RPA Valentine’s 2024: Angels and Devils

[ArtisticVicu]

Spoiler: Monday 12th February (Angel) 

Her laughter rang like bells in that massive hall, clear and crisp and easy to pick out among the raucous noise from the rest of the audience. Had he not done the act so much he could do it in his sleep, he would have stumbled as his gaze immediately fell to her at the sound. He drank in the massive smile on her face, the glint of tears in her eyes as she fought to keep watching even while laughing so hard, and the ease that had filled that once stiff posture for as long as he could afford himself before he was moving into the next bit and was forced to look elsewhere.

It wouldn’t do to be caught staring at the royal heir anyway.

When he one among those picked to join the troupe of court jesters, he had been thrilled. When she had beamed at him from her father’s side, his heart fluttered in his chest and his grin got a bit larger. Courtesy didn’t quite extend properly to the court jesters so the massive grins they all bore would be normal enough that no one would see his grow. Except for maybe her, for her eyes lit up even more at his response.

He quickly learned the royal heir had a reputation among the troupe of being difficult to please when it came to entertainment. He had been surprised by that because she had seemed quite pleased by the performance that had gotten him into the troupe in the first place. It did not take more than a single performance with the troupe to understand why she had such a reputation. The troupe leader was a sleazy piece of work that created content the King and Court found entertaining enough but would bore any of the younger crowd. Or just be in poor taste outright. To perform such horrendous material portraying women as nothing more than property, making them the butt of the joke- of course the royal heir wasn’t going to find any of it funny.

So he changed the script. At the cost of his own reputation, time and time again he changed the script while they performed, turning the joke into something harmless, something fun, something that got that sweet sound to ring through the raucous every time. Those who had joined with him were more than content to follow his lead, assisting him with correcting the errors of the troupe leader. It saved his life when the troupe leader and his cronies came after him one night after they were rightly humiliated on stage for what they were still calling ‘jokes’.

It was his request for leniency that saved the troupe leader from the death penalty but that was it. Years in prison and hard labor awaited the man and, surviving that, he would never be able to perform again without risking more time.

The heart-shaped box had startled him when he had returned home after the sentence had been passed. It was a burst of color in among the mute colors he preferred after spending his day surrounded by the vibrant colors the troupe used and wore. It was a brilliant red against the greyish blue, smaller than his hand spread wide, and about as light as he was expecting it to be. What surprised him even more was the letter folded tight within. It was several pages long but the normally elegant scrawl he had seen in passing lacked the normal elegant flare, a show of either how quickly it had been written or another side of the writer he had yet to see. The letter itself turned out to be several missives finally sent his way, several of which were words of thanks for his efforts in changing the script while others were words of appreciation for his performances. The last of the missives was the most recent, speaking of the court case and the relief that he had been saved from the former troupe leader’s brutality, that ended with a simple request.

When he arrived at the designated hour several days later, he could no longer deny how taken he was by her. First it had been her laugh and the way she seemed to come to life with a massive grin on her face. Now it was the brilliant intelligence hidden behind those watchful eyes as they enjoyed dinner on her balcony well into the evening, the staff drifting through to make sure that darkness never truly fell between them and that there was nothing to want for; now it was her quick wit and kind heart as topics strayed to those he was certain weren’t supposed to be shared over an evening meal in polite company; now it was the glimpse of who she truly was as she allowed herself to relax and be herself, trusting him in a way he knew could be dangerous.

He had thought nothing of the summons months later. It was not unusual for the King to request the troupe leader to discuss matters of entertainment and schedules and since he was now acting troupe leader until the troupe leader’s paternal leave was over, he had been summoned quite a few times already. Not even the royal heir being present gave him any inclination that this particular summons would be any different, nor the lack of other folks beyond the two royals and few staff, so he had been taken aback when the King started questioning him - nearly interrogating him - before turning to the royal heir and offering his blessing to pursue a courtship.

It would take another day before the significance behind that statement finally sank in.

Spoiler: Tuesday 13th February (Angel) 

Sastasha had been a kitten the first time Bailey had taken her on the train. It had been quite the experience and once the novelty of it wore off - much like the novelty of getting to go outside with Bailey to shops and school and work - she quite enjoyed the train. People were always so happy to see her, amazed at her calm nature and ease in among so many strangers. They didn’t need to know that she was Bailey’s rock in those moments, that the reason why Sastasha purred so loudly was to keep her person calm in among the strangers. They didn’t need to know that she could tell when Bailey needed her to ignore the crowd in order to draw her person’s focus away from the dark thoughts and haunting memories. They didn’t need to know that she was all Bailey had.

