http://i.imgur.com/14BWPig.png
Welcome, Guest! Please login or register!
Hello, and welcome to GOSSAMER! If you're reading this, you either haven't logged in, or you haven't joined our game! Interested? Take a look around, read our information, and consider registering. We've been around a long time and will continue to be; we're here for you.


Gossamer is a panfandom roleplay forum for animated and illustrated media: this includes anime, manga, Western animation and comics, video games, visual novels, and more. We are hosted on Jcink Premium and are over 3 years old. Please register in ALL CAPITALS.

 
Add Reply
New Topic
New Poll

 Kings and Pawns, Tag Lulu~
ANEMONE
 Posted: Oct 1 2016, 08:49 AM
ANEMONE
Application
Plotter
Wanted
Development
Awards
55 Post(s)
parse
Eureka seveN
Artificial Coralian
17
She/Her/It
Tech Specialist
I want to live, to give so many feelings to people. I want to live! I wish I didn't realize I had feelings like this! But I'm in so much pain! He's nowhere where I can see him!
as written by Carma
Meh


She hated...she really hated waiting. Especially for a boring reason, just so she could be escorted along to talk to boring people in a boring place. People were stupid, especially people in suits. People in gray suits with ties and combed down hair and shiny black shoes and seamless spotless black pants - they were all just a bunch of mannequins really. Dolls. They had no energy, not really, no life and they just did their job like they were on strings and expected her to do the same and yap yap yap it was all business, reports, brief this, file that, send it to the archives. Boring. But this was even worse because the stupid white-collar wasn’t here yet.

Ugh. Why the hell did she need to go through processing anyway? She worked for the dumb people. She could just prove it. She could call her stupid handler, put her on the stupid phone, and she could tell the stupid people and all of this could be over and done with and she could just go do her stupid job. But no, because this wasn’t her building, and because the government was a bunch of stuffy by-the-book idiots that couldn’t put two and two together without a ten step manual, she had to be processed the normal way. Which meant waiting in this sickeningly cozy and mostly empty very gray, very bland room. There were twelve chairs in total, scattered along the walls. Between a few of them there were little tables with zines. You could pick one up, tap the zine you wanted to read and swipe through it to pass the time. On the far side of the room was the front desk where they were supposed to get processed through. But, the dumbass wasn’t in yet. And worse, Anemone’s handler had left the building to see if she could call the guy and get him in - so she didn’t even have anyone to pester.

Anemone sat in one of the disgustingly cozy black chairs, arms on either armrest, one leg crossed over the other. She wore a navy blue dress that went down to about her knees - because apparently, her usual pink and white one wasn’t professional enough. They won that battle, fine. But there was no way they were gonna dye her hair - her handler suggested it and nearly got her index finger bitten off for trying to make a point. That dumb bitch wasn’t allowed to touch her hair. She also traded out her usual red heels for black flats….which she was okay with actually. She liked the height her heels gave her but people in the government gave her weird looks and then pretended like they weren’t staring. And she hated looking at their stupid, lying faces.

Anemone sat back, letting out a huff, head lolled backward as she stared at the white ceiling. There was a crack in the corner by the door, they really ought to work on getting that fixed. Sh followed it until it ended, then let her gaze slip down, down toward the door. Violet eyes narrowed when she saw someone coming in, though she made no effort to sit up straighter; she didn’t need to respect the dumb officer if he was late after all. Still, she stared him down from her tilted gaze, waiting. If this was the guy, he better have a damn good explanation for being so late.
@LELOUCH VI BRITANNIA || She's v bored ||

^
LELOUCH VI BRITANNIA
 Posted: Nov 26 2016, 02:23 PM
LELOUCH VI BRITANNIA
Application
Plotter
Wanted
Development
Awards
45 Post(s)
tethya
Code Geass
Human
Eighteen
He/him
Royal Adviser
Perhaps this is what I have always wished for since that day. The loss and destruction of all. That's right, one must destroy before creating. In that case, if my conscience becomes a hindrance to me, then I will simply erase it. I have no other choice but to move forward.
as written by Tabris
She/her


Despite his former position being one of great political power, Lelouch had never personally experienced the mire of bureaucracy until arriving in the multiverse. Zero had been a revolutionary and a terrorist, his mere presence a gun to the head of any Britannian working in official capacity. Men had jumped when he said the word, answering to all-too-real threats of bullets and blood. Emperor Lelouch had made good work on those threats, setting examples of the unfortunate souls who displeased. He had not known a waiting room in his time on the throne. Parse, it seemed, was not familiar with his legacy. In these worlds, he was a lowly advisor, nothing more than a minor official in service to truly powerful blood. He played the part well, he liked to think, donning the mask and attire of stuffy diplomat, with a seashell in his lapel in case the gaudy, fish-themed suit did not already scream ‘Tethya’ enough.

