Post by Jeremiah Arkham - Black Mask on Aug 18, 2016 13:41:17 GMT -5
Death not meant for him? How would the good doctor have reacted to his admission? What would he do if Jeremiah told him he’d stepped off Gotham Bay Bridge? How he plunged and felt the rush of the icy air against his face and hair? His heart had surged into his throat and strangled any screams he could have made…would have probably made. Oh, how the man who had fallen then had been so terrified, regretful, lost…broken. Pitiful. Then the winter water, the frigid cold had closed over his head and weighed down his clothes. The last vestiges of air exploded from his lungs at some point. Briny water took its place. He sank into the blackness…
He had heard of the phoenix mythos. The bird of flame that when death arrived burned to death and from its self-immolation turned to ashes. Yet from those ashes small and new emerged the creature anew, changed completely. Jeremiah felt no guilt regarding his actions even in remembrance. Why should be? He was here now wasn’t he? Here he was, reborn from the waters that had drowned him. He grinned and his eyes burned; a laughed bubbled from his lips. And now, slowly, oh so slowly, he too turned his gaze to Heather and watched her transform for the first time.
It was absolutely beautiful. Heather and VerMillion, now those were phoenixes.
Jeremiah leaned back once more, legs spreading obscenely and body sagging in complete relaxation. Yet let there be no mistake. VerMillion had his rapt attention; this scene had his rapt attention. Yet he had no need to cower in fear, however, as the woman approached them. He knew this siren’s so obvious and frightful rage was not his to bear and even so…he was exhilarated by it. He was almost incapable of removing his attention from her and—no, he would not take his eyes from her. He drank her in and when her path suddenly moved to him he shifted, but not in apprehension. No, no. In excitement.
His fingers curled loosely in a few strands of her hair as she leaned in. He met her half-way, eyes lidding as he returned her kiss, familiar and unabashed. He licked his lips casually when she retreated and his hand fell back to his side.
“You’re welcome,” he purred and slid his eyes to Jonathan’s. Amusement tugged at the corners of his mouth as his smile stretched. He returned to his original lounging for the moment and relished as the action ascended like the crescendo of an orchestra.
My oh my, oh my…Jonathan had gotten himself in trouble now. Aversion to the opposite sex? Jeremiah nodded along in sympathy with the fiery-haired woman. Yes, he’d noticed that. Traumatic experiences regarding maternal figures set the stage, are sometimes the entire cause. If not, later and other traumatic experiences with the fairer sex exasperated it and ta-dah, Jonathan Crane. Jeremiah’s gaze flicked from the slight figure of VerMillion as she clung to Jonathan to the man’s willowy presence.
Fear of women? Distrust of them. Oh, they can be so nasty. Beauty can hide the ugliness inside, but honest devotion?
Jeremiah once more looked between them, eyes dancing. He stood. He circled the duo once and then twice before he pressed to Jonathan’s back. He spoke against his ear.
“I’d kiss her if I were you,” he whispered. An arm came around Jonathan. Jeremiah pressed his hand against the once doctor’s stomach, over the scar he’d left him with—the once of which he had a twin to upon Arkham’s own abdomen. His other hand came up to Jonathan’s jaw. He stroked his thumb along his jawline in an almost soothing, repeating caress.
“I’ll kiss her for you, if you need a demonstration on how to properly kiss a woman such as her,” his teeth scraped Jonathan’s earlobe as he ran his fingers along the other’s scar he could feel beneath the shirt.
He had heard of the phoenix mythos. The bird of flame that when death arrived burned to death and from its self-immolation turned to ashes. Yet from those ashes small and new emerged the creature anew, changed completely. Jeremiah felt no guilt regarding his actions even in remembrance. Why should be? He was here now wasn’t he? Here he was, reborn from the waters that had drowned him. He grinned and his eyes burned; a laughed bubbled from his lips. And now, slowly, oh so slowly, he too turned his gaze to Heather and watched her transform for the first time.
It was absolutely beautiful. Heather and VerMillion, now those were phoenixes.
Jeremiah leaned back once more, legs spreading obscenely and body sagging in complete relaxation. Yet let there be no mistake. VerMillion had his rapt attention; this scene had his rapt attention. Yet he had no need to cower in fear, however, as the woman approached them. He knew this siren’s so obvious and frightful rage was not his to bear and even so…he was exhilarated by it. He was almost incapable of removing his attention from her and—no, he would not take his eyes from her. He drank her in and when her path suddenly moved to him he shifted, but not in apprehension. No, no. In excitement.
His fingers curled loosely in a few strands of her hair as she leaned in. He met her half-way, eyes lidding as he returned her kiss, familiar and unabashed. He licked his lips casually when she retreated and his hand fell back to his side.
“You’re welcome,” he purred and slid his eyes to Jonathan’s. Amusement tugged at the corners of his mouth as his smile stretched. He returned to his original lounging for the moment and relished as the action ascended like the crescendo of an orchestra.
My oh my, oh my…Jonathan had gotten himself in trouble now. Aversion to the opposite sex? Jeremiah nodded along in sympathy with the fiery-haired woman. Yes, he’d noticed that. Traumatic experiences regarding maternal figures set the stage, are sometimes the entire cause. If not, later and other traumatic experiences with the fairer sex exasperated it and ta-dah, Jonathan Crane. Jeremiah’s gaze flicked from the slight figure of VerMillion as she clung to Jonathan to the man’s willowy presence.
Fear of women? Distrust of them. Oh, they can be so nasty. Beauty can hide the ugliness inside, but honest devotion?
Jeremiah once more looked between them, eyes dancing. He stood. He circled the duo once and then twice before he pressed to Jonathan’s back. He spoke against his ear.
“I’d kiss her if I were you,” he whispered. An arm came around Jonathan. Jeremiah pressed his hand against the once doctor’s stomach, over the scar he’d left him with—the once of which he had a twin to upon Arkham’s own abdomen. His other hand came up to Jonathan’s jaw. He stroked his thumb along his jawline in an almost soothing, repeating caress.
“I’ll kiss her for you, if you need a demonstration on how to properly kiss a woman such as her,” his teeth scraped Jonathan’s earlobe as he ran his fingers along the other’s scar he could feel beneath the shirt.