F01-OP Blackbook, Grand Opening

[Vitalis 1]

 “You should just talk to her.”

"Fuck!"

And just like that, Vitalis jumped out of his skin. His words came out in a hiss. With the music shifting and the host currently taking party-crashers to task, he didn't want to invoke the man's ire. How the fuck was he even moving like that? No small wonder Ascalon didn't have the juice to take him on. It did, however, give Vitalis no small amount of satisfaction to see his milkshake assassins tossed out the door like a basketball. Dude's three-point game was fan-fucking-tastic.

It was a good thing that the bartender had not yet replaced his drink. Because that one would have hit the ground too. Somehow he felt like a third replacement in just as many minutes would be pushing the boundaries of good taste and setting himself up as a klutz of legendary pedigree. The brief surge of panic left him, replaced with curiosity at the woman who'd just sidled up to his right.

"Hey," he said, gesturing up and down in her direction. "Same color scheme. Nice."

Anything to avoid the elephant in the room for as long as possible. Talk to her? Nah. No thanks. He'd admire from afar. Can't get shot down if he don't take off. Plus, she was just so fucking intimidating. Too elegant for Vitalis to feel like he could even approach.

"Nah, she's got a partner," Vitalis said. Good excuse. "I don't wanna be rude." 

It was at that point that he heard the sliding of a glass over the bar behind him. His eyes lit up at the replacement milkshake. With a gleeful expression, he took the drink between both of his hands and took a long sip. Simply divine. Then, he held it out to his new companion.

"Wanna try? It's so good."

@Arsine

talkin' shit tag: @Plum

[Arsine 0]

Arsine tilted her head, cascades of green spilling over her bare shoulders like her hair was a sheet of fine silk. She couldn't help but laugh, seeing him jump like that. "Did I scare you? I apologize." He had been so focused on the other woman, on the fighters - and the way the host had quite literally threw himself off the balcony. Arsine got as much of the milkshake as she could off of her leg, although there would still be a slightly sticky residue there. Not much she could do without leaving the party early and taking a shower. The woman carefully placed the napkins on the counter, thanking the bartender as he whisked them away. "Spasibo, my friend." She'd say in Russian.

Arsine turned Verdant eyes of green back to the man. "Same to you." She pointed at him with a finger, from the top of his head down to his feet. "Suits you well." Arsine straightened her back, rolling her shoulders to stretch her limbs.  "I chose because I like poisons. Not poisoning people. But Chemicals. Job is...antivenoms, thought I could do the same in here." She'd place a single hand to her chest to introduce herself. "Arsine. Is pleasure." 

Arsine watched as the mans eyes lingered back to the brilliant woman that had taken seemingly his attentions, affections, and all senses of balance and dexterity. "Partner? Just dancing, no?" Arsine asked curiously. "Cannot know if you do not ask." Arsine didn't see the point in holding oneself back on what ifs. He should take that moment, that chance, the worst she could possibly do is deny him his fleeting affections. She leaned an elbow on the bar and offered him a coy grin.

"If you are rejected, I am here." Just to prove a point, she threw out her own shot toward him. Easy on the eyes, a little skittish, but held himself in a way that intrigued her. If he denied her. Arsine would not lament over it. For he was nothing more than a stranger.

The man picked up a replacement milkshake, took a long sip then offered Arsine his glass. "Of course." She'd try anything once. Never one to back down nor shy away. Arsine reached out, her fingers lightly touching his as she carefully pried it away from his grasp and into his own. She placed his straw in her mouth and suckled gently till a cold wave hit. Chocolate, and....Rum? Arsine coughed as she placed the glass on the counter between them. "Very sweet. Interesting choice."

[Vitalis 1]

"Don't worry about it," Vitalis said simply. "This isn't my normal scene. I'm a little on-edge."

Yeah, the scene. Not the pining from across the room. Was it even pining? He didn't know. Couldn't exactly place it. But he was grateful for the company. It was a nice distraction. Even if he couldn't stop stealing glances in the mystery girl's direction. It was totally unlike him to be so enamored. Generally, he remained focused on his work.

"Serendipitous, Arsine," he said. "I chose green because I'm a healer. Doctor, back in the real world." Similar professions. Though Vitalis didn't share her same fixation with toxins. 

"Partner? Just dancing, no?" 