“May I sit here?”

Sastasha studied the speaker, her tail flicking in agitation at the audacity of the human speaking to her person. The train wasn’t all that packed and there were plenty of other places they could sit so why-

“I’m currently working on a photo set and I usually take it from this seat-” the speaker was pointing at the seat Sastasha was currently sitting in, opposite her person- “but it’s ok if you want your space. I can get it on the next train.”

Bailey was already giving consent before the stranger was done talking, tugging on Sastasha’s leash. “No, go for it.” She leapt onto Bailey’s lap, immediately purring as she nuzzled her person’s chest. A sure hand stroked her head. “Is it for school or…”

“Gallery, actually.” The stranger sat opposite of Bailey, their massive backpack taking up the outside seat as they fiddled with the large camera in their hand. “I have a showing in a few weeks that my agent wanted more shots for so I’m doing a series about the beauty of the mundane.”

Sastasha curled up on Bailey’s lap as Bailey absentmindedly petted her back. “Really? Which gallery?”

The arts were always Bailey’s favorites. The number of times the two of them had visited museums and galleries were numerous, once Bailey had gotten the necessary permissions. Sastasha would never understand the complexities of humans no matter how many lives she lived. Still, she was quite pleased to see her person making friends with another like minded soul when it came to the arts. If nothing else, this stranger was at least helping Bailey as the train started to get more packed.

Tav - the stranger with the camera - greeted Bailey and Sastasha warmly when the two arrived for the debut at the gallery. Sastasha stayed curled in Bailey’s arms, purring like there was no tomorrow throughout most of the evening but she was quite proud of Bailey when her person actually mingled with the other strangers present. Once Tav was able to pull themself away from everyone congratulating them, Tav and Bailey - and Sastasha - ducked out of the crowded gallery and wandered the surrounding streets. No longer needed in the same manner as before, Sastasha was content to trot alongside the pair for most of the wandering, seeing as the pair would stop regularly at shop fronts or at food stalls and simply chat.

There was one moment where Tav excused themself to go use the restroom where Bailey picked Sastasha up again and curled around her in an all too familiar way. Thoroughly confused, Sastasha rubbed her head against Bailey’s face, purring loudly in hopes to soothe whatever had caused her person such stress, “I’m ok, Sastasha,” Bailey muttered into her fur. “Just trying to not overthink things.” And then, even quieter like it was forbidden to speak, “I really like them.”

And it seemed Tav liked Bailey in turn for Tav returned with a sheepish grin and the stuffed animal Bailey had been reluctant to not buy. “Here. I didn’t want you to go home without it so I got it for you.”

Sastasha clambered up onto Bailey’s shoulders as her person stood. “Tav-” Bailey started but Tav wasn’t done.

“I, ah, don’t know if you had anything else planned for the rest of the day but I was thinking we could go to the park and then dinner? There’s a carousal I’ve been wanting to go ride and take pictures of and I was hoping you would want to go with me.” And then, as if it dawned on them to clarify, “On a date. With me. The two of us. It would be a date.”

Bailey hugged the stuffed animal, pinning it where Sastasha normally laid and she was quite grateful the stuffed animal was there and not her. That hold would have hurt, not that Bailey ever held her that tight; her person cared too much about her to cause her harm like that. “You want to date me?”

Sastasha flicked her tail in exasperation. Of course her person wouldn’t ask the right question.

“If you’re amicable to it, yeah. But don’t feel pressured to do so! I’m quite alright remaining friends if you want to. I just thought that I would like to see if we were compatible in that way and the only way to tell is to go on a few dates. There’s nothing nefarious behind it. I’m not trying to get in yer pants or anything like that. It’s all genuine, innocent inquiring.”

Bailey giggled. Sastasha licked a paw, unamused. Her person soothed the anxiety pouring from Tav by reaching out and taking their hand. “I think that sounds like a lovely date.”

Tav deflated immediately. “Oh thank god. Because I came up with it when I passed that shop and thought about you wanting the stuffed animal and was worried you would think it silly for a first date and-”

Sastasha was tempted to hop onto Tav’s shoulders and calm them as she did Bailey but Bailey’s laugh and the hug that followed seemed to be calming enough.

The day Tav moved in, Sastasha knew her person would be ok without her. Things moved slowly around Bailey but that didn’t mean time did. Sastasha was getting old and it would only be a matter of time before she had to leave her person. Before that happened, though, she had to truly make sure Bailey would be ok without her.

