cape_kore | [ video ]

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[ video ] - Day 163

[ Guess who's back from the dead? That's right, everybody's favourite resident demon! Of course, she's lacking a little of her usual sass and sparkle - apparently being thrown to the wolves - quite literally (if by wolves we mean hellhounds) - has that effect on a person. ]

Hello Cape Kore. Did you miss me? [ There's a smirk, but it's strained. ]

Did you get the stray puppy population under control while I was on my unscheduled vacation or you all still waiting for the dog warden to show up?

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You'll not hear such a travesty from my mouth, I assure you. Worst excuse in the book. Only the least tech-savvy could get away with it. A gentle let-down is far superior, I think.

[She chuckles, winks.]

Not that you have to worry about that.

Gentle? Hm. I do suppose you pretty humans like to protect each other's feelings.

[ Gentle and/or subtle have never been her strong points. ]

When I can.

[Fortescue doesn't like to think about all the people she's inadvertently spurned or left hanging simply because of her line of work.]

But you're much more the blunt type, I can tell.

[Not that that's necessarily a bad thing, and it shows in her smile. Sometimes someone being blunt is refreshing!]

Comes with the territory of being a demon. No soul, you see. Or all soul. Depends how you look at it.

I can be sweet when the urge takes me, though.

[She cants her head to the side, curious.]

How does one's point of view shift so dramatically?

[Isn't it all soul or nothing? Then again, maybe hers is in pieces by now. She really has no idea. It's one of the things that frightens her. Getting her soul back and turning into a lunatic because of all the damage.]

A demon is made when a human soul is tortured in the depths of Hell, until all traces are humanity are stripped away. So, it could be said all we are are remnants of a human soul, or that we have no soul at all.

I'm just me.

Sounds as though that gets into the philosophical. [Fortescue frowns slightly, not entirely sure what to make of that information.] But I'm glad you're you. [She makes an effort to wink again.] You're fun. We need all the fun people we can get.

Let's leave the philosophy to the geeks and nerds, or at least until there is so much alcohol in our systems we can barely see straight.

[ Hey! She can't help what she is! Well, she could've not sold her soul in the first place, but then she would be dead. And she's a whole lot nicer than most demons. ]

I'll definitely take fun over philosophy.

I'm a lot more qualified for one than for the other. [She continues to stroke her fingers through Meg's hair, and places a gentle kiss to the side of her head for emphasis. See how qualified she is?] Fun, that is. I'm rubbish at alcohol. But it's the trying that I like, mostly. I think the same can be said for most people.

[ They should drink together more if the hair petting and kissing is going to become a thing. ]

Hm. They do say practice makes perfect, after all.

It does normally.

[Fortescue chuckles. There's only so much you can do about genetics. Her own family line is pure Imperian, for the most part, and while known for drinking they're not known for holding it well.]

Giving up is a terrible thing to do, at any rate.

Giving up is definitely terrible.

[ Meg lens in to press a tiny, light kiss to the corner of Fort's mouth. Ha! That's to make up for the head kiss. ]

No fun in giving up at all.

[She smiles gently, her eyes half-lidded.]

Without it, we'd probably be buried under rubble in the town. Rather than be in this... charming place.

[It has its good points, like the accessibility of wine, but... on the whole...]

[ This place is better than being dead, at least. And better than Hell. ]

Buried under rubble would be no fun. You humans are so squishy and fragile you'd all die, and the smell would be disgusting.

[Fortescue chuckles quietly, to hide a small flash of discomfort. A memory, really. Bodies piled up after being disposed of, bodies rotting in trenches, bodies found in the woods. The small costs of war, not as flashy as the massacres which sometimes ended in mass graves.]

And then we'd be trapped with nothing to drink, [she takes a healthy sip of wine, finishing her glass,] and that would make me terribly grumpy.

[ Meg checks the contents of the bottle. There's still a drop or two left, she tilts it towards Fortescue in a silent offer. ]

And we couldn't have that, could we? You look much better with a smile.

[She shakes her head. It's Meg's wine, technically. Fortescue is only sharing it, and there's still a bottle left.

If she drinks much more, she worries about her ability to get back to her room.]

Why, thank you. I feel the same way. Not many people do frowns well. [Fortescue considers.] Mostly, just men with nicely chiseled jaws, I think.

[ Would staying the night be so terrible? Just don't expect Meg to be sympathetic to any impending hangovers. She's not that kind. Since she likes Fortescue though, she'd probably be less noisy than with someone she didn't like. ]

Nicely chiseled jaws? Yeah. I know a few of those.

[It would certainly not be a tragedy to make this wine party an all-nighter. Fortescue chuckles.]

Here, or where you come from?

[She can't claim to have a weakness for too many specific things. A great deal of variety gets Fortescue's motor running, so to speak.]

Both.

[ Variety is the spice of life! Who wants to stick with the same thing day in, day out? That's just boring! ]

[She considers, running her mind through the list of likely candidates here, and then nods in agreement.]

I'm certainly not wanting for attractive company. Present company included, of course, though your jaw is a bit more round.

[Which just flatters her face more than the alternative.]

I could always take over the body of some hunk of a guy next time if you prefer.

[ She smirks. Meatsuits are like outfits to demons, after all, they can change whenever. ]

[Fortescue half-raises an eyebrow. Truthfully, she doesn't really care about Meg not asking permission as, she understands, the angels have to. Not out of a sense of morality, but simply that she can't bring herself to care. Caring about too much has become more difficult, as of late. She only has energy for the things that impact her, in truth. Time will tell if her ability to give much of a damn returns.]

Oh, no, darling. [She leans forward to place a light kiss on the end of Meg's nose.] You work marvelously, I assure you.

I'll be sure not to let the compliments go to my head.

[ Not caring about the world is so much easier, Fortescue. Trust Meg on this, the not giving a fuck about anyone but yourself is so much easier than messy feelings for other people. Whoever invented empathy needs smacking in the face, and whoever invented love should be tortured for all eternity. ]

[The magus smirks.]

Save them for a rainy day.

[All of her feelings are messy, and she sometimes wishes that she didn't have them. But she has them, and that's that. All she can do now is just drink them into a stupor.]

And the bottle of wine, for that matter. Though we wouldn't know, perhaps, if it was raining outside.

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