"And therein lies the problem-" He took his drink back from the back from where Arsine had left it on the bar. "She's so... that-" Graceful, poised, elegant, mysterious. "And I'm so bad I can't even say I have two left feet. Dunno if they'd even qualify as nubs."

He took another long sip of his milkshake. Deliberately avoiding the acknowledgement of her offer. It was sweet. And if he was on his A-Game, probably. But now? He was one shattered milkshake in and the night had only just started. "Absolutely terrifying."

[Arsine 0]

"Not your normal scene..." Arsine would repeat, an amused tone to her voice. "Forgive me for being blunt, but it shows. In an endearing way." She'd add. Arsine could not say the same, she enjoyed scenes like this. Where the people were wrapped up in their own partners, their own dalliances of gluttony and lust. Hedonism at its best. Wanton and uncontrolled. There was just something so...human about it all. They weren't players trapped in a game, or pixels on a screen. There weren't stats and monsters - only each other. And there was a beauty in that Arsine admired.

"Doctor..." Arsine repeated. "Similar fields. Is good to meet someone else well read." That only caught her interest more, oh the lament of a man pining for another- a man of science of word. To have that wrapped around her, as she divulged in him body and mind. But... it was not meant to be.

Arsine watched in interest as the man, yet to reveal his name to her - gestured toward the other woman. He was right. She was elegant. Tall. Even from here, Arsine could tell how soft her facial features were, the delicate length of her eyelashes. How soft her lips were. "Mmm... I understand the appeal." Arsine agreed.

"But - this is a game, no?" She turned her attention back to Vitalis. "Where each action accrues points into a skillset." Arsine reached out to Vitalis, and took his milkshake from him, placing it on the counter as she pushed herself off her chair. "Chance an attempt with me? A dance. We can..." Arsine tapped her lips, trying to find the English equivalent to the words. "Natalkivat sya...is to....bump into her. Make it, Serendipitous meeting."

[Alinta 0]

"O-Oh..."

Alinta blushed, feeling a little ...awkward seeing Oscar like that, fighting his way through the roughians that had interrupted the party... then how he shifted up to the banister...his arms around another woman. Alinta's gaze stayed fast to him till he started kissing her, it wasn't like the gentle and cautious ones she had shared with Scar earlier. These were rough, primal, hungry. Alinta had to look away. Equal parts embarrassed, flustered... and feeling like an utter idiot. That's why he wasn't replying...

It felt like so long ago, watching him fight the sand shark...him flirting with her in his own restaurant. How he had promised to keep her safe, and when Alinta had tried to advance to something more, a kiss, a second date...anything - he had pulled away.  The first time Alinta reached out to him, was a genuine mistake. A typo. Then...the beach event. Alinta couldn't lie - there was a certain way the man held himself - that had drawn her in again. But, he was far too busy playing host. Still...Alinta had tried to reach out to Oscar, but he was always busy, always doing something, preparing something. She wanted to see him again, and then..She did…

The woman came to this event originally hoping to bump into Oscar, but hadn't seen him till now...

Scar....

Scar was supposed to be a distraction till she managed to find the elusive host but now...

Alinta could feel angry tears burn the corner of her eyes as she shifted her gaze away from Oscar. A sort of Jealousy burned at her core as she even watched him interact with his so-called friend. The orange haired killer. Alinta pressed her forehead into Scars chest. That was fine. She didn't need Oscar. It's not like she even liked him in the first place. Totally not. And it's not like she was even on his radar either. She guessed she never really made an impression on him. Even after their last encounter...

"Sorry..." Alinta mumbled into Scars chest. "I'm sorry. I have a...confession."

Her shoulders rose and fell as her fingers curled their way into Scars shirt, a step in and toward him caused him to stumble, his back hitting the wall. They weren't on the dance floor, no longer under the flashing lights. Just two souls in a dark corner of a fancy nightclub. “I came here to see him. We- I mean…” She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter now.”

Alinta would glance up at him, peering at Scar through wine coloured bangs. She felt like she had found something better. Her cheeks had expanded, pouting with puffy eyes staring intently at his own. Her hands would snake up his chest and land on his scar. Then, she’d reach up and remove her mask. “Let the Saintess shed her holy garb…” Alinta grumbled.

"I-" 

No more words. Alinta held a hand to cover his lips. “Leaving a  Scar on my heart indeed.” She whispered, leaning in to kiss him again.

[Vitalis 1]

"But - this is a game, no? Where each action accrues points into a skillset."