It was too soon for her to leave Bailey but life seemed determined to separate them in earnest before long. The illness made eating hard and moving even harder, but she did manage to slip out the window. Where she was going and what she was doing she was only vaguely aware of but when Bailey and Tav found her, they found the kitten Sastasha had been hearing mewing for several days now, abandoned - by choice or not - by its mother. The kitten was in poor health but Bailey and Tav took good care of him, naming him Soot Sprite or Soot for short as he resembled a soot sprite from one of Tav’s favorite movies once the kitten was all cleaned up and healthy again.

Sastasha taught Soot how to take care of Bailey in her stead. Soot was far more playful than Sastasha had ever been but it made him no less attentive. In fact, it seemed to work better in some ways since Bailey also had Tav now. Still, Sastasha knew that should the illness take her as they all feared it would, her person would be in good hands.

“Hey there, old girl.” Tav’s hand brushed briefly against the top of her head a few times before tracing down her back long and languid as she stretched, waking from a pleasant nap. “Think you can help me for a minute?”

Sastasha yawned, stretching some more when Tav lifted her from her napping spot. Something dangled near her face and she batted at it, only half awake and thinking it was something to play with only to find it to be the tail of Tav’s braid. Tav chuckled, a low rumble in the person’s chest as they moved about before putting her down with Soot Sprite. Soot nosed her before licking her cheek, purring, as she realized Tav was actually put together in a way that was not common, especially for being about the house. Laying down, Sastasha watched as Tav fretted over a few things before nodding to themself and facing the door as it unlocked.

Sastasha didn’t quite understand what had happened or why Bailey and Tav were both crying but when she and Soot went to sooth their persons, there was metal around one of Bailey’s left fingers that glittered in the sunlight.

[ArtisticVicu]

Spoiler: Wednesday 14th February (Devil) 

Dearest Love

I hope this letter finds you well.

You would not believe the day I have had! The most incredible thing has occurred. I am not sure all that which you remember - after all, that conversation had been quite the many moons ago and I would not have expected it to make a lasting impression - so I will do my best to make a quick, succinct summary of my, well, hobby; though should today be only the start of everything, I have high hopes it will become something more than that!

Now, as you may recall, when we spoke all those moons ago I talked about my interest in lore and legends, particularly mythical beings and what truths their tales hold. There is a fascinating similarity between many different cultures and tales and I can’t help but wonder if there is a single being or a collection of beings who all these cultures talk about. Surely humankind has not simply generated such similar tales without similar influences. Is humanity that similar that we would generate the same story in response to similar yet different circumstances? Or to answer the same old questions?

Ah, I seem to have gotten off topic even after saying I would make things succinct.

The whole of it is that during one of my investigations in the origins of some of these tales has brought me into contact with one of these mythical beings. I cannot share more until we see each other again - who knows how many hands this letter will pass through before it makes it to you - and I would not wish to put my new friend’s existence at risk. However, know that the distance between us is forever closing and we shall see each other again very soon.

Everlasting Devotion

“Not even a signature?”

He shook his head, carefully placing the aged paper back into the equally aged box. “Not a single one. They always end with the same farewell.” He made a face. “As weird as it is.”

“Maybe it’s code?”

He raised an eyebrow as he looked over his shoulder at her even if she couldn’t see it through the mask and goggles. Standing at his back close enough he would have felt her body heat had it not been for his gear, it was a rather awkward look. “Not everything is written in code, Bennett.”

She shrugged. “No, but the way its written makes it clear there’s something to hide. Why else wouldn’t the writer specify anything in the countless letters we’ve flipped through?”

He couldn’t deny her there. There was an obvious trend between the lovers of offering as few details as possible but without having the letters the recipient had sent in response to the ones they had, they lacked half the story. The only thing they had going for them was the obvious organization of the letters. While there weren’t dates written plainly on the paper, whoever had received them had taken care to keep them in some semblance of order. He picked up the next letter and paused.

“What is it?”

He turned the paper over before righting it again. “This one’s different.”

“Obviously. Different how?”

He ignored the question and carefully unfolded the sheet. It was smaller than the others, for one. Barely half the size and it was clear it had been torn from another page as he pressed it flat. It lacked the wall of text the others had, simply hosting two hastily scrawled words.

He’s dead

“Well, that’s not ominous.”

He tipped the paper under the harsh lamp. “It was also sent with something contained within. A hard object; small. No telling what it was until we analyze the paper.”