The waiting game was a strategy employed by the powerful to intimidate the weak with casual gestures of ridiculous wealth and off-hand flexures of martial strength. Tethya relied on Parse’s trade, and the technological dimension’s government knew that fact all too well. Lelouch was but a humble pawn in what they perceived to be their grand game, but even pawns had their place and their power. When surveying the board, pawns were never to be overlooked.

But even the hidden threat of Geass would not save Lelouch from the waiting room. The door opened at the hint of his presence, frosted glass parting with a smooth hiss to reveal the site of his containment. The hour was early enough that the room, at first glance, seemed empty. Lelouch always preferred to arrive far earlier than expected, if only to throw others off their game and to show that he had no difficulty waiting. He’d come prepared for the delay, armed with three books of political theory and a neat copy of his agenda. He had not expected to be greeted by another’s wandering gaze, lavender eyes like a soft reflection of his own and pink hair draped, almost haphazard, over attire that would have seemed neat and formal had the wearer not been sprawled out so casually. For a startling moment, Lelouch had almost mistaken the woman for Euphemia, but his mind quickly corrected the mistake. Imagining Euphemia in such a place was almost blasphemy; she did not deserve to be kept waiting, stuck deep in the thick, governmental bullshit that oozed from Parse’s official business matters.

The advisor paused for a time, eyes flitting from corner to corner, fixing pointedly on the empty desk, before moving forward, heels clipping the floor and the sound echoing through the emptiness. He took a seat far from the other (not very far in actuality, considering the arrangement of the chairs). Slender hands shuffled papers in the binder he’d kept tucked under one arm, eyes briefly scanning the documents before returning them to their place and producing an old-fashioned, tangible, paperback book (a rarity in Parse, he’d come to understand). But even as he tried to rationalize burying himself in the pages of his books, the silence was a gnawing thing, a live thing that hung thick in the air. Internally sighing, he allowed himself to smile an easy, diplomat’s smile, polite and empty. For the sake of maintaining his mask, he spoke. “We both seem to be a bit early,” he sang in a honeyed, pleasant voice, the kind of voice that encouraged one-worded answers and a faint sense of camaraderie from random strangers. Even though Lelouch had tried to keep Euphemia’s image from coloring his impression of this woman, he could not banish her entirely from his mind. Perhaps there was even a rare grain of truth in the polite tone of his voice. But even so, his violet eyes watched her rather than his book. Beyond her resemblance to Euphemia, she seemed familiar, the type of familiar gleaned from pouring over shoddy intelligence reports of governmental assets. He did not give the idea of her deep involvement much merit, but her presence here and the vague sense of familiarity seemed to point to this stranger being at least somewhat significant.

“What business brings you here?” he tested, his false good nature shining through his words. He did not truly expect an answer, but even a deflection would give him some confirmation as to whether or not this person was worth noting. He also prepared himself for a lie, proof of cunning that could only be sniffed out by a routine liar like himself. The least alarming answer would be honesty, a privilege that could only be afforded by the unimportant or the unsavvy. Perhaps suspicion was foolish. The girl did not, at first glance, seem at all threatening. But such analysis would stave off boredom in a way that books could not, and Lelouch welcomed the exercise.



@ANEMONE / notes: LELOUCH IS SO BORING I'M SORRY
CALLING ALL MY GENERALS



^
ANEMONE
 Posted: Dec 10 2016, 06:16 PM
ANEMONE
Application
Plotter
Wanted
Development
Awards
55 Post(s)
parse
Eureka seveN
Artificial Coralian
17
She/Her/It
Tech Specialist
I want to live, to give so many feelings to people. I want to live! I wish I didn't realize I had feelings like this! But I'm in so much pain! He's nowhere where I can see him!
as written by Carma
Meh


Waiting, waiting….and watching. Watching the people she hated wear their stupid, ugly smiles and their perfect, shiny shoes and pressed clothes free of wrinkles. A room full of liars. A building full of fakes. Just a bunch of masks over their faces, in the end they were nothing and no one - just more idiots pretending to be something more than they really were, because somehow they got lucky and wound up on top. And it was people like them she hated the most, because they seemed to like pretending. They liked to smile as if they cared when really on the inside they didn’t give two shits about anyone except themselves. But then, she enjoyed it, watching them. Because she got to see those pretend smiles and prove herself right. She got to see for herself, time and again, just how pretentious and stupid people really were. It made her happy.