Vitalis merely sipped at his drink, emerald eyes finally pulled away from the woman who commanded his attention, to the one to his right. The level of the liquid in the glass began to lower, with increasing pace as Arsine spoke. He could guess where she was going with this.

"Chance an attempt with me? A dance."

Vitalis wasn't even tasting the milkshake at this point. A shame, that. But the saccharine solution bypassed his taste buds. Driven by the desire for it not to go to waste than anything else.

"We can... Natalkivat sya...is to....bump into her. Make it, Serendipitous meeting."

A loud slurping sound filled the air as Vitalis reached the end of his drink. Truly, he didn't even notice the brain freeze. The straw dropped from his mouth and he placed the drink back onto the bar. He reached into the glass with two fingers, plucking the cherry from the bottom. Popping it into his mouth, he wiped his lips with the back of his hand. Nothing to lose, really. Either things worked out or he had a lovely evening with Arsine. Calculus said there were no downsides. He swallowed the cherry and offered Arsine a smile - and his hand.

Fuck it.

"That's very kind of you. I'll need to find a way to say thanks."

[Arsine 0]

Patient, with a warm and inviting smile Arsine waited. Nudging him out of his comfort zone, but not pushing. Part of enjoying everything life has to offer was knowing which comforts to tug on, and which to let be. With his drink drained Arsine weighed his options, and they shifted in Arsine's favour. The woman couldn't help but even find the slurp of the remnants of the mans drink endearing. "Next time, allow me to eat the cherry. That will be your thanks." Arsine said with a soft laugh as she pulled him onto the dance floor. There was a certain level of delight, dragging someone around like this. The entirety of them in her capable hands. Well, for the man - perhaps not his entirety. For his attention and affections were focused behind her.

That didn't bother Arsine.

The two emerald figures shifted to the heat of the dancefloor, close enough to @Plum for the man to keep his eyes on her. Arsine, even kind enough to ensure her back was to the endearing and mysterious woman of the hour, so the man could keep the object of his affections in his sight. "Here." She'd place his right arm around her waist. His left, she held up in her own, offering it a reassuring squeeze.  "Normally, the man leads. Dancing...is an extension of yourself, letting yourself flow through to the other." Arsine stepped closer to him. Barely a bible width apart (No room for Jesus here)  through action, through touch...through breath..."  A step backwards, and she pulled him forward with her own hand, which had snaked around his waist. 

"Feel that?" She asked softly. "The push and pull, ebb and flow, allow your partner to feel where you move. Now. You try. Verdant man."
                  

[Lancaster 1]

Another cup taps across the counter, as Vincent twists in his seat to get comfortable. Four glasses down and another slide of the glass beckons for another. "Just like home...." He remarked limply to his surroundings, watching like a wolf from the brush a pair of sharp red eyes with flecks of green almost too small to notice. Vincent was ravenous and hungry as he'd scan his wife as she'd move to the music, finding the tension to rise and accented with every ounce of alcohol. An allure that dwarfed the surroundings and gave him a sense of peace. Intoxicated by the light drawing her beauty into all new shades of perfection. "Is far out of my league... And yet..." Another sip of whiskey to squelch a troublesome day "Is mine to make howl." A tilt of his view to check out V's ass, a shapely little thing that had him twist in consideration and a raised eyebrow. "Although..." The cup against his lips as the room fills with a voice.

“It appears as if we have some party crashers, ladies and gentlemen,”

Catching sight of a brawl breaking out the moment a song shifts, with Oscar at its focal. What follows is the slightest glimpse of fights breaking out among reddened strobes of color, straight out of movie with attacks being hidden under shadows. A glimpse of the dude that had hosted the beach party between each flash, providing a fresh dish of ass whooping instead of boiled crab. A stumbling oaf crumples into his lap face first after being slammed in the nose a crooked twist showing it broken, inches from what would be 3rd base. Lancaster lifts his drink to avoid it being spilled as another vaults right over the counter by the waist to the sounds of shattered glass.

A puff of smoke is blown abruptly into the face in his lap, but an inch from his passions. "Are not my type. Get bent, coglione." Spoken muffled by a cigarette in his teeth, a hand glows hot and begins to sear as he shoves the man from his crotch. On his left another rowdy chap having barely made it over the counter in rebuttal has his jaw slammed into the rim by a tug of the back of his head, crumpling like a wet napkin and bouncing off the rooted stool causing it to spin. The consuming tyrant winds back and follows up with a football style kick to the side of his skull and an abrupt snap, striking him unconscious. Stepping over the newly incapacitated and broken pair across broken crunching, Lancaster twirls his glass and downs the rest of the whiskey lining the bottom. To the countertop he requests a sixth as the song ends, and a couple of masked men begin to drag away the miscreants to toss them out. One of them needing some severe facial reconstruction having half it removed by the red hot brand that was Vincent's touch.

