ext_260354 (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
redhot.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
paixaorpg2006-01-20 09:14 pm
redhot.livejournal.com) wrote in paixaorpg2006-01-20 09:14 pm
Entry tags:
Entering through Muspelheim. [Closed]
Character(s): Axel, all those entering the same gate.
Content: Entering the Gates of Muspelheim.
Setting: Muspelheim.
Time: Morning.
Warnings: None. ...Yet.
Muspelheim.
Axel opened his eyes, the flames licking up all around him, yet still and silent, brandished gold in the wake of a stroking black hand. Aquamarine eyes sliding over the gates to the city, quiet thoughts roaming his mind, he looked ahead of him—greeted with the vision of the rising "sun"—a warm smile welcoming him to the city, amongst a thousand other blank white ones.
"Hurry up, boy," some younger woman behind him urged as if she were an old one, shoving his skinny body forward with a cold and uncaring hand: forcing black boots onto glass rocks—and Axel into the city of Paixao's high class district. The morning's light glittered on the vaguely bumpy surface, the streets clouded with fake fog, stinking of the fake bittersweet smell of the city. His black-lined eyes wandered in a vague wonderment, expression void as his mind took in the sights.
City. Stretches and stretches of city—buildings progressively tinier, shabbier, but right here? Right here, it was obvious that the upper class was simply not yet awake. Towering buildings stretched to the dome's height, magnificent structures of lust and greed. This was the sinner's half of the city—quietly sleeping, drifting slowly with the fog, awaiting for the sun to tuck itself away many hours from now so it might illuminate itself with its own lights, and welcome the dark and beautiful creatures of the underworld out into her streets.
Haphazardly, a silver journal was shoved into the negligent hand that lingered in the air where once it touched fire, and he looked curiously at it before finally making an effort to step out of the rest of the way himself.
"The city is—"
"Alegria."
Axel blinked, looking to the side. The same woman stood before him, her face pale, her hair blonde (tied up into a messy bun, yet some of it strayed to her cherubic face) and her eyes blue as the sky at noon. About her form was wrapped a cloak—virginal white, decorated with elaborate golden embroideries and fringes of the same colour. She was youth; she was beauty, and truth and love and everything in one.
"What?"
"Alegria... that's what you feel when you come here, isn't it?" she asked, laughing softly as she moved closer to him, her eyes roaming over the silver object that he held almost dumbfoundedly in his hands.
"Well, maybe I'd feel that if I knew what 'alegria' was," he replied, raising a short brow at her, before looking out at the horizon again—trying to find this alegria.
"Alegria, of course, is a state of mind." Axel looked back at her, canting his head, as if intrigued. "It's a feeling that overcomes everyone who enters this city, a feeling that entrusts you with the power to make time stand still. In ages before, power was bestowed upon the future generations and then the former owners became nothing but crumbling dust in the new life's wake. Here..." From the depths of her robes came an immaculate hand, just as pale as her face, and she waved it out, spanning the city, "there is no passage of time, no passage of power—if you come to this city, no matter what age you are in, you will hold a place, and this power will be yours..."
The redhead gave her a somewhat blank look. It was hard to tell if he was entirely enthralled with the concept or just very confused.
She didn't seem to mind. Rather, she continued—"Alegria is love. It's passion, it's beautiful rage and the wonderful feeling of feeling. Everyone in this city has it." A finger nail rose, and caught on the hook which popped the top of Axel's journal open.
The moment she did this, it turned on, and he was greeted with the welcome screen, as well as the option to begin updating his new journal. He gave it an idle glance and looked back to her, hearing the soft clicks of the keys as her hand ran itself over the letters, yet pressing nothing.
"You'll like this city. Everyone does, we all do. We're all power; we're all good and just." She tilted her head, leaning further into him—pressing her chin to his shoulder. "I can show you more than just power, though. Come to the cathedral, I'll show you alegria's blossom..." She moved up to press a kiss to the corner of his jaw.
Axel didn't move, simply watched her.
The girl's face contorted. Something terrible had apparently struck her, and suddenly her hand retracted, hiding itself in her clothing and she clutched her arms to her chest, bright blue eyes wide in horror. She looked up to him, gasping, as if the very taste of his skin had been so bitter she might try to hack it off of her tongue.
"There is no... no..." She gave him an urgent glance, and haphazardly, took off running.
"Alegria...?" he said, smiling.
"You've really outdone yourself," he mused, looking back at the screen of his journal. He rose a brow at the blank screen, and lifted a black gloved hand—typing.
"In the CITY OF PAIXAO
There is a FEELING
Which I am DEVOID OF..."
