Divorce | Desmond & Mona Libera (itsnotyouitsme) wrote in forgotten_gods, @ 2010-06-15 10:40:00 |
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Entry tags: | asmodeus, divorce |
"I despise the pleasure of pleasing people that I despise."
Who: Divorce [Mona] (itsnotyouitsme), with special guest appearance by Asmodeus (carnaldesire).
What: Part two of Divorce's experiment with Hell.
When: Sometime early June.
Where: The southwestern complex Divorce rented out from Nuclear Power.
Warnings: Allusions to metaphysical torture. Meh.
There's another video which goes live to the god blogs while Divorce continues to amuse itself.
[Black screen. A chuff-chuff-click noise and the lights come on; ASMODEUS is center shot. He still hangs just as last shown, contained inside a chalk-and-salt circle, arms chained to the ceiling. His shoes, coat and tie have been removed, but otherwise little has changed.]
"Good morning, sunshine."
[MONA. Her low voice with its fuck-me accent slinks across the room long before the goddess herself does. She pads on-screen from the left, stops, rests knuckles on cocked hips. Nothing. ASMODEUS barely acknowledges her; maybe he's drugged? Unconscious? Broken? Any combination thereof? MONA'S back is to the camera and she's not telling.]
"Hm."
[She slips off her heels before tying back her hair; she'd appear to mean business, losing her blouse in favor of the sleeveless shell beneath. MONA is painstakingly exact in hanging the shirt over a chair back -- just so, no wrinkles -- only turning back to Divorce's captive once everything's deemed satisfactory. Her profile is visible as she walks a slow circle around the Hell King. Strong jaw, full mouth curved, smiling eyes with all the predatory depth of a crocodile. She looks lean despite the breast-waist-hip silhouette, hungry as the day is long.]
"Desmond was hoping to leave you lucid, you know. Presumably to let you chat with our audience. I suppose he'd like to try and make you beg in public."
[A rough-edged noise crawls out of ASMODEUS' throat: a sneer or snort of something like disdain. MONA'S husky laughter quickly follows, even as she drums manicured fingertips across her thighs.]
"Yes, I quite thought so, too. But you mustn't let him get you down, darling. There's still plenty of fun for us to have."
[Divorce's female half moves just outside the circle which contains ASMODEUS. The tips of her toes almost touch it, and she leans forward on the balls of her feet as though to whisper across the distance against the demon's mouth. She's three-quarters turned from the camera, but her delight seems to run through her entire body, an electric current.]
"God's such a subjective thing. Don't get me wrong; the Grand Prosecutor is adorable -- don't pout, you're utterly twee yourself -- but let's face facts, hm? You're on your way out."
[Reaching behind her to point blindly toward the camera -- her aim is unerring -- MONA turns the movement into a languid c'est la vie shrug.]
"You, he, Him, the great ineffable lot of you. This is our show. Our show, Asmodei. And what's ours? Is ours."
[Divorce drops back onto the flat of her feet, moving around ASMODEUS again. She stops not quite behind him, but close enough; so long as she's facing the camera, MONA doesn't care for the minutiae. She's having fun, and it's rare that she lets herself go these days. Running both hands up her sides, what would ordinarily be a sexual gesture turns into an abbreviated, cat-like stretch, hands clasped high over her head as though mimicking -- or mocking -- the position ASMODEUS is chained in.
A moment later she laces her fingers and cracks her knuckles, the sound brutally loud. The camera can't pick up on Divorce's power or presence lurking in the room like some great heaving predator in wait, and yet there's something... Something like a high noon heatwave flows through the air. MONA'S harpist's hands seem to stroke it, ply it, arms moving and twisting in an intricate dance to music only she can hear. That perfect man-shaped shell ASMODEUS has been trapped inside reacts in turn, rocking and writhing while invisible threads are manipulated. MONA says nothing. Her smile is serene, quietly beatific despite the hot, hard flash in her eyes. The whole scene is equal parts disturbing and hypnotic, like a lullaby gone wrong.
Whatever MONA is doing to ASMODEUS causes tension to sing through the room, tangible enough to be read even by the camera recording it all. Countless miles away, whatever ties exist between the Hell King and LUST go slack; Divorce is conducting serious work. When she's done and ASMODEUS has gone limp, eyes rolled back into his pretty head, MONA relaxes as though she's just come down from the world's finest orgasm. She hums and purrs her way across the room, tossing her ponytail over a shoulder with a curt flick of her head, then bends at the waist to greet the camera personally.]
"This is part one, chickadees. Fancy it a practice run for the big guns; we'll drag the rest of Christendom down in good time."
[After dropping a cheerful wink straight at the camera, she smiles prettily and turns it off. The screen goes black.]