A raise of the glass toward the host, and a nod of approval mixed with delight. Quite the place, where a little mischief added just that little extra excitement. Had been a while where he could deck someone and not have to ice the fucker shortly after. A pleasant change of pace. 

Vanity Tag: @Mari @Jevi @Oscar

WC: 549

[Scar 0]

"Sorry..."

The sound was slightly low and shivery against his chest, but it went straight through the noise of the club like a knife. Jack stopped, her hand seemed to awaken every nerve on his body. He could feel the faint tremor in her voice against his shirt, her breath warm where her lips brushed the fabric.

"I'm sorry. I have a... confession."

His heart thudded once, twice, steady, deliberate, but he couldn't tell if it was anticipation or dread that made it beat so hard. The music had quieted to a dull pulse in the background, a rhythm that matched the tension hanging between them.

Then she spoke again. "I came here to see him. We-I mean..."

Jack's jaw tightened, his gaze shifting instinctively toward the host in the distance. The man was still visible from where they stood, his silhouette unmistakable even among the chaos. There he was, arms around another woman, a kiss that burned with raw hunger and something close to arrogance.

Jack was not acquainted with the man but he recognized the kind of person the man was. Charming, confident, the kind of person who could pull a room into his orbit with a smile. Jack has seen such men before and in fact, he has been compared to them.

Well.. I guess that would be her type.

The thought was bitter, uninvited, but it rooted deep anyway.

He forced his gaze away from the host, down toward Alinta. The woman pressed against him wasn't looking at the spectacle anymore, her forehead rested against his chest, the tension in her shoulders trembling just enough for him to feel it through the layers of fabric. There was anger there. Hurt. Something more raw than she'd probably ever admit aloud.

Jack let out a slow exhale through his nose, steadying himself. This wasn't the first time someone had reached for one person and found another instead, but this.. this felt different.

Her fingers curled tighter into his shirt, pulling him closer until his back met the wall behind him. The contact was sudden, unrestrained. The faint thud of impact brought him fully back to the moment.

"It doesn't matter now," she whispered, and when she looked up, her eyes violet eyes shimmered in the dim light, deep and luminous with unspoken emotion.

He met her gaze, and something inside him faltered. Whatever jealousy or self-doubt he had lingering melted between the weight of her stare. There was no pretense in those eyes. No act. Just Alinta, tired, flawed, real.

Her hand moved then, tracing up his chest. When her fingertips brushed the jagged ridge of the scar running down his cheek, he almost flinched, but didn't. It was such a small thing, that touch, yet it felt like the most intimate moment of the night.

And when she reached up and pulled away her mask, he could only stare.

"Let the Saintess shed her holy garb..." she murmured.

The masked slipped from her hand and clattered softly against the floor, disappearing into the shadows.

He didn't think, he acted. The second her eyes met his again, he moved. His hand found her waist, his other hand cupped her jaw. He pulled her in and kissed her, a raw, instinctive motion that silenced everything else.

No hesitation. No second thoughts. Just need, pure and unguarded.

And in that kiss, he knew one thing for certain: this was something he wouldn't want to lose. Not tonight. Not ever.

* * *

WC: 579

[Winnie 0]

For a long moment after he left she couldn't move. 

His jacket hung heavy on her shoulders- smelling faintly of smoke, liquor, and something sharp she couldnt quite name. It was far too big for her, the hem brushing her thighs, the weight of it pinning her to the moment. Her fingers clutched at the lapel unconsciously, like it might tether her to something solid while the world around her titled off its axis. 

The clubs lights pulsed below, rhythm synced to the frantic thrum in her chest. From her perch she caught flashes of him between the strobes- glimpses of a man transformed. He hadn't lied, he wasn't gentle. Violence rendered graceful, efficient, almost beautiful. He wasn't fighting for survival. He was performing. 

She should have felt horror, that was what divinity demanded of her. Instead she felt..... enthralled. 