Or maybe happy wasn’t the right word, pleased was better. It made her pleased to see them and their crystal clear facades. Look at you~ How fake you all are! Isn’t that cute, you think I believe your shit? You think I don’t know? I do...I know. I know better than anyone. I see it all the time~ People hate each other. That’s the truth. You can smile and pretend all you want but I know. You wear those masks but they have cracks. Don’t try to fool me. You can’t. Perhaps it was strange, but she passed her time that way. Watching. Watching them hate and hate while they smiled. Laughing at their fallacies. And sometimes, if she was allowed, she’d pick and pry at their imperfections and watch them squirm. It passed the time.

Then he walked through the doors.

When she saw him, when she first saw him, she thought two things. First, that he was wearing the most god awfully pretentious outfit the world could offer. Second, that his mask was different. He was wearing a mask, same as everyone, same as me but his was sculpted differently. She saw her own eyes looking back at her - not the colour, the look. The kind of eyes that judged and watched and picked apart the insides of minds. But they were sharper and colder, and distant. There was a moment, though, that something like familiarity reached those royally purple eyes - not that she understood why. Perhaps he thought she was someone else. But as he stepped inside, Anemone pulled from her casual slouch. Her gaze didn’t leave him, in fact she stared - all through the motion of sitting upright, draping one leg slowly over the other, placing her hands in her lap - she simply stared, her expression neutral, unchanged. She didn’t break eye contact until he himself looked about the room, to which end she turned her head just slightly upward, and then to the side, away from him. She could hear his heels, clip clip clipping on the ground. She wondered how he could go out in public like that.

Well, his face was handsome, she supposed. Most likely people let him go about like that because of it.

She didn’t turn to look as he moved to sit himself down. Her gaze was kept in the opposite direction, her posture straight and tall for now. But oh, she was paying him every second of her mind’s attention in every way but sight. He chose to sit away from her - was he uncomfortable? He’d looked like he’d seen a ghost when he watched her that first time, maybe he was disconcerted by her. Maybe he, too, saw the eyes of judgement and opted to stay away from them, from her. She could start to paint his mask now, to imagine it as it was. His mask wasn’t like most of these white-coats, but it certainly wasn’t hers either. She still didn’t know enough, not to pick it apart, or pick him apart. She wondered if she’d get there while they both waited. She also wondered why he was here. Briefly she turned - ever so slightly, not enough that she was facing him, but enough that her eyes captured him again -

And she saw a second mask on top of the first.

This mask was the one she knew too well. The most boring of all masks, the mask of diplomats and scientists, the mask her own handlers wore most days, the mask of important people. The smile she wanted to rip from their faces with her fingers and teeth because it wasn’t real. She was now looking at a faceless man. He spoke, but it was pointless. What he said was redundant. She had no time or interest in something so boring and pretentious. But he was looking at her, watching her. Rather than that archaic museum piece, he was looking at her, with eyes that weren’t really seeking an answer to his statement. His lips filled the air with pointless verbal bile while he himself sought something else. The mask beneath was peeking. And maybe the man underneath both was as well.

She didn’t grace the statement with a verbal answer. Instead, she simply tilted her head, giving him a bored, half-lidded look. She had yet to crack a smile. He spoke again, more pointless garbage she had little need to answer, but again she found herself looking, even absentmindedly, at those eyes. At that mask. At the one underneath. She bore her own mask as she turned slowly, finally daring to face him - but still, not fully. Her head was turned just slightly outward, just slightly away from him. He wasn’t worthy of a full-facing conversation just yet.

”That’s a boring question.” she breezed finally, her voice airy and light, but with the slightest sharpness of tongue. ”And it has a boring answer. No one comes here for anything worth talking about. Unless you’re really as stale as you sound.”

There. How would he take that? It wasn’t an answer, but it paved the opportunity for one if he could but convince her to relent. This was her first move, a line drawn, the shape of his face. Whatever he said, did, any actions taken hereafter, would paint that mask.

Just who are you?
@LELOUCH VI BRITANNIA || So much judging XD ||
^
LELOUCH VI BRITANNIA
 Posted: Jan 4 2017, 12:46 AM
LELOUCH VI BRITANNIA
Application
Plotter
Wanted
Development
Awards
45 Post(s)
tethya
Code Geass
Human
Eighteen
He/him
Royal Adviser
Perhaps this is what I have always wished for since that day. The loss and destruction of all. That's right, one must destroy before creating. In that case, if my conscience becomes a hindrance to me, then I will simply erase it. I have no other choice but to move forward.
as written by Tabris
She/her


She uncoiled from her haphazard position like a spring, like a dog on a leash that had been jerked to attention. He did not allow the diplomat in his expression to falter, though he felt her observance to be sharper than your average civilian. Perhaps it was just that Lelouch had always found scrutiny in violet gazes, but he dared not assume it so. He would wait for her answer as a confirmation, confident that he could distinguish masquerade from truth were such a mask present. But she did not give him the words he sought. The emperor seethed at this, bubbling beneath his persona – he had come to expect the pieces on the chessboard to act as he anticipated, or at least react as he needled.

