Mortal vessels are so odd.

nellabird said: Good afternoon, Droog.

nellabird:

ultraviolentdiamonds:

I am sorry to disappoint, Ms. Bordelle.

But Droog is currently scouring the void in an epic quest to locate the soul of his dead girlfriend. I am here in his absence. 

I am his Patron, you may call me Flamare.

That is fine, thank you.

So why only now are you in control?

Like I stated, the vessel has taken to the void in his search. 

Someone has to operate this vessel or else it might die, get injured, you know, mundane mortal problems.

nellabird said: Good afternoon, Droog.

nellabird:

ultraviolentdiamonds:

I am sorry to disappoint, Ms. Bordelle.

But Droog is currently scouring the void in an epic quest to locate the soul of his dead girlfriend. I am here in his absence. 

I am his Patron, you may call me Flamare.

I am not sure about the protocol for sharing names with a Terror.

Seeing as I already know your name, it would be pointless to introduce yourself, Ms. Bordelle. 

But if there is something else you wish me to call you, then please let me know.

nellabird said: Good afternoon, Droog.

nellabird:

ultraviolentdiamonds:

I am sorry to disappoint, Ms. Bordelle.

But Droog is currently scouring the void in an epic quest to locate the soul of his dead girlfriend. I am here in his absence. 

I am his Patron, you may call me Flamare.

Hm.

I’ve not spoken to one before. Flamare, was it?

That is the name that has been bestowed to me.

nellabird said: Good afternoon, Droog.

nellabird:

ultraviolentdiamonds:

I am sorry to disappoint, Ms. Bordelle.

But Droog is currently scouring the void in an epic quest to locate the soul of his dead girlfriend. I am here in his absence. 

I am his Patron, you may call me Flamare.

Patron.

He has a contract with the Terrors, then.

Just with me, really.

But I suppose I am a terror, no matter how old. 

nellabird said: Good afternoon, Droog.

I am sorry to disappoint, Ms. Bordelle.

But Droog is currently scouring the void in an epic quest to locate the soul of his dead girlfriend. I am here in his absence. 

I am his Patron, you may call me Flamare.

octanachronism:

Something in this is so immensely satisfying. Hearing the Elder Terror drawl her name, something in the cradle of Snowman’s hips quivered. What was it, a divine strain of Oedipus Complex? That would be what it felt like, a fetish for the gods that sheltered, fed and clothed her.

Yet her own nihilistic deities were silent, neither approving nor condemning another tryst with another patron. It happened. Everything simply happened, and a cool, blue blush picked up beneath the skin that so translucently veiled her cheeks.

"So easily," she echoed, pressing her hips against Flamare’s own, annoyed by the presence of clothing. "And would you expect me to care? Would you want me to weep."

Her eyes took on a sultry glare, demanding as her eyes flashed a deep and ravenous violet. “Why, then I could break myself against you over and again. What would it matter to me.”

A small part of her had grown to be sympathetic with Diamonds, sure.

But Diamonds couldn’t destroy her like Flamare could.

Her hips press against his own, and Flamare smirks when she speaks. Apparently her sympathy for the vessel was not strong enough to shadow her lust for him, and he smirks. 

"All you have to do is say the word, Briory. And Damien will never return."

His hands slip down to wrap around her throat, and he pulls her closer to him, squeezing lightly.

"Then you could be mine. Forever.”

fluttersleuth:

You’re still unsettled, especially at his promise to hold off on killing you for a while, but he’s back to his affable, charming self, and so you let your guard drop once again. You’d get closer to him, but you’re rather nervous about coming into physical contact with him, even though there is a prospect of being covered in tentacles involved with that. But even that could be dangerous; he could easily choke you to death using them instead of letting them crawl all over your skin.

You have to balance the pros and cons of this situation in your head for a bit.

"Flamare, is it presumptuous to think that you want something from me?”

Sleuth presumes that Flamare might want something from him, and Flamare smirks, running his fingers through Sleuth’s hair. His eyes trail over Sleuth, and he leans closer, twirling blonde locks of hair around his fingers.

"Maybe I just want you.”

Sharpened teeth are bared in something that could be called a grin, and he lets go of Sleuth’s hair, running his fingers over his scalp.

"You are such a good boy, though. I’d hate to take that from you.”

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