obcasio: (pic#14014449)
Mallory ([personal profile] obcasio) wrote2020-04-04 07:03 pm

OPEN POST


anything goes
spawnofsatan: (210)

[personal profile] spawnofsatan 2020-05-29 01:12 am (UTC)(link)
[ He's in no rush to finish this, feeling almost serene underneath the moon's glow in the middle of a cemetery. About the only thing he'd like to do at the moment is continue to bask in the feeling of her entrapped power. It's like the first burst of spring air after a long, cold winter.

Michael may be many things- deceit incarnate, the conniving voice nestled at the back of a mind, the whisper of doubt- but he isn't heartless. Striking someone while they're turned is cowardice. When he eliminates them, it will be as he's watching the light leave their eyes and he will accept no substitute. ]


You would be surprised at what a simple 'Hail Satan' will get you.

[ She gets to her feet with practiced grace, and he does have to admit she's quite pretty for a witch. Looks aren't as much of a saving grace as mortals are lead to believe. Her power, though? That's a temptation.

He laughs, high and light, waving off her question with a flourish of his hand as he gets to his feet. His strides are confident, and his back straightens as he closes a bit of the distance between them. Out of arm's reach for the moment, but he didn't need to be in her immediate vicinity in order to do her catastrophic harm. Michael clasps his arms behind his back, digits drumming against his elbow. ]


Rest assured, the plan continues to be your coven's destruction... But I find my concentration arrested.

spawnofsatan: (341)

that's quarantine baby, also same hat

[personal profile] spawnofsatan 2020-07-05 12:48 am (UTC)(link)
[ His eyes never leave her, committing each minute detail into memory- the way pollen has clung to the velvety fabric about her shoulders, the distinct shades of brown and flaxen copper woven into her long hair. She's quite petite so close, and she has a scent clinging to her that is both familiar and unknown. There's the same smell of incense that all witches seem to carry with them with their incessant purifying and cleansing. It stinks of frankincense and sage, but there is a floral note- some sort of perfume. Dainty and feminine.

Michael circles her as best he can while maintaining the distance that edges so much closer. Predatory, in any case. He offers a hum, a placating smile on his face. ]


It's inevitable, you know. Everything has to end eventually, even you have to see that.

[ Perhaps she doesn't, he thinks idly. How could she, when every fiber of her being is its own sunbeam? He cants his head to the side, expression one of curiosity. ]

Afraid of the dark, little songbird?

[ Like an unbidden temptation, he reaches out, fingers brushing against the edges of a stray tendril of her hair. ]