He moved through the crowd like something elemental- not human, not divine, but something older, more honest. The kind of thing the gods once feared, then sought to name. When he struck, when he laughed, when the light washed over his skin- it hit her that this too was a form of worship. Brutal, raw, unrestrained. 

And somehow, he had offered her a place in it. 

Her lips still burned from his kiss. His words echoed through her- "I'll have you be one for me." He had spoken it like an oath, one part promise, one warning. A lesser woman might have run. Winnie, however, felt the tremor or curiosity and defiance in her veins. 

The music thundered below. The room smelled of spilled liquor, sweet, and ozone, rising like incense. She closed her eyes listening for the sound of him- the dull thud of impact, people scattering, some screaming to get away from their tormentor. Beneath the sound she realized something awful; she wasn't praying, she was waiting. Something shifted, a voice addressing her. 

Her eyes opened looking up, expecting him.

But this silhouette, it wasn't his. No, rather it was- she froze her pulse stuttered, face growing pale, stomach turning to stone, every ounce of her blood felt as though it had ran cold. The world simply stopped.

Before her stood her mentor, inching closer. A look of disappointment and utter disbelief mirroring back at her. A look so sharp it cut. She gasped, hands twitching, cluthing the jacket with desperate measure. She drew back a step, then another. Her throat felt tight, dry; her eyes never wavering from the gaze that met her own. It's not possible. she couldn't breathe. Another step.  You're ashes, you're dead her eyes stung with tears. Another step and she was tripping into a table, she fumbled, catching herself on the corner.

The light flashed, her mentor was gone.

In their place stood Oscar. She blinked, eyes widening, tears spilling out without permission. She choked, her mind refused the exchange, "I- there's- a whimper, "it doesn't make any sense." her voice broke cracking around the words. Everything she had been defying flooding back into her at full force. She wanted to die, to be slain for her sins, the self loathing she now felt was crushing. Oscar came forward steadying her, she flinched at his touch, stepping away, recoiling as though it had burned. He had hurt all those people- but her terror wasn't for him, it was for herself. 

She looked up at him, mouth to hand covering a sob. This wasn't okay, none of it was. Her knees gave way, Winnie collapsed in the chair nearest her, head in hands. The sob that tore out of her throat was heavy, wrecked, slipping through the music between beats like a broken prayer. His jacket still engulfed her, still warm, still carrying him. 

Hatred......but not for him.  

He had returned, the room was calm again, though the air between them crackled like a live wire. He looked immaculate- infuriatingly so, even his bruised knuckles and the faint smear of red on his colar tempted her. Her shoulders shook uncontrollably, she still couldn't breathe properly, the crying had made it all the more difficult. She wasn't allowed to be like this. To cry, to feel, she wasn't simply mortal, she had purpose, a calling. One that she knew she could not ignore. She had tried, desperately.

Divinity wasnt meant to tremble. 

She took another moment, wiping the tears away, calming her breathing. This was uncalled for, unnecessary, she was untouchable, sanctioned. The tears had left her unmoored, shaking in a way that felt undecent. Her pulse still screamed in rebellion. The mere thought that she had let him get so close shattered her moral. It wasn't fair. How he had taken her so easily, enraptured her, caught her. She wiped her face, standing. Her features were now hardened, soulless eyes looking back up, she felt broken, shattered. She still shook, uncertain of where to go, how to move forward. Her calling demanded detachment, demanded that she looked upon mortals and their chaos as a distant god might gaze at waves breaking against the shore. And yet, there she was, shattered on the same rocks. 

The knowledge of it burned, the humiliation hotter still. 

For once, she would let someone else choose. She couldn't think. He had witnessed it all, whatever he thought, whatever the path he next chose, she would embrace it. She met his eyes finally, watching, waiting. 

 

@Oscar

Edited 15 hours ago by Winnie

[Oscar 0]

He didn't know why she cried, only that she did.

The great vexation of man came when a woman cried. The impulse to fix, to correct. To take away the offending emotions. To make it better. A storm of primal impulse struck him, full-force. It would consume a lesser man. Blow them away. Sweep them up into its current. But hurricanes were natural disasters. They left more harm than good in their wake. Oscar was not fool enough to think that he could take her pain away. He wanted all of her. To devour all of her. Her story, her thoughts. Her laughter, her delight. Her fears and her pain. Greed was a heavy thing. He would suffer the storm. If only to consume later.

Patience, patience.

