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Post by Manah on Feb 3, 2020 18:30:44 GMT -5
(OOC: Welcome to the game, Janus!) Persephone was standing before her easel, her - yet - blank canvas awaiting her touch, as she stood in her functional yet nonetheless luxurious quarters in her home, the higher floors of Fisk Tower, Manhattan. She had her brushes, her paint, and palette close at hand. All that remained was to let her talent do the talking for her, while the room, silent around her, remained still in anticipation. |
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Post by Janus on Feb 3, 2020 19:52:01 GMT -5
She closes her eyes and she looks, staring at the picture in her mind.
It isn't always like this, on the good days she goes out into the park, paints ducks on the lake, or people jogging. Those images are real, alive, bright, and vibrant. Some days they are more vibrant than others, but that isn't too bad.
This isn't one of those days, this is a day full of eyes like deep pits, of skin that twists into shades of grey and green, of long clawed fingers and hair that blossomed into dark feathers.
She calls him 'the feather man', he isn't real. He is one of the easy ones to spot. Her artists eyes taking in every detail that her mind conjures up, deconstructing, analysing, watching for the inconsistancies that her mind can never quite get right.
Her eyes open and her brush is already on the canvas, blacks, greens and greys all merging together to purge this fantasy from her mind. The red of the suit he had been wearing, the subtle shades of brown of his violin.
She laughs for a moment at his expression, both monstrous and comical as he played for her. Always the same haunting melody, never truly there, never truly real.
She knew violin playing of course, her father had taken her to a concert only last week. There she had seen melodies sparkle in the air, felt them as they had tugged at her. She had cried with joy as they lived, born from the violinist bow and mourned as they died, drifting off into the blackness of the concert hall.
The feather man's tune never did that, it wasn't real enough to do that and that was why she painted. To rid herself of the not real and get back the real. At least until it happened again.
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Post by Manah on Feb 16, 2020 20:02:44 GMT -5
(OOC: I can't help but notice you did not spend any stone for this, lol. Yet this was a beautiful description, so I will assume you did.)
Her work was going well as her brush danced on the canvas in accordance to her wishes, feelings and whims, until she was interrupted by a noise. Nothing strange or unusual, that is. Merely that of a door which opened, then closed, followed by the familiar steps of a large, imposing man as he stepped into the room.
Wilson Fisk observed his daughter at work with a subtle smile on his lips, remaining silent at first as he admired her talent made manifest.
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Post by Janus on Feb 16, 2020 20:36:49 GMT -5
She turned and beamed a smile at him, the huge imposing presence that made her feel so safe.
She didn't need to see him to know his face, the bald head, the strong jaw, the piercing blue eyes.
Even when those eyes were full of teeth, or when the head was covered in veins of pulsing orange light. None of it mattered, he was there, he was real.
A playful smirk crossed her face and the painting started to alter a little. The feather man's face took on a slightly nervous expression as a huge shadow from somewhere just out of sight fell over him. The shadow of a huge bald headed man. Her guardian, her protector, her father.
(OOC - Yea sorry about that. She'd have been/will continue to spend 7 stones into her artist action per round. No need to hurry.)
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Post by Manah on Mar 2, 2020 7:14:00 GMT -5
"An impressive work of art, as usual, daughter", said the voice behind her, Fisk recognizing the feather man from her own descriptions in the past. If he could, he would strangle those chimeras plaguing his daughter to death to free her of those monstrosities, but he was all too aware that physical strength was, unfortunately, not the answer here. Instead, he gently put his large hand on her shoulder as he admired her work, quite a masterpiece as usual.
"There's no hurry, of course", he said. He'd always made sure that there was no hurry. If she had an appointment, he made sure to pay extra for the privilege to go when it suited her the most. "But... would you be willing to go out and meet someone? Someone who might be able to help you?" he asked.
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Post by Janus on Mar 2, 2020 15:00:19 GMT -5
Persephone closed her eyes and sighed at the touch. It was warm and solid and she let herself revel in it for a moment.
"I think he's a bit scared of you." She said with a small smile. "You make him want to hide. He only knows one tune though, which is a shame. Perhaps he needs music lessons."
It was a joke, she knew he wasn't real, but sometimes it was funny to make people think she didn't. People didn't pay attention to the crazy girl if they thought nothing sunk in and that meant her father could have her around more.