This stranger only gave him a catlike look, a tilt of the head and a gaze that, at first glance, might seem harmless, but there was a dissection going on beneath the surface. Lelouch mirrored her response with the slightest tilt of his own head in the same direction and a raising of his brows, signaling that he would wait patiently for an answer. Eventually, she gave one. It was both what he had expected and not, simultaneously. The woman’s similarity to a feline seemed reinforced by her voice, but he was not quite sure how the impression came about. Perhaps it was her likeness to his sister, still only on a surface level. But even as she spoke, Lelouch could not put the resemblance out of his head. Euphemia had been seared into his mind, her death at his hands a brand that he refused to forget. Resemblance to the princess demanded attention. But first, her response.

Not many had the audacity to call Lelouch on his bullshit and he could appreciate her candor. He found himself backtracking to maintain his illusion, like a magician at a birthday party whose act had been called out by a brazen and cynical child. He laughed, a soft and very brief sound that did not echo off the marble in the room. “You think me stale? In this ridiculous outfit?” he asked, his voice taking just a hint of the edge it had the potential to hold. He was still putting forth the impression of a diplomat, the playful façade whose voice he took from a hypothetical future where Lelouch Lamperouge graduated from Ashford Academy and involved himself in politics. Lelouch Lamperouge was far too naïve for such work, though he was a useful tool, just as he was a useful tool for Tethya. He was, after all, the one who volunteered to have his time wasted by Parsian bureaucracy. Any subterfuge, any hidden motives, were deeply buried, though he supposed he had more cause for such subtleties when the world had been dominated by Britannia. Here, his intricate game had no stakes and was merely a construct for his own amusement. And thus, he allowed his mask to fray at the edges. It was bait, if one was truly trying to see beneath the placid surface.

“Very well,” he said, though the tone made his words into something that was hardly an admittance of defeat. More like he seemed chiding, in a condescending manner that he could not quite control. You’re hardly boring, though you seem to be quite bored.” The statement was the briefest peek into the sorts of observations he only let his confidants (only C.C, really) ever see. Yet the best bait, the best bluff (or at least the most interesting) was to allow the opponent to see some of your winning hand. Lelouch folded one foot over the other, a flourished motion, and looked back down at his book. He would try out his theory now, that this woman was the sort who was deeply entangled in the treacherous jungle of Parse politics. And regardless of the truth in it, he anticipated that he would have to dance his way through the rest of the conversation. An amusing challenge, if only to pass time. “Are you not used to these waiting rooms? You’d think one such as yourself would deal with this frustration more than your average Parsian.” He was not one to ignore the suspicion that she was more than she appeared. No one who had a legitimate appointment in the very building was irrelevant to the grand mechanism of the dimension, that much he figured for truth. As Lelouch flipped the page of his book, there was a gleam behind his eye, one that could not quite be accounted for by the room’s lighting.



@ANEMONE / notes: wut am i doing
CALLING ALL MY GENERALS


^
ANEMONE
 Posted: Jan 7 2017, 07:09 PM
ANEMONE
Application
Plotter
Wanted
Development
Awards
55 Post(s)
parse
Eureka seveN
Artificial Coralian
17
She/Her/It
Tech Specialist
I want to live, to give so many feelings to people. I want to live! I wish I didn't realize I had feelings like this! But I'm in so much pain! He's nowhere where I can see him!
as written by Carma
Meh


What are you? Who are you? How deep down do you hide your face?

The first prick was hers. But it didn’t make him bleed. Her tongue was sharp, but he was steely; no, he didn’t bleed, he didn’t show his innermost colours. She wondered what he truly looked like. Not white and black and gray - not the blandness he portrayed on the surface. There was a myriad of colours underneath that she could only see the faintest traces of swimming in those bland looking eyes of his. She said bland not for the colour - nor for the expression he affixed her with; both were as alive as her own. She said bland because he gave the air of one who was so bored with life. But was that a facade too? He painted black and gray over - boring, bland. A colourless mask, a lifeless man like everyone else. Except that piercing look, it was…

It was like she was looking into a mirror at her own eyes. She found that she liked it in one sense. But in another she wanted to gauge them out. Show me what’s inside. She wanted to pry it out of him. But don’t look at me like that, don’t analyze me like that, I’m not a thing. Anemone worked in contradictions. That was just her way, her mind. But this time she was intrigued. Those eyes, that penetrating stare. There was something - just scratching the surface, just beneath the cloud of gloom and disinterest. It wasn’t an emotion exactly - whoever this person was he knew how to keep those under wraps. That was dangerous. No it was something else - something else she’d picked up on. It was his attention. Was he looking at her? Yes, physically, they were in the same space and his eyes were meeting hers. But she saw something else that was almost distant. She was a ghost. She was his ghost. Something familiar. He saw something familiar in her. But then, just as quickly as she’d noticed - just then it was gone. She had to wonder if she’d imagined it - but for someone as sharp as he looked to be, someone with the same eyes as her, no...she believed in what she saw.