She cried like someone who had never been allowed the pleasure. It sparked flame. That storm surge igniting - winds scorching, rain burning. Who would have the audacity to deny her that catharsis? That release? Questions burned in his mind. They demanded answers. A culprit. The immaterial, material. If only so he could exact justice on her behalf. There would not be a cause more noble than righting this wrong.

Patience.

So he waited. Standing as she went. Oscar knew that there was little to be done. Not until she vented it out of her system. The pain upon her face was contradiction. Something he never wanted to see, but was honored to bear witness to. It hurt him to watch, yet filled him with glee. That she would feel safe was a special pleasure. So he would wait. And bear witness. Standing still, stable, resolute. Holding stalwart vigil as the damn burst. His eyes held no judgement. It was not his place. Though his expression did soften. Gone was the seductive, the tempting. He placed control to the side, departed from the alluring. He was warm. Acceptance. The corner of his mouth turned up into a soft smile. Eyes widening, the heat between them cooling to embers. Warm. Smiling. Open.

Patient.

Until that last tear fell. Until she wiped her face and stood, sniffling. Waiting. Exposed. Open. As if she expected execution. Or rejection. Their masks gone, their walls down. They had both seen the worst in the other. He, her wounds. Her, his fangs and claws. But if she did not flee, he would not either. He stepped forward, raising his hand. With a soft sigh, he placed his hand on the top of her head, kneeling down before her. Oscar dropped to her level, his touch reassuring. His expression of warm acceptance.

He did not know why she cried, only that she seemed ashamed of it.

That, he would correct.

“Winnie,” he began, his tone soft and warm. His fingers moved in small circles in her hair. A far cry from their previous touches. But no less decadent. “You're allowed to cry.”

Affirmation came so easily. Words spoken as fact - because they were.

“You don't need to tell me why,” he continued, his hand moving down to cup her cheek. His thumb moved softly back and forth over her cheekbone. The only “fix” he could provide - wiping away the streaks that remained after the tears.

“You'll feel better if you do. I'm right here.”

He tilted his head to the side, smile widening.

“I'm not going anywhere.”
 

[Winnie 0]

For a long moment she didn't move. The world had narrowed down to the weight of his hand in her hair, the low rhythm of his voice threading through the din of the club. Each word pressed against her like a confession, something inside her twisting hard in response. 

Her hands reached up slowly, grabbing his sleeve weakly. She hung her head low, the feeling of his fingers brushing against her cheek remained. "You dont get to say that," she managed, voice rough from crying. "You don't know what you're saying. You can't just-" her throat caught, "You can't just stay."

She wanted to shove him away, reclaim the space she'd lost, but her body betrayed her- trembling, unmoving. The warmth of his hand on her cheek was unbearable. It shouldn't have been kindness. It should have been temptation, sin, corruption, all the things she'd told herself he was. But it wasnt. He was steady. Human. And that, somehow, was worse. 

Her breath hitched, her hands curled into fists, taking the fabric with them. "You think this is what I need?" she said, a flash of anger rising in her tone, breaking through the tremor in her tone. "To cry like a child until I'm clean again?"

Her chin lifted, stubborn even through the tears that began to fall again once more. For a fleeting heartbeat the old divinity returned- cold and perfect, all poise and brittle light. But the illusion didn't hold. The next breath fractured her composure. 

"I don't know how," she finally whispered, "I don't know how to be what I'm supposed to be anymore."

The admission left her shaking, but it was the raw truth- the kind that made her feel realer than she ever had in all her divine pretense. She hated that he'd seen it, and she hated it even more that she didn't want to hide it again.

Her eyes lifted, finally meeting his, looking at him properly, seeing him. No longer was Oscar just temptation, he was truth, proof that she wasn't divine, at least not wholly. He was the instrument of her undoing and the only person who might understand what she was becoming. He was her mirror- reflecting back all the wild, human chaos she had tried to suppress. He was everything she had been warned about, and she needed him anyways. 

Another moment more, and then she caved, tears flowing endlessly, sobs so heartwrenching it made your stomach turn. She leaned into him, hands resting on his chest, clutching the fabric. He wasn't fighting her divinity.... never was, he was simply there, waiting with open arms. His presence had never condemned, it just existed. In this moment, something in her changed, she felt it, like a weight torn from her being. Oscar stood there, waiting patiently, comforting, reassuring. Her sobs slowed, quieted, but didn't end. For the first time in her life, she truly felt, and he had been the one to open the door. 

Edited 3 hours ago by Winnie