She knew her father hid his 'business dealings' from her, and those business dealings were in something dangerous. The sheer number of armed men in their building alone was a big enough clue. It didn't matter, he was real, solid, dependable.
"This one is just about finished. Let me wash up and I'll be ready."
She would change. She might be crazy, but that didn't mean she had to look the part.
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Post by Manah on Mar 15, 2020 19:42:00 GMT -5
"He better hide", Fisk said, smirking. "If I ever got my hands on him for real, I'd make him regret ever daring to trouble you."
She knew he meant it, and then some. He was very protective of her, and woe to anyone who would make the mistake to wrong her if he had any say about it. The feather man was simply luckier than most, not being physically present for him to break.
"Good", he said warmly as he turned around. "I'll wait for you at the door."
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Post by Janus on Mar 17, 2020 19:06:48 GMT -5
Leaving her apartment was a routine, she practiced it every time. First everything went back into its proper place. Paints in the paint drawer, brushes left in their trays to soak. Dirty clothes in the hamper, fingers and face clean, out door clothes on and straight, satchel with her pad and pencils, phone and wallett.
Everything right and in its place. That way no matter what her senses told her, she knew where everything was.
The canvas was left out to dry, she could leave that as she often did. One piece of disorder in an otherwise ordered world. The painting clothes on the floor would wait too, she might have something new to paint when she got back.
She arrived at the door only 15 minutes later took her red coat from the coat rack and put her sun glasses on.
It felt like a red coat kind of a day.
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Post by Manah on Apr 13, 2020 0:12:13 GMT -5
(OOC: I rolled a pretty interesting combination of powers for you. This'll be fun. XD)
Her father smiled, leading her outside, himself wearing one of his usual classy and expensive business suits. Fisk barely ever leave his tower on his own and without some of his most trusted men with him, but when he moved around with his daughter, he never brought anyone else along unless absolutely necessary, be it for her own safety or to make sure no one said or did anything stupid around her.
He brought her to one of his cars, a black Sedan with no especially distinctive feature. Or at least, so it would seem had it not looked like it was currently on fire in the girl's eyes. Still, given how her father clearly didn't notice anything nor seemed to care one bit as the flames touched him when he got close, she easily recognized the hallucination for what it was. "Here", Fisk said, opening the door for her.
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Post by Janus on Apr 13, 2020 8:13:23 GMT -5
"Could you guide me in please? My brain is telling me silly things." She said, closing her eyes and walking forward with her hands stretched out in front of her.
"I really hate it when things are on fire, it makes everything else seem dull. Maybe I should paint it, though I'm not sure how to make it surreal enough."
She opened her eyes once inside the car half hoping that the flames were still there. Knowing what being inside a burning car looked like would be quite interesting.
There was a better question though. What was this telling her? That was the question her therapist always asked.
What did burning mean to her. Fear was the obvious answer. Everyone was afraid of fire, burning was the most awful painful way to die. She had burned her fingers on a hot plate only yesterday, the pain had been horrid. The thought of feeling that pain all over her, never ending, that was worse than her hallucinations. Maybe that was why hell was always depicted as burning.
So fear, but fear of what? The car was the clue. It was the means by which she went to places, new places, places where she did not know what to expect, where she might not know what was real and what was false. She would be out of control.
She was scared of being out of control. Her memory told her what to expect in places she had already been to, but now she was going somewhere new. Seeing someone she had never met before.
She put her hand into her fathers and squeezed. He was there, he was with her, protecting her, guiding her.
With that she took out her sketch pad and pencils and started drawing. It was a remedy, a way for her brain to focus, she could determine the shape of the reality that came into being on the paper. She would take back control.
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Actions
Artist 7
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Post by Manah on May 27, 2020 17:09:43 GMT -5
(OOC: I have to say, your roleplay is nothing short of freaking amazing.)
Unfortunately, the flames vanished upon entering the car, turning into little more than specs of light, akin to fireflies in the night drawn to the previous campfire, minus the campfire, and the night. The vision was gone, and in its place, what she figured to be reality of her father getting behind the wheel, and beginning to drive through the streets of the bustling metropolis. She was fairly sure, nonetheless, that some of the things she saw weren't actually there - but they were minor details as opposed to her more intense visions. Her father began speaking as he drove.
