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| User: | cracked_sundial (113114) |
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| Name: | Belladonna Clairmont | |||||||||
| E-mail: | imytholin+chaos@gmail.com | |||||||||
| Bio: | Pasts. Lives. Blending into, twisting around, mixing with, rewrtiting, each other. Stirring themselves into a a trackless path of experiences and thoughts and interpreations, a silent cacophony of selves, far, far more than the mortal mind was ever made to keep inside it all at once. Far, far more. The rebirths weren't it. They never were. Reborn every day for millennia without a problem, and then... That was it. Teardrops. Trapped in a teardrop. Her teardrop.Trapped in her own teardrop, or one like it made of other teardrops, one of her own fleshy making trapped in another teardrop through another and another back through thousands of years and generations back to when they were hers, her creation, her subjects, her pretty little teardrops glittering in the sand, sometimes dampening it with blood, sometimes evaporating in her heat, but always there and hers and glittery. ...it got harder. The mortal thing was difficult, to say the least. They took time to grow, to mature, to wake up to themselves and their one lifetime. So this time, what was different? Could it be... Enlaced lifetimes. Looser, tighter, sometimes related, usually not. This time related, close, in work and in name and in flesh and in blood. He'd been the king of the gods and the father of creation, loved and revered and worshipped, only to fall into obscurity and vanish and fade and disappear until something, something weird and unexpected done by an unseen yet doubtless divine hand, and then life. ...be the way that she'd done it this time, impatient to continue. She'd tried it before, ways to claim a little slice of power and see what might become of it. And this time... Cults. She'd, he'd, she'd, whatever did that matter to the universe and eternity anyway, had one once, her very own, the bright and shiny and important cult that rightly went with being king of the world and the gods and the universe. She'd tried it that way before, tried to break free of the mortal puddle of teardrops, tried it in the fifteenth century. Then she'd met Torquemada, and that'd made a messy ending to a fruitless plan, an ending writ large in pain and blood and fire and death. ...she'd woken up sooner, too soon, unleashing a flood of self and memory and divinity upon a brain that was still growing, one that hadn't even really started laying in its own pathways yet. She'd left a legacy, a place in the mortal underworld, to which she could ascend when the time was right. And... Mmm, the perfect time. She'd - no, he'd, definitely this time, her grandfather-self on her father-son's wedding night - arranged it perfectly, too perfectly. By morning he'd be a tiny cluster of godly cells, waiting to be born to rise to the place of power he'd made, ready and perpetual and waiting. Gunshots, fire and steel and lead and copper, paid off with secretive paper green-inked and president-faced, brought swift death and set the plan in motion. ...that had worked out almost perfectly. Here she was, connected, wealthy, influential, and some might even say powerful and untouchable. Queen of the Underworld, for her whole city and a not-insignificant slice of the states to either side. Take all of that, and... Her education had been fun. She'd learned lots of things she knew already, saw the ways that things had changed, and got to focus on things she hadn't learned yet, things that hadn't been invented before. Modern business was something that was exciting and interesting, and she'd latched onto bits of it as a platform for her plans and started working on developing her spidery tangled enlaced and interwoven web of legitimate interests to shelter her and protect her, with money and distance and anonymity and thoroughly laundering her income so that she could even pay her taxes properly because Capone was an idiot. And she should know, she'd met him. ...add the sense to develop a legitimate front, complicated until it was practically incomprehensible, and it delivered exactly what she needed to be. A desirable ally. A dangerous and untouchable enemy. Power and authority written into shadows and whispers, and where most thought to look a picture of success. Even better, ... 10. 9. 8. The exultation thrived and pulsed around her, the thousands of happy people, waiting for a new day and a new year all in a new hour, minute, second, instant. 7. 6. 5. All of them looking forward to something, ready to make their resolutions and rules and decisions despite that nothing would come of them, ready to believe that a new year might bring them good things despite evidence to the contrary, but that didn't matter to the happy hopeful people with their plans. 4. 3. 2. She had her own plans. 1. Bang. Happy new year indeed, and a new era, and the next beautiful elegant stage in her plans. Her teardrop father-son hadn't been a personal matter, though he'd soon get teardrops of his own when she returned to DC and reluctantly - was she that good an actor, probably, and they really wnated to believe it anyway, so that's what they'd be looking for - step up to her newfound role in her family's interests, hers really, legitimate, criminal, shiny, shady, overt and hidden alike. ...the sun sees everything, and this is her city. | |||||||||
| Friends: | None listed. | |||||||||
| Friend of: | 16: a_sudden_change, antsolutely, battleraven, chaostheorymods, chaostheorynpcs, dark_amor, eir_md, gwynn_arawn, harpofoak, perpetual_flame, scald_crow, setecastronomy, stupid_hen, tri_dee_dana, vermiliondesert, woodyhunt | |||||||||
| Member of: | 1: chaos_theory_rp | |||||||||
| Account type: | Free Patient | |||||||||
| Date created: | 2008-01-10 13:38:45 | |||||||||
| Date updated: | Never. | |||||||||
| Clients used: | Mozilla-DeepestSender: 0.8.0 | |||||||||
| Journal entries: | 0 | |||||||||
| Comments: | Posted: 8 - Received: 0 | |||||||||
| Posting Access: | 1: chaos_theory_rp | |||||||||