What ghost do I resemble? Who do you see?

Questions to pass the time. Questions to relieve her boredom.

A fake laugh. A boring laugh. There was no mirth to it and no soul; right now, he had no soul. His words hinted at humour but it didn’t run deep enough - it was superficial; calculated words, not honest ones. She just raised her head further, turning slightly to the side with a quiet hmph. Those words hardly deserved an answer; her action was response enough - turning away, not even gracing him with a sound but for one of indignance. What do you think? She wondered what he might have said without the puppet’s strings attached. Without the mask to cover his face and muffle true laughter. Part of her was tempted to turn back and look him in the eye again, to see if anything had changed - by turning away from one who was clearly so high in power did he perhaps split at the seams? But that would make it too easy for him to know what she was doing. She didn’t want it known. The best part was peeling layers away without her victims knowing. And then before they knew it she exposed their core.

And at their core, they were always filled with ugly black, mottled things, twisted feelings suppressed but nonetheless felt. “Society” told them to hide it so they did. But deep inside everyone was ugly. Society as an entity was ugly.

Slowly, she did turn - but only once she heard that condescending tone. It sounded like a voice she knew, like her own voice mirrored back. A small smirk curled at her lips as he started to speak of her. Not boring, but bored. She almost might have said his intent was a small flirtation - but no, she was certain of it. Those words, he was inviting something out of her. She swallowed it, catching his eye and staring deep into the small break in the facade. Then she watched his lips. More words, this time a question for her. And oh, what ignorance. What an ugly little splotch on that pristine form. He’d exposed something she could tear into the open. Something to smear.

She started by uncrossing her legs and then crossing the other over the first. Half-lidded eyes filled with boredom fully closed and she let out a soft little giggle, hands clasped in her lap. ”You shouldn’t say anything unless you know what you’re talking about. It makes you look like an idiot. Makes you sound like one too.” One eye opened, then the other, smirk widening into a small grin. Just a small one, she had some subtlety to her yet. She had to hold back. She knew she could go all in now - but it was better to make it subtle. But, she’d taken the knife to his tongue and rent open his words. Of course, she had no doubt he wasn’t an idiot, but the question remained, why would he ask her that? What was he really trying to learn? It was becoming clear to her that she was in a room with a dangerous man, or someone with the capacity to be dangerous if his mind were twisted just right. But she didn’t mind danger. She was used to it.

”You’ve obviously never seen me before. But you look and talk like someone important, so I’m sure you’ve seen places like this much much more than me. Do I look like someone who gets to have special meetings with important people often? I’m just unlucky today. See they don’t really want to talk to me. They just have to. But if we’re both miserable I guess it’s okay.” She smirked, uncrossing her legs and sitting upright, swinging herself forward. She’d told the truth, without revealing too much. They wanted to talk to her handler, the woman who kept her under wraps, the woman who told her when she was allowed to leave Parse and when she had to say and what her next job was and when she was allowed to talk to theEND. But the stingy bitch was sick for the last two weeks and they already had to reschedule twice; so, it was Anemone herself they got to deal with. Not as though they were leaving it all up to her though - it was made very clear that if she misstepped and it got back to her handler, there...oh, what were her words? “There would be consequences”. Fortunately for her Anemone didn’t have any reason to start a scene with these people. She wasn’t stupid. The sooner she could be done the sooner she could get to work and then get back to visit theEND. She rarely got to see him now. She sort of wished that those idiot scientists were here for once - they could explain everything about the Nirvash and what it was, how it operated, where theEND came from. She hated having to wait for these idiots to try and figure out what he was; at this rate she’d never get to pilot him again.

Anemone leaned forward, staring at her slightly less boring…..companion. So far it had all been about her - deliberately, she’d bet. He didn’t want to share. But that was really too bad, because she wanted to know more. Anemone’s smile, then, almost looked genuine. ”What’re you stuck here for anyway?” She hated the words that came out of her mouth - they sounded like what every other boring puppet asked. Simple things that meant nothing in the end, changed nothing. She’d forget about even saying it the next day. No, she needed something better. ”You sound like someone who has better things to do than wait around for stingy half asleep idiots.”