"The man we are going to see is, as far as I know, the best expert in his field. I'm told he is capable of... quite literally... miracles. He has accepted to see us in his home, away from preying eyes. I am confident that he can be trusted. He is a good man", he explained. "Is that okay with you?"
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Post by Janus on May 28, 2020 5:12:06 GMT -5
(OOC - Loving the game and the character)
Persephone nodded, then after a moments thought realised her father couldn't see her as her was concentrating on the road ahead took a deep break and replied.
"I'll be OK. I'm a little bit scared but it's just about going somewhere new."
She pondered what to say next, and then realised there was nothing that needed saying. Her father knew all about her visions and how she felt. How embarising it was not being sure what a new person looked like when she was staring straight at them.
This wasn't a good day, but then if this person couldn't help her when she was at her worst when could he help her?
She was as safe as she could be with her father there beside her and as her therapist said so often. 'New experiences challenge your mind. They are good for you, even if they are uncomfortable.'
This would certainly be uncomfortable, but her father was rarely prone to exaggeration, so if he though this man could help her, maybe he could.
She turned to face forward and closed her eyes. The bumps in the road would make it impossible to draw but she could paint in her mind, drawing canvas after canvas and then storing them away for later and that would help.
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Post by Manah on Jun 4, 2020 20:52:45 GMT -5
Her father nodded as he kep driving, remaining silent from then on, giving her the opportunity to keep drawing in her mind for several minutes, despite strange sights still attempting to distract her once in a while.
Eventually, the car came to a stop... seemingly in front of an empty plot just outside the city... where a blond-haired, unshaven man was standing, wearing a white shirt, black pants, necktie and dress shoes, and a tan trenchcoat. His appearance, while uncommon, was nothing especially strange, nor was the fact he was seemingly waiting for them smoking a cigarette next to an empty lot. But what was, indeed, odd... was that any and all strange visions attempting to attract the girl's attention straight-out vanished the instant they parked the car close to the man.
"Hello there. This the lass?" the man asked.
"My daughter, Persephone", Fisk responded, getting out of the car to open the door and help her out. "...This is the man I told you about. He's..."
The man in question walked up to her. "John Constantine's the name. Nice to meet you", he said, examining her. "How you doin'?"
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Post by Janus on Jun 5, 2020 6:06:36 GMT -5
Persephone looked around in a mixture of curiosity and shock, removing her sunglasses and putting them in her pocket. Her hallucinations didn't just 'stop'. Certainly they came and went, but it usually took hours, if not days of hard work to make them go away. They faded over time becoming less and less noticeable.
This was something new.
"Good morning, Mr Constantine." She said, her expression becoming a mix of confusion and curiosity. She held out her hand, head tilted to one side, eyes slightly narrowed with an unspoken question.
"I'm... Surprised."
Her artists eyes took him in, every twist and turn. The (being generous) 'five o'clock' shadow, the slightly dishevelled shirt and tie, the lit cigarette. He was someone who was trying to stand out by not standing out. Like they very act of conformity was an act of rebellion.
The concept appealed to her artists sense of the ironic and that in itself told her plenty about the man. There was not the professional neatness and aura of comfort that came with psychiatrists and doctors. With him there was a hardness, like a cop or a soldier. He wasn't a physician, he was a warrior and this empty lot wasn't a place of care, it was a training ground.
She took in a breath at the realisation, biting her lip and letting out a slow shuddering exhalation. Whatever was about to happen it would be like nothing she had done before and that thought frightened her.
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Post by Manah on Jun 6, 2020 16:54:54 GMT -5
Constantine merely smirked, shaking her hand.
"Please, just call me John", he said with an almost playful tone. "...Surprised, you say? How so?"
Before she could answer, however, Fisk took a step forward. "Constantine. You said this was your home address. Where's the home?" he asked.
"Hidden. I thought it best to spare your beloved daughter the rather... unusual... appearance of my house. So... today will be door only", he said, snapping his left hand's fingers... making an old wooden front door appearing floating in mid air about half a foot above ground in the middle of nowhere on the empty lot. "May I invite you both in?" he said, taking a puff of his cigarette.
"For God's sake, John, couldn't you make this a bit more normal?" Fisk grumbled.
"Trust me. It's a lot less weird than it could have gotten."
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