a tiny mistake and his teeth could easily break her skin. The thought of that, whether done purposely or by accident, thrilled her. A shiver of silent anticipation raced its way down her spine. Alive, that's what she felt. The tension and any small trace of fear about them disappeared in the blink of an eye. There were few times she was truly confident, but anything with Myk seemed completely possible. It pushed her out of her shell a bit, enough to be at least somewhat confident in herself again. That man was either a blessing or her destruction, only time would tell.

His voice alone was an exquisite torture to her ears, and his touch set her on fire. “Come now, darling, don't make it sound too much like torture.” Her voice was pitched low, almost sultry when compared to her normal tone. “Our demons could dance the most dazzling waltz together and set the world on fire around us. I say we indulge all we want and blur the boundaries between the best and worst until they are one.” Her digits toyed with his wondrous locks, creeping their way ever closer to his face. “Let's leap off the edge and plunge into the depths together.”

The small woman gasped at the sudden warmth. His laughter was intoxicating like the finest music in the world. Perfect yet imperfect all at once, that was the best way she could describe their situation. He was so different compared to others she had met. Myk's appearance was shockingly beautiful and handsome all in one. His mind was intriguing, leaving her with no doubts about the wonderfully enlightening conversations they could have during odd hours when they couldn't sleep. Jezebel saw courage and so much more when she looked or thought of him. She couldn't wait to start poking and prodding around in that brilliant mind of his. Gradually she was gathering her courage and putting her own fears about what could happen to rest. The need to indulge in some of her darker pass times was eating away at her like a vulture on a deer. “I want to watch the world burn so long as I can be by your side as its engulfed in flames.”

[Myk]

Listening to Jezebel speak, the way she wove such dark magic into love and blurred the lines between reality and fantasy, gave the Telepath such wonderful, terrible ideas. They had always told him that he was easily led, that two words whispered in his ear in a loving tone were enough to put a leash around his neck. Perhaps they were right, or perhaps Myk wanted to do these things anyway and lacked the excuse. Purpose was a gift to him; it made him feel as solid and together as a whole person – not merely a shadow persisting on the crumbs of people’s fancies. These commands, these challenges and provocations, gave Myk the go-ahead, the opportunity and justification to fulfil whatever wicked dreams or curiosities that excited him from one minute to the next. His attention span was short, after all, and Myk was an addict of almost every kind. Perhaps it was another symptom of madness, or merely a symptom of being him; Myk chased the highs to escape the lows and cared not one ounce where the pleasure came from, only that it came and spiked at all. Worries and anxieties and difficulties reserved their appearance for when the colour and excitement drained from his face, when his pupils narrowed and his blood became thick and turgid once again. There would come a time when the low would sweep the jollies out of the high, but this was not that moment.

Pale arms wound their way around her waist, giving the tiny Necromancer a squeeze. After giving the flesh of her neck a quick nip – nothing more than a scrape of canines and a soft pinch between his lips – Myk lifted his fangs from her and nuzzled his face into the space again. He felt a little like an over-sized coat draped across a smaller armchair, but didn’t think for one second that Jezebel couldn’t hold him up or tolerate his almost clingy nature. She was made of sturdy stuff and he fully expected for Jezebel to give him a kick or drive an elbow into soft, squishy places should he annoy her too much. They’d played a lot in their time together and although Myk was always careful around people, he felt he’d made it clear that they could play rough with him, that he didn’t mind and he too was not as fragile as his porcelain skin appeared. Pain was a pleasure to the Telepath, yet another curiosity to the twisted mind that Myk wore proudly on his shoulders. Even if he weren’t to benefit from a high pain threshold, Myk would declare no limits to how rough an activity could become. They were immortal now, after all, and a bullet hole to the face was an innocuous as tugging someone’s hair. Not that he was going to shoot Jezebel in the face or pull her hair…

“Let’s go get the gasoline then,” Myk purred; speaking purely metaphorically, though one wouldn’t necessarily detect that given the sincerity of his tone. “But first… we make paper aeroplanes and scatter them from the highest building!”

The squeak he elicited was undeniably girlish, but the Telepath wasn’t embarrassed in the slightest. As a matter of fact, he was far too excited to find his actions anyway humiliating. Jezebel would understand, or at least she certainly would when she stood witness to a hundred fluttering ships come falling from the sky like cut up rainbows. There was a lot of darkness in him, a lot of questionable thoughts and impulses that clumped like stale and dusty cobwebs in his soul, but there was also light, there was a want to find peace and happiness and bring those warm moments to others too. Those who knew what coldness was, what it felt like to welcome true emptiness into your heart just to make the world a little less monotonous, appreciated kind gestures and warmth even if they didn’t know entirely how to accept it. Even monsters like him and Jezebel could find a small smile to spare for shiny, sparkly things even if some were too proud to admit it.

Myk unwound himself from Jezebel, feeling the cold rush in to steal the warmth she had given him, but he didn’t mind. He let a hand slide across her and reached for her hand, ready to carry her across the world to the place where his dastardly, colourful plans would originate. She would take his hand and they would fly like caged birds to the arts and crafts store. Myk would spend as much as was needed – frivolous with money as ever – and buy out the store’s stock of coloured card. Then, they would retreat to Myk’s base of operations; the small yet brightly decorated ship anchored to the Rock Bay Docks. You couldn’t miss the sodding thing really, it looked like a piñata more than it looked like a boat. Originally Myk had thought that a Steampunk pirate theme might be best, but after a while, he’d inadvertently began to use the boat for his curious, gaudy escapades involving scissors and card and fabric and glitter, and the boat’s design pretty much came about on its own (that and his lack of will to actually clean-up).

It might take them a few hours to actually make the designated amount of paper aeroplanes that Myk thought would make just the right impact, but he didn’t need to sleep and had no plans to do anything else for a long while. As long as Jezebel was happy to sit cross-legged with him on the floor and create a hundred thousand little ships, then it would all go swimmingly. On the other hand, Myk did have the attention span equivalent to a house fly’s lifespan, so there was a high possibility that they would only get a few dozen planes made before they found distraction.