There, better.
@LELOUCH VI BRITANNIA || These mind games tho ||
^
LELOUCH VI BRITANNIA
 Posted: Feb 7 2017, 12:22 PM
LELOUCH VI BRITANNIA
Application
Plotter
Wanted
Development
Awards
45 Post(s)
tethya
Code Geass
Human
Eighteen
He/him
Royal Adviser
Perhaps this is what I have always wished for since that day. The loss and destruction of all. That's right, one must destroy before creating. In that case, if my conscience becomes a hindrance to me, then I will simply erase it. I have no other choice but to move forward.
as written by Tabris
She/her


Only a true player would be able to recognize the testing prod of another who was aware of the grand game. He let her bring the scalpel close, but when she sliced the mask to ribbons, there was nothing underneath. Another mask, another depth, more impenetrable than the last. The deeper one delved into the labyrinth, the more intricate the puzzles became. Even Theseus would have found himself out of thread long before coming face-to-face with the Minotaur within.

Lelouch himself often found the lines blurred between his true self and the personas he adopted, the masks he’d layered upon himself to compartmentalize. To cope. The child, pleading and crying before an imposing throne, was locked away to make way for the captive prince, the hostage who learned to stop making ripples, to keep his head down. Beyond that, war had tempered his mind, bloodshed hardening his psyche into something sharp, something weaponized.

Perhaps his enjoyment for this sort of deception, this sort of trickery, was a lie. But it was a lie that ran so deeply through his being that the truth of it was more certain than reality. The emperor enjoyed these games. He enjoyed the lower stakes. They allowed him to be risky, to look a lion in the eye and dare it to pounce.

When you’ve already died once, you don’t have much left to lose.

She seemed entertained with the voice that sneaked out from beneath his diplomat’s face, the voice of a liar, a deceiver, a smarter-than-he-looks schoolboy. But his question seemed to disappoint. Perhaps more focus on word choice, then. Lelouch allowed himself to take the blow of her insults, rolling with the punch (a strike at his intelligence of all things, the gall). Some part of him smarted, the vindictive part, the prideful part, the side of him that nursed old grudges in the wake of being completely forgotten and overlooked as a child. There was an ugly twist in the diplomat’s grin, one that could not quite be buried, but it was gone as the words rolled off of his tongue, easing him once more back into a position of control.

“You overestimate me,” he teased, straightening a part of his ridiculous attire that had fallen out of place. His voice was earnest, youthful, and light. Those who knew Lelouch Lamperouge considered it genuine, but the sound of it was always wrong in his ears and felt slippery off the tongue. “What if I told you that this was my first meeting of great import?” A lie. He’d stood on level ground with greater politicians and dignitaries, once upon a time. “These people do not wish to meet with me either. It’s formality. I’m insignificant to them.” Not so much a lie. The fat cats of Parse were about as arrogant as the ones in Britannia, as far as Lelouch could tell. Less opulence (at least in a refined, antique sense), but the same arrogance. Lelouch thrived on people in power underestimating him; it was icing on top of the cake of his ultimate goals. The bonus was cashed when they came to know fear, when they stood utterly helpless and defeated in the face of checkmate. Getting there, toeing the line and playing the patient game, was more difficult than he had expected in these worlds. He’d grown somewhat accustomed to Zero’s reputation, and later the reputation of the ruthless tyrant. Building back up from scratch could be infuriating at times.

“You on the contrary, you do seem special. Please indulge my assumptions. People say I’ve got an eye for talent.” More like an eye for destructive potential. Or at least a good memory for faces in personnel intelligence reports – Lelouch was approximately 67% sure he had seen a grainy picture of her (the hair gave it away) in some list of unknown, possible Parsian operatives. “Either they’re trying to pretend that you have no worth, or they don’t know the asset they have.” He could probably have bet on the former, though he would consider such a tactic poor strategy. The girl was sharp, with a good amount of subtlety. Easily underestimated. While the former emperor was practically wired to be suspicious at the slightest hint of something out of place, most people were not. At the very least, he’d hope that whoever she worked for had been able to recognize that potential, so he doubted his latter theory. Perhaps he was simply paranoid and neither case was the truth. But half the fun of the game was guessing. And guessing out loud was a part of this persona, which balanced intelligence and naïve. Reactions to candor were sometimes worthwhile tools in judging.

As he contemplated, she shifted the questioning and speculation over to him. Fair enough, Lelouch supposed. He shifted, a smile on his lips. Faint, friendly. “It’s nothing interesting, just some diplomatic fine print on behalf of Tethya. I wouldn't want to bore you with the details, even I don't particularly enjoy this part of the job.” That was the truth of it, but the subtler purpose was a greater familiarity with the inner workings of Parse. Since the systems were pretty much inscrutable, especially considering Tethya’s level of sophistication in the technology sphere, a physical presence helped to shed some light on things that were otherwise hard to glean from reports. For one, the fact that there were no secretaries or guards in the general vicinity of an area able to be accessed by the public. Lazy or suspicious he could not tell, but this fact alone led him to believe that the security in this building was likely automated. One never knew what sort of facts would come in handy. While he was on that train of thought, Lelouch noted that the air conditioning system seemed to have gone offline in past couple of minutes, the subtle and quiet whir of the fans cutting off. But back to focusing on mysteriously curious strangers.

