Inner Demons [Open]

[dorian]

The sun was not fully sunken into the horizon when Dorian walked down the crisp street with uncharacteristic sharpness in his eyes. Some distance before him, a woman, unaware of the glare he had on her back, walked calmly to wherever she was going. Dorian was tense, following her like a hawk set on a tasty mouse he hated for being so evasive, completely forgetting he looked like himself, the actor with a lead role in the movie that was shooting in the very city whose streets he walked.

The woman in question was a ghost from the past, his past. Once upon a time she had housed him under her roof, invading his privacy and twisting his mind with experiences no teenager was supposed to have in the way she had imposed them on him. Now, almost eight years later, Dorian was getting in touch with a more sinister side of him, the same part that was probably born of the treatment she and others like her had invented in him. Her walk looked so calm and confident – she had always been so, ever beautiful, always in control and knowing the effect she had on others.

Dorian didn’t bear grudges, but he did hate people and he loathed this woman and adored her for making him the manipulative liar he was today. The more paces he took in pursuit, the closer he felt his hand coming to the gun in his coat, his eyes widening absurdly with the madness of his sudden urge to hurt her. She had changed him, forever and irreparably, and the product of said change seemed to blossom of ideas on how to return the favor, all unpleasant and some more gruesome than he thought he could imagine.

Near the police station was the worst place someone could drift by quietly booming of thoughts of murder. No, not murder, he didn’t want to kill her, but make her suffer, although he couldn’t quite decide what sort of pain could be measurable up to the one that had twisted him on the inside. The more he remembered the experience the less sane his intentions became. He could already see the headlines. “Local actor, Dorian Mourey, shoots unsuspecting woman by the police station.” It was so stupid it made him grin, the madness of it still in his eyes.

Ever had one of those moments when an intense feeling of hatred or love made you act with such irrational thinking that it surprised you powerfully when you calmed down? Dorian was living the first part of that moment as he continued pursuing one of the women that had ruined some part of him, his hand on his gun inside his coat as if holding it on his side from some ache, mind envisioning all the ways he wanted to see the woman pay for their shared past.

[Scimitar]

Scimitar slunk around town. It had been a long day. She wasn't in the mood to hunt mutants, and had even gone to the extreme of leaving her "DNA Abnormality Detector" at home. Before leaving she had made sure that her knife, Discord, was inside her black and red blazer, sitting beside her heart. She never walked the streets without some form of weapon. That was something she loved about America: the foolish government made bearing arms legal. She could always carry as many weapons as she wanted.

That morning she had been scolded by the leader of the Blades of Darkness for her lack of success. In the last three months, she had only found two mutants and hadn’t caught either of them. Being called a failure always made her feel more so. Her morale was low, and so today she had a terrible lack of motivation. Not being motivated led her to perform worse, and then she would be given more punishments. It was a brutal cycle, and one that she knew she had to break. Scimitar needed to somehow find incentive to work again, but she didn't want to. Today she felt angry and a bit rebellious against the group, and for the first time in years the thought of getting a real job slipped through the back door of her mind. The idea shocked her, as she had been working for the Blades when she moved from England to America over ten years ago. For a moment she seriously considered leaving the group, but then reality sunk in around her shoulders, weighing her down. There was no way she could leave. She had signed an oath for life, and there was no way they would let her leave knowing what she did. There was no way out, so she may as well get used to it.

Today, she would walk the streets as Marina. Marina was her alias; it was a name that she had given herself. It meant “of the sea,” something that she considered herself to be. No one but the Blades knew her as Scimitar, and any civilians she had met knew her as Marina. Only she knew her birth name.

Marina turned a corner and realized she was approaching the town’s police station. It seemed at peace; no sirens sounded and no voices shouted. In fact, if her eyes weren’t deceiving her, then from where she stood she thought she could make out a couple policemen living the stereotype and bringing in boxes of donuts. She chuckled.

She turned her gaze towards a couple pedestrians walking towards her. The first, a woman, was busy looking at her phone. An indifferent look rimmed her eyes, as only those who only care for themselves have. Marina then looked at the man some thirty feet behind her. His pace was quickening, and his shoulders moved like a predator’s. His face was impossible to read, but judging by his locked vision on the woman, Marina sensed trouble. She debated sitting down at the nearby bus stop and watching the show, and then remembered who she was. Today she was Marina, not Scimitar. Marina was sweet and conversational, whereas Scimitar was supposed to be, well, despicably selfish. She became Marina and picked up her pace. Marina would save the day. She always did.

