Post by Dante on Nov 29, 2012 0:12:52 GMT -5
[bg=black][atrb=width,498,true] My word for dark rhymes with your word for light and it's not quite as pretty as the pictures you painted but those were just afterthoughts And all new thieves are after us I think they're after our heads The demon prince arrived outside Death's Pale Hand after disconnecting himself from his realm. Each realm was its own plane and all were held in a delicate balance. Traveling between them was simple when understood and pretty basic. One simple dematerialised from one realm and faded back into existence in another. It appeared to Dante that the dreary rainy weather from his home realm had followed him to the open realm. Here in this realm was the marketplace, the council hall, the arena, and this meeting place. They all existed upon a sparse stretch of land, and were frequently busy. The arrogant prince quickly passed through the doorway into the building. Black stripes adorned his visage, and streaks were visible beneath the open vest he wore. He had considered going to the arena to look for an opponent, but a skirmish in the arena on a day like this would involve a muddy floor which much resembled black muck. Dante preferred a fair fight and wanted to avoid the risks that came with fighting in the mud. He walked confidently to a corner of the main room that faced the rest of the open space. In this corner, the floor was lowered a few steps to create a sunken seating area. Dante situated himself with his back in the corner and sat on the cushioned seating, stretching his legs out in front of him. His arms rested on the lip of the backrest, and his head tilted back, allowing him to survey the room through a lowered gaze. The demon prince had not been himself lately. Since the death of his father, his melancholy had so far been unlifted. His mood remained dour on a daily basis, rarely lifting. In his sparring matches with Nicholae, he had become increasingly aggressive, hitting harder and faster, no longer tempering his blows. Despite being close to Nicholae, he showed his friend little mercy in their skirmishes. It was only afterward, when Nicholae would lay his hand on Dante's shoulder to signify the end of the fight, that the tension would leave his body and Dante would be able to rest. He fought to tire himself, to physically wear himself down so that he could rest mentally. He did this day in, day out, in an attempt to mitigate the heavy feelings he had in the recent turn of events. Now bombs light the sky like Our fireworks just like The ones that ignited the first time our eyes met But this time it's over wars Your payback, you're wanting more is gonna make this all over for us Note: This is before Dante's summoning, so I'm using liquid time a little. Clothes War Paint |