Lelouch shuffled his papers to make an emphasis of his last point. He began to read some of what he’d written, though the words had no hold on his mind. When he spoke, his voice was almost off-hand, but he was still fishing for a response. “Regardless of the circumstance, we’re both being made to wait here. And that suggests that neither of us are particularly respected or properly feared.”



@ANEMONE / notes: i love this thread, these two are great
CALLING ALL MY GENERALS


^
ANEMONE
 Posted: Feb 11 2017, 05:02 PM
ANEMONE
Application
Plotter
Wanted
Development
Awards
55 Post(s)
parse
Eureka seveN
Artificial Coralian
17
She/Her/It
Tech Specialist
I want to live, to give so many feelings to people. I want to live! I wish I didn't realize I had feelings like this! But I'm in so much pain! He's nowhere where I can see him!
as written by Carma
Meh


He was a game, his whole self a puzzle. Locked doors, and he dangled keys in front of her, yet as she ventured to take one, there was just another door behind it. The question then became whether she would become lost inside. Would she lose herself in his elaborate facade? To dive so deep she forgot to breathe, forgot to resurface for her own mind, to become so focused on what she couldn’t reach as to lose herself to it...but did she mind? Such a thrill she hadn’t felt in so long. This was exciting. This was no porcelain doll, plain and fragile, that she could prick and pry into, make hairline fractures to reveal the ugly within. He was something stronger, something more, but a doll nonetheless if his clothes had any say. He looked important. Important people were all held on strings, knowingly or not. Everyone had a string that bound them somehow; only those at the very top were the puppeteers, and the simple fact that this puzzle was here in this very room told her that he was not.

In some ways, he reminded her of Colonel Dewey. That smile. The words, how he spoke them. It made her all the more excited to sink something sharp into that mind, to find the ugly truths that he had buried. Colonel Dewey was the people's’ savior, but he was the ugliest of them all. No one knew what he looked like underneath that smile of his. Was he the same? Was he like Dewey? He was dangerous…oh, she knew he was dangerous. But what remained to be seen was to whom. Where did that deadly mind point, who was the target of his cunning? She might know if she could but find the right key, the right door, the right way in that would open up his heart. She wanted to carve it open, make red spill onto that pristine white, she wanted to tear into it and see those secrets unravel in front of her eyes. And oh, he tempted her so. He was feeding her cues, feeding her clues, giving her fragments of individual pieces, just enough for a taste, but she wanted to dive in. She wanted to dive in and pull those pieces together, to shatter the steel that guarded him. She wanted to see him. Not the mask, but the man.

And then he gave her something to latch onto. Words. A chance to spy the man underneath. Spoken through the lips of the mask, very few would have picked up on the change - the intonation of his voice, the slight lilt with which he spoke, they seemed to subtle but oh no, those changes were everything. They revealed what he was hiding in such a tasteful little splash that brightened his dull face with colour, if only the faintest shimmer. But it was also a tease, something cruel; what an uninteresting question to have asked her. So, she chose to bite. To claw. To hit where it hurt, to strike him where she knew it would leave a mark. The mind, his mind, his intelligence - oh she could tell he was more than what he made himself out to be, but...it was the greatest opportunity to dig deep the blade. And this time she saw the briefest flow of blood from the wound. She knew she’d found a weakness, twisted the blade, and it had given her exactly what she wanted.

A reaction.

What an ugly thing. What an ugly display, a marring splotch that contorted the pristine doll’s face he wore. Good, good, that was just what she was looking for. Bleed, bleed. Bleed for me. That one sliver she’d discovered, that one peice of him, that was...vanity, self-importance, pride. Fatal flaws, deadly things. But he...he had a strong hold over those emotions; no sooner than that flirtation with the grotesqueness beneath had begun did he reel it back in, putting back the facade, sealing almost perfectly the wound she had tried to gauge open. He spoke so softly now, pleasantly, airy. It was a false voice. She didn’t even need to know him to recognize it; that was the very same voice spoken by liars. Not by Dewey, Colonel Dewey had a special sort of voice that he owned all to himself - but Anemone reasoned it...rather simply; no one spoke that way. No one. It was too crisp and perfect. His lips said one thing but his mind, it was saying another, wasn’t it? But he held himself together too well for her to reach inside, to read those threads of thought. It made her hate him. It made her want more.