As Marina swept past the woman she casually unzipped her purse. The man quickly approached her, and she loosened it from her shoulder. As she passed him, she roughly bumped into him and let her purse fly out of her reach, its contents spilling out across the sidewalk. She faked a stumble onto the ground, where her hands reached out and caught her and her hair slapped her face. This was a move that Scimitar normally reserved for attracting a mutant’s attention where she would then use her charms to go someplace “more private” with them, and would then proceed to dispose of the vermin. Today it was Marina who used the move, and it was to save someone rather than to kill. It gave her a strange feeling, one that she did not recognize. She shook it off and put on a look that a typical “damsel in distress” would wear, and waited for her target to react.

[dorian]

There were very few moments that truly disappointed Dorian and he thought this would scribe itself onto the list. The sudden collision with a different woman than one he was pursuing surprised him for he had been maximally focused on his target, so focused he had barely taken note of the other at all. As it happened, the rough impact pushed him off course, nearly making him lose his balance, his boot almost crushing some contents from the woman’s spilled purse. The hit itself had a sobering effect, however, like the sudden smack of a mother on the back of her son’s head who was having overly obvious thoughts of mischief.

He looked after his once foster mother just in time to spot her climbing into a cab she’d summoned, clenched his fists and unclenched them right after, then turned to the woman that was experiencing him on a most unpleasant day. At first he looked mad, though he wasn’t angry with her, but living the frustration of having let the other woman walk away without consequence. He should have been more quickly decisive, but if he had been, where would he be now?

The woman on the ground looked so innocently upset that he sighed away his boil and walked up to her position, reaching a hand down for her to take. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going. Are you alright?” This was one of the rare times when Dorian came to address a beautiful woman without putting on his charm and being a flirt about it. There was something quite normal about his usually eccentric self and inside he felt defeated, again, by his chance encounter with a demon from his past.

The serious quality in his eyes now was such an elusive element all of the people who knew him currently would hardly believe it even existed. The very moment Marina got up he would proceed to start picking up the things that had spilled from her purse and onto the sidewalk and return them to her bag. “It doesn’t look like anything’s broken,” he commented, a little absent-mindedly, as he went about the task. There was always so much stuff in women’s purses, it would take a while.

As if realizing how out of character he was, he blinked, momentarily wondering if this was yet another facet of his layer-y personality and returned his gaze to her. When it happened he looked to be less listless and suddenly in a much better mood for he was smiling in what would become an obviously teasing way. “I don’t normally sweep women off their feet from the very first second our presences collide. If you wanted an autograph or a coffee with me honey, asking works just as well.” He chuckled, slowly slipping back into his routine self.

Dorian tilted his head and raised a borderline devious eyebrow. “So what’s your name and what are the chances of having you join me for a drink?” If he was going to be distracted, might as well do it properly.


((So so so sorry for being so late with this! Sickness knocked out my Dorian muse but I'm feeling a lot better now and getting back into it!))

[Scimitar]

As Marina took the gentleman's hand, she kept herself from wincing as a newborn bruise throbbed on her shin. She stood and stuttered her thanks as he busied himself collecting her various "Marina" items: various bottles of lotion, a collection of makeup, a small pack of tissues, a coin purse, some ticket stubs, etc. When he turned away from her, she promptly pinched her cheeks to make them red, feigning a "Marina" blush, and gathered up some loose tampons. She knew that a few of them were actually disguised blow darts and she stuffed them to the bottom of the bag, now acting both as Scimitar and Marina.

Marina flashed a weak smile at his question. "I think so." She watched him. Never before had she encountered a personality she couldn't decipher by looks alone, yet here was her first puzzle. She determined that he was either confused and unreadable, or extremely cool and controlled and not letting anything show. Marina was finding it hard to carry on small talk and not scrutinize him as Scimitar wanted. To really become the mindless flirt, she scanned him top to bottom and tried to find something to distract Scimitar with. Ah! The red hair! Slightly long, shaggy hair wasn't really her type, but his hair wasn't just ginger, it was red. Red was her favorite; both Marina's and Scimitar's. That was something she couldn't bear to lose in her identity shift.