And then he walked on.
Content: Entering the Gates of Muspelheim.
Setting: Muspelheim.
Time: Morning.
Warnings: None. ...Yet.
Muspelheim.
Axel opened his eyes, the flames licking up all around him, yet still and silent, brandished gold in the wake of a stroking black hand. Aquamarine eyes sliding over the gates to the city, quiet thoughts roaming his mind, he looked ahead of him—greeted with the vision of the rising "sun"—a warm smile welcoming him to the city, amongst a thousand other blank white ones.
"Hurry up, boy," some younger woman behind him urged as if she were an old one, shoving his skinny body forward with a cold and uncaring hand: forcing black boots onto glass rocks—and Axel into the city of Paixao's high class district. The morning's light glittered on the vaguely bumpy surface, the streets clouded with fake fog, stinking of the fake bittersweet smell of the city. His black-lined eyes wandered in a vague wonderment, expression void as his mind took in the sights.
City. Stretches and stretches of city—buildings progressively tinier, shabbier, but right here? Right here, it was obvious that the upper class was simply not yet awake. Towering buildings stretched to the dome's height, magnificent structures of lust and greed. This was the sinner's half of the city—quietly sleeping, drifting slowly with the fog, awaiting for the sun to tuck itself away many hours from now so it might illuminate itself with its own lights, and welcome the dark and beautiful creatures of the underworld out into her streets.
Haphazardly, a silver journal was shoved into the negligent hand that lingered in the air where once it touched fire, and he looked curiously at it before finally making an effort to step out of the rest of the way himself.
"The city is—"
"Alegria."
Axel blinked, looking to the side. The same woman stood before him, her face pale, her hair blonde (tied up into a messy bun, yet some of it strayed to her cherubic face) and her eyes blue as the sky at noon. About her form was wrapped a cloak—virginal white, decorated with elaborate golden embroideries and fringes of the same colour. She was youth; she was beauty, and truth and love and everything in one.
"What?"
"Alegria... that's what you feel when you come here, isn't it?" she asked, laughing softly as she moved closer to him, her eyes roaming over the silver object that he held almost dumbfoundedly in his hands.
"Well, maybe I'd feel that if I knew what 'alegria' was," he replied, raising a short brow at her, before looking out at the horizon again—trying to find this alegria.
"Alegria, of course, is a state of mind." Axel looked back at her, canting his head, as if intrigued. "It's a feeling that overcomes everyone who enters this city, a feeling that entrusts you with the power to make time stand still. In ages before, power was bestowed upon the future generations and then the former owners became nothing but crumbling dust in the new life's wake. Here..." From the depths of her robes came an immaculate hand, just as pale as her face, and she waved it out, spanning the city, "there is no passage of time, no passage of power—if you come to this city, no matter what age you are in, you will hold a place, and this power will be yours..."
The redhead gave her a somewhat blank look. It was hard to tell if he was entirely enthralled with the concept or just very confused.
She didn't seem to mind. Rather, she continued—"Alegria is love. It's passion, it's beautiful rage and the wonderful feeling of feeling. Everyone in this city has it." A finger nail rose, and caught on the hook which popped the top of Axel's journal open.
The moment she did this, it turned on, and he was greeted with the welcome screen, as well as the option to begin updating his new journal. He gave it an idle glance and looked back to her, hearing the soft clicks of the keys as her hand ran itself over the letters, yet pressing nothing.
"You'll like this city. Everyone does, we all do. We're all power; we're all good and just." She tilted her head, leaning further into him—pressing her chin to his shoulder. "I can show you more than just power, though. Come to the cathedral, I'll show you alegria's blossom..." She moved up to press a kiss to the corner of his jaw.
Axel didn't move, simply watched her.
The girl's face contorted. Something terrible had apparently struck her, and suddenly her hand retracted, hiding itself in her clothing and she clutched her arms to her chest, bright blue eyes wide in horror. She looked up to him, gasping, as if the very taste of his skin had been so bitter she might try to hack it off of her tongue.
"There is no... no..." She gave him an urgent glance, and haphazardly, took off running.
"Alegria...?" he said, smiling.
"You've really outdone yourself," he mused, looking back at the screen of his journal. He rose a brow at the blank screen, and lifted a black gloved hand—typing.
"In the CITY OF PAIXAO
There is a FEELING
Which I am DEVOID OF..."
And then he walked on.
no subject
"Do you have any idea what's going on?" he asked, not a hint of recognition in his voice, though he hadn't missed how irate the man looked. He just didn't respond to it right away.