She raised her head, then, tilting it ever so slightly, engaging him as he spoke. His first meeting of importance? What she would say to that was that she didn’t believe it. There was no way that was possible. No one dressed like that was simply awarded their value - and oh, she could smell importance on him, he reeked of it - no they had to earn it, gradually. He had to prove himself first, prove that he could be a puppet for those that were really in charge. But she didn’t answer with words, instead she shrugged and gave an indignant huff, only briefly making eye contact, and only to smirk at him. He would probably recognize what it meant, a look of disbelief. But as for the second part of what he had to say, well…

She didn’t doubt it. For one dressed up so finely, he was still just a piece to be moved around as the true kings saw fit. A pawn on the board, but a self-aware one. Not unlike herself, even if their uses were under wholly different contexts. His next move was what she could only call….a blend between flattery and a threat. Oh, it did make her head turn - her gaze found him and she narrowed her eyes, violet to violet, but for a moment she remained quite silent. Special, was it? That was an implication. She could take a hand to her chest, flutter her eyes and whisper stuttered and bashful thanks - but no, that wasn’t his intention with those words, it wasn’t flattery. He knew. He knew something about her. That wasn’t entirely a surprise; Anemone had come into the multiverse on rather a frightful note. Records of theEND panicking the people of Hialao were most likely quite accessible to delegates of the dimensions. Very possibly she was on a list of dangerous persons. She was in Parse, it was why she had been relocated where she was now, why theEND was kept away from her. “Until we can ensure your safety” they said, but no, it was to keep her from causing trouble.

If only they knew how deep her connection to theEND ran. But they made no attempts to understand her, or to understand him. They went the easy route. The lazy route. Lock up the madness, put it away. Close the door, turn out the lights, and it doesn’t exist. Forget it.

Her lips curled upward as he continued on. So, then, he did have the balls to speak reality. Finally, she gave him a full-facing smile, raising her head, her shoulders squaring neatly, hands clasped in her lap. And then, she stood. Slowly, and with grace, she stood. ”Me? I’m just a puppet. I’m one of those ballerinas in a box. Open it up and play my tune and I’ll dance for you if you have the key.” She did a little spin - equally graceful, though the slightest glint of something else shimmered in her gaze as she halted once more, facing him. ”But only when you need me. Otherwise the lid is closed and-” an arm was thrown up in front of her face, the back of her hand braced lightly against her brow, eyes closing. ”-the darkness swallows me up.” She sat down again, then, any traces of that maddening light gone from her eyes as she settled pleasantly, once again with her hands clasped lightly in her lap. Ever proper, ever dainty, ever as expected. She gave him a moment to process her display, lips curling upward in the tiniest flirtation of a smirk. ”They know what they have in their hands. They just don’t know what to do with it when they don’t need it.” It. Well…..to their credit, they at least had the courtesy to refer to Anemone as her. So in some respects the shackles of this prison weren’t quite so choking.

She believed him when he said that he had no interest in this part of his job. He didn’t look like he enjoyed this, any of it. He was dancing for Tethya, he was their ballerina right now, waiting to be done, to cut the strings and get away. But, he was also using those words to deflect her - to keep talk away from him, to keep his face, his purpose, in shadow. There was nothing more obvious than to deny information because it was boring...so his primary purpose had genuinely been his lack of interest - he would have been cleverer if he truly wished to deflect her. Once again, she chose not to grace that with verbal response - he would learn quite quickly that if displeased or unimpressed, her response was simple silence. At least, with him; he had earned her respect in some regard - enough that she chose not to jeer and throw obnoxious pettiness in his face. Silence, he was graced with silence instead. But…

...ah, no, he had rather piqued her interest again, so soon after. The very next words, that final statement. Respected or feared. Respected or feared. That was a….rather interesting way to say it, no? Feared. Feared….he wasn’t even hiding it, he wasn’t hiding behind lies or pretty smiles with that. He was trying to tell her something. And, very possibly he was looking for the right answer from her. Anemone tilted her head just slightly, lips quirked a little more widely now, the gleeful gleam back in her eye. ”You believe that you - that people like us - that we should be feared? Is that what you believe?” She sat back, giggling lightly, almost….childish now, but, ah, she had at least some control over herself now. Her handlers wouldn’t like it if she let herself go. ”Fear is for world leaders, tyrants, and war criminals isn’t it?” She gave an innocent bat of her lashes then. ”But I suppose it’s hard to have respect without fear, isn’t it? Not true respect. They just tell you they hold you at a high regard, but they never really do, not unless you’ve given them reason. Fear is the fastest way, isn’t it?”

She spoke so thinly, calmly. But her mind was working, was trying once more to reach inside his. What are you?
@LELOUCH VI BRITANNIA || It's amazing omg ||
^
1 User(s) are reading this topic (1 Guests and 0 Anonymous Users)
0 Members:

Options
Add Reply
New Topic
New Poll