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[multiverse]

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PARISA

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[nishtha]

[ Intrigued, Armand leans into the memory, lets it surround him for a few moments. He feels those bodies beneath his hands, feels himself hot and wet between his thighs, feels Parisa's remote compassion. She's right; he understands, and he's fascinated by the road she's taken to that conclusion. ]

I believe so. Love is often a harsh light that scours all else clean. How do they feel about your dissection of their moment? Surely some must be unhappy to be denied the chance to provide you with the same pleasure?

[multiverse]

Do you imagine most people are so selfless in their fucking? ( not harshly said — just curious about armand, about his thoughts, when so many aspects of him seem to mirror her. ) I'm more of a status symbol than a woman. Most are just happy to be involved, I'd guess.

[nishtha]

I imagine many are happy to find someone they can use who will claim to prefer it. [ He's seen it firsthand, the way men will treat those they feel free to exploit. How easy it is for people to cross that line, even those who pretend to be good and moral. His services in the brothel had been bought by priests as well as princes. ]

[multiverse]

The eternal truth of humanity: it all begins and ends with greed.

( at least, it's the truth for parisa. armand has been around longer — if he disagrees, she might finally have to admit she's a pessimist rather than an unfortunate realist. )

[nishtha]

Since the garden and the fall. The apple on the tree, dripping wet with morning's dew. We are all that heavy fruit, waiting to be plucked and eaten.

[multiverse]

How old are you again? You could probably convince me you're one of God's angels.

[nishtha]

A black-winged angel, perhaps. Fallen from His eternal grace.

[ Death, darkness. A legacy that stretches back to that same garden, but it begins with the serpent, poison-fanged. A memory of gazing up at grand frescos, the benevolent smiles of saints and cherubs. There's blood in his mouth. Blood on his hands. ]

[multiverse]

Not your choice compliment, I take it.

( parisa can't claim to understand the not quite guilt to armand — at least the duality of him makes sense. there is, metaphorically, and slightly literally, a hand in his. blood stained fingers knitting themselves together. )

We have to be especially bad to be taken seriously. ( we: the two prettiest girls in the world. two little knickknacks on two trophy shelves. ) For the record, I think eternal grace seems pretty overrated. Much more fun the other way.

[nishtha]

[ Her hand in his is enough to keep him from drifting further into that darkness. He takes hold of the contact, gripping her for a moment with almost feverish intensity, a frightened child who longs to be an angel. Then he subsides a little, acknowledging her words. ]

So we tell ourselves, to make it bearable. [ His awareness slides over hers, worshipful hands on her body, lips against her throat. Remembering the smell and taste of her skin. ]

Will you go to them?

[multiverse]

( a perpetual youngest sibling, parisa feels the strangest thing overcome her — sisterly protectiveness. it's not enough to stop her from leaning into him, sensual, but it's enough of a seed to nurture an affectionate little bubble in her brain, armand's name etched over it. she nods her assent, humming. )

Come with?

( an offer more than a suggestion — if he doesn't want to be alone, he has a space with her. a promise: ) Our secret.

[nishtha]

Not tonight.

[ He appreciates it and lets her feel that, a warmth that's not completely warm. Remote kindness. A squeeze of her hand before he lets go, retreating somewhat into his own mind. ]

Another time, perhaps. I need to think.

[multiverse]

Alright. ( a parting goodbye — her lips briefly on the high curve of his cheek. ) I'll see you soon.

( and a wink. the conversation didn't happen in person, but it's a more dramatic reveal to remember it that way — daniel saying how nice was armand to you? and i wouldn't mind watching you step on him. soon is soon, apparently. )