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"Torturing yourself over it isn't going to make it stop, you know."
Desire flicks cigarette ash over the balcony railing with pale, languid fingers.
The girl looks up, startled, her jet fringes clicking in the moonlight. Then with a frown she turns back to surveying the booming City in the warm dark before her. Her knuckles are white on white against the smooth stone of the balustrade.
"Put that out. You may be Endless, but you're in my Realm. It's no less disgusting when you do it."
Desire laughs then, a silken sound like cord being drawn across the backs of one's knees. The cigarette disappears obligingly.
"Dietrich you ain't" the girl mutters with ill-grace, prompting another laugh from her slender companion. The Endless's garments shudder for a moment, then resolve into a graceful approximation of Chanel's Le Garçon. The girl looks the new ensemble up and down with a jaundiced eye, and sniffs.
"You're about a century and a half too late to fit in with the decor here. But thank you for the consideration." She turns back to watching the circle of her driveway; the traffic of the City blurrs to an impression of great speed and giant carriage wheels beyond her elaborate wrought iron gates. But slightly inside them is a tiny roil of shadows, the impression of scurrying feet and bright eyes, and conversations whispered guiltily but perhaps just a little too loud for the purposes of actual secrecy, or even tact. She snorts derisively and turns.
Desire's hair has changed color thrice in the intervening moment, first calling to mind the straw colored braid of The First, then the strawberry-blonde of the Flame and the Gypsy, then a liquid black like ink spilled over glass. She sighs.
"You miss your mark by that last one. He was never mine." Desire's hair changes suddenly black to it's accustomed vertical red shock, a petulant expression appearing beneath it. At this, she loses her patience entirely.
"Obviously, you are baiting me. Why." It is not a question, but a demand on her lips. "Have you something to tell me, or have you simply run out of Vestal virgins to torment?"
Desire smiles slyly, and bows acknowledgement. "La, but you do take all the fun out of it. Not a care in the world for my sport!" An immaculately pressed handkerchief appears from a breast pocket, and Desire toys with it maddenningly, shooting her a sidelong glance. "You want him. Do not deny it. I can feel the fire of it burning in your bones."
The girl rolls her eyes imperceptibly. "The irony of you of all creatures misinterpreting the seat of my heart's true wishes... is... incomprehensibly great. No, I do want him, you are correct thus far. But you mistake the who for the what."
Desire looks at her thoughtfully a moment. "But he burns bright on your stage anyway."
She grimaces. "Despite my best efforts to remain detached, yes."
"Then it is not he specifically, but what he could be..."
"You mistake me for a lesser example of my sex."
"Forgive me. But then it is still a role he could fill-"
"-but declines to-"
"-that you desire so much. I see." There is a pregnant pause. "And what title do you give this rôle in your particular dramatis personae?"
The girl turns back to the rail, her eyes on a clock tower that rises now in the distance, a yellow face above the City's jagged skyline. The hands twirl and blur, like everything else outside her gates.
"Come now," Desire chides, "Such a strong example of your sex should be able to say it and know what it is she truly desires."
She clenches her jaw, but answers in short, clipped words. "Companion. Beloved companion."
"And?"
She exhales, closing her eyes tiredly. "And I think I must re-cast."
Desire flicks cigarette ash over the balcony railing with pale, languid fingers.
The girl looks up, startled, her jet fringes clicking in the moonlight. Then with a frown she turns back to surveying the booming City in the warm dark before her. Her knuckles are white on white against the smooth stone of the balustrade.
"Put that out. You may be Endless, but you're in my Realm. It's no less disgusting when you do it."
Desire laughs then, a silken sound like cord being drawn across the backs of one's knees. The cigarette disappears obligingly.
"Dietrich you ain't" the girl mutters with ill-grace, prompting another laugh from her slender companion. The Endless's garments shudder for a moment, then resolve into a graceful approximation of Chanel's Le Garçon. The girl looks the new ensemble up and down with a jaundiced eye, and sniffs.
"You're about a century and a half too late to fit in with the decor here. But thank you for the consideration." She turns back to watching the circle of her driveway; the traffic of the City blurrs to an impression of great speed and giant carriage wheels beyond her elaborate wrought iron gates. But slightly inside them is a tiny roil of shadows, the impression of scurrying feet and bright eyes, and conversations whispered guiltily but perhaps just a little too loud for the purposes of actual secrecy, or even tact. She snorts derisively and turns.
Desire's hair has changed color thrice in the intervening moment, first calling to mind the straw colored braid of The First, then the strawberry-blonde of the Flame and the Gypsy, then a liquid black like ink spilled over glass. She sighs.
"You miss your mark by that last one. He was never mine." Desire's hair changes suddenly black to it's accustomed vertical red shock, a petulant expression appearing beneath it. At this, she loses her patience entirely.
"Obviously, you are baiting me. Why." It is not a question, but a demand on her lips. "Have you something to tell me, or have you simply run out of Vestal virgins to torment?"
Desire smiles slyly, and bows acknowledgement. "La, but you do take all the fun out of it. Not a care in the world for my sport!" An immaculately pressed handkerchief appears from a breast pocket, and Desire toys with it maddenningly, shooting her a sidelong glance. "You want him. Do not deny it. I can feel the fire of it burning in your bones."
The girl rolls her eyes imperceptibly. "The irony of you of all creatures misinterpreting the seat of my heart's true wishes... is... incomprehensibly great. No, I do want him, you are correct thus far. But you mistake the who for the what."
Desire looks at her thoughtfully a moment. "But he burns bright on your stage anyway."
She grimaces. "Despite my best efforts to remain detached, yes."
"Then it is not he specifically, but what he could be..."
"You mistake me for a lesser example of my sex."
"Forgive me. But then it is still a role he could fill-"
"-but declines to-"
"-that you desire so much. I see." There is a pregnant pause. "And what title do you give this rôle in your particular dramatis personae?"
The girl turns back to the rail, her eyes on a clock tower that rises now in the distance, a yellow face above the City's jagged skyline. The hands twirl and blur, like everything else outside her gates.
"Come now," Desire chides, "Such a strong example of your sex should be able to say it and know what it is she truly desires."
She clenches her jaw, but answers in short, clipped words. "Companion. Beloved companion."
"And?"
She exhales, closing her eyes tiredly. "And I think I must re-cast."