Marina was a little disappointed when he acted so serious. Sure, he was a real gentleman, but Marina hated guys who were stiff. She was hoping for another distraction for her problems with Scimitar. It was obvious nothing was broken; she had only tripped. It wasn't supposed to hurt her at all, as she was trained in martial arts, but being in a pair of heels had literally thrown her off and given her bruises. They hadn't seemed worth the effort.

Marina wasn't prepared for the sudden flirting. He even laughed. She giggled back. Autograph? She wondered if he had really been about to hurt that woman. Scimitar glowered in Marina's head, accusatory as she spat an "I know what I saw." Marina pushed Scimitar to the side.

The man's eyebrow's arched as he asked her for a drink. A drink would be a nice distraction from being an assassin, she thought. Coyly, she gave him a crooked smile and lightly tossed her hair. "I'm Marina," she sent his flaming hair another glance and added, "and coffee would be great."

No worries! I'm really sorry you weren't feeling well; I'm glad you're better! And welcome back!

[dorian]

“Dorian,” he offered in return. Something sparkled in his eyes at the brief signs of sheepishness in his new company. His old foster mother was quickly being forgotten. “Just a coffee?” He sounded a little disappointed when he got back up to his feet, but a smile stayed on his face. “I was hoping we could go somewhere a little more entertaining than a coffee shop. Like, per say…” His eyes swept across their surroundings and he looked south. “That new futuristic nightclub on Doe Flight Avenue.” His smile was quick to shape into a grin when suave eyes returned to her. The actor casually crossed his arms over his designer suit and a touch of mischief slipped into them. “My friends say they’ve had quite transcendent experiences in there and I’ve been curious to see what they’re talking about…”

Dorian took this moment to truly observe Marina. She had the most interesting green to her eyes and that long black hair made her look effortlessly elegant. The coy looks she sent over from time to time prodded him to be careful but persistent. “So, unless you thoroughly insist otherwise, graceful evening truffle, I would like your company in The Spacewarp.” Wandering to her side he offered her an arm to take. If she accepted the new direction they would start walking towards the nightclub.

All around them, orange evening was slowly shadowing into night. “So tell me, Marina, what do you like to do for fun?” Dorian gave her a little look, one eyebrow raised with some curiosity. The actor’s life consisted of fun entirely when he wasn’t working. Even working was a form of fun to him. It was probably best that the wonderful creature by his side now had stopped him from doing something very stupid. He would never have forgiven himself for slapping so much fun out of his life through whatever carelessness he would have inflicted on the woman that had left to safety in a cab.


((Little note: Dorian’s hair isn’t long, it’s like in the signature.))

[Scimitar]

Ah, so he was that kind of gentleman. Marina slipped her purse back on. Scimitar wanted nothing to do with Dorian. He wasn't a serious person, and after all she didn't like men. Or women. But that was what was so attractive to Marina; a part of her wanted to forget that she was an assassin and have fun. As soon as she acknowledged that fact, Scimitar's personality pulled Marina away with such force that a scowl appeared on their face. It disappeared in a moment as the Marina side struggled to gain control and won.

"Did you just call me a 'graceful evening truffle'?" Marina teased, giving him a look. She thought that was something more amusing than strange of him to say, so she played along . "Well, if you insist."

"For fun, hmm?" Marina paused. Of course, she was almost always Scimitar, who killed mutants for fun, but she really had to tap into Marina's personality to figure out what she did in her spare time. "I have a custom 2012 Yamaha Raider SCL." She smirked and took his arm. It was true, and she loved her motorcycle. She knew her fair share of mechanics, more than the common "damsel-in-distress." Marina let him lead her towards the club he mentioned. Fun-hating Scimitar had only been in a club once before, and she was on a mission to seduce a particularly difficult mutant. She could only capture him after he had gotten too drunk to talk clearly, for his power depended on his words. This would be a completely different circumstance, but she still decided then and there that she would drink little, if any at all. She was still an assassin, and who knows what secrets she would spill if drunk. That would not be an option.

"So... The Spacewarp. I've heard of it, but never been there. Is it any different from other nightclubs?" Marina wasn't scared. If any trouble arose, Scimitar would protect them both. She was concealing enough weapons to take down the whole Spanish Armada.

That is long XD *switches "long" to "shaggy"* Fixed it! Better? :)