There was a click behind him, one that set every hair on his body on end. “Ah, I had forgotten how far you humans had come.”

He carefully put the letter down before lifting both hands to show he was unarmed. “Bennett,” he tested but she only added pressure to the back of his helmet.

“And here I was hoping rereading the letters you had written would be enough to awaken you. You have two choices here: die by my hand once more or destroy the evidence.”

Indignation shot through him. “You can’t be serious. There’s nothing of important in any of these.”

“Isn’t there, Ed?”

“Ed?” he parroted, confusion thick in the word even as thoughts drifted through his head. He stared down at the letters spread out, finally seeing what ‘Bennett’ had been alluding to. “How involved with the war was he?” he asked carefully.

“I would say being King would make him very involved.”

“And you think I am him, what, reincarnated?”

“Oh, I know you are.”

That sounded almost like… “You’ve done this dance before.” A question as much as it was a statement.

The chuckle behind him was not kind. “Countless times.”

“Why?”

“Because you still won’t answer my question. After all that time together, you still chose to betray me and you never tell me why.”

That held dangerous implications. “And you think his reincarnated soul would be able to tell you after living lifetimes as a different person?”

Her lips were at his ear as she all but whispered, “Of course. You’ve betrayed her, haven’t you? This ‘Bennett’, bringing her here. You knew the legends but your curiosity is never sated by just hearing the stories. You have always needed to know about its origins, where it came from. Even at the cost of loved ones.”

[Kiki]

Spoiler: Mon, Feb 12 - Heart-Shaped Box - Devilish 

It was a Sunday afternoon, before church. Because of course it was. I was in a pretty frock, complete with ruffles – soft and delicate, demure and pious – perfect for an audience with the Lord.

Naturally, however, I was tasked with some innate errand of my mother’s – something she refused to do on her own: poke around the attic. It was the anniversary of my aunt’s death, you see, a day no more ironic than the one renowned for love, but Valentine’s Day. Mother said the copy of my aunt’s obituary was in the attic and we should have it for Valentine’s Day and mass that Sunday, so up to the attic I went. It was a pious thing to do.

Upset that I had entered the dusty attic in a cream-colored shirt was an understatement. Everything was musty, dark. The slightest movements made a plume of grey particles drift in the limited light, making me frustrated. What was I even supposed to look for?

In the low space, I crouched, reaching tentative exploring hands into boxes which hadn’t been touched seemingly since my aunt had died. I ran fingers over useless objects in U-Haul boxes filled to the brim, pushing them aside, my patience wearing thin. I curled fingers around my rosary in my pocket, begging for some kind of sign. I wanted out of this murky ceiling space.

And then, there it was: a devastatingly red box, small, sturdy. I lifted it gently from its resting place, and as I laid it in my hand like a small hurt bird, I realized it was shaped like a heart. This must be it.

Carefully prying the box open, out popped some folded pieces of paper almost like a quiet jack-in-the-box, fluttering to the ground. It did not startle me, as I expected to find the obituary in some kind of odd place. A gentle unfolding of yellowing paper found the image of my aunt staring back at me, a small paragraph under her, an excerpt of her life published for her wake, Valentine’s Day 3 years ago. I didn’t read what the text said – the only thing I noticed was where her eyes should be were two red scribbled marks, like X’s, though rushed. Where her mouth was, another line, this one crossed sideways like trail tracks – almost sewn shut, also in dark red marker. More dark red, across her forehead, like a gouge mark had been drawn as well.

Goosebumps rose on my arms.

Just then, the floor shifted behind me, and I startled. I quickly glanced back, but there was nothing there. Realizing the time, I went to shuffle the paper back into the box hurriedly, but I could not find the box. It had been carefully placed at my feet as I crouched inspecting the old obituary, but I could not find it.

A heart-shaped box containing a picture of my aunt, with disturbing marks across her face, gone in an instant. Brow furrowed, I left the attic, still holding the piece of obituary. I shoved it into my pocket, feeling the curl of paper cuddle against the firmness of my rosary.

Spoiler: Tues, Feb 13 - Last-Minute Gift - Angelic 

It wasn’t that I had forgotten, it was that I had run out of time. Things had been so hectic at work, and while I enjoyed being with them every weekend, it left no time to be secretive! I wanted so badly to surprise her, but she, beautiful and lovely as she was, loved seeing all the things I looked at at the shops, so there was no way to buy something for her without her seeing.

And now how could I be so foolish. It WAS Valentine’s Day, and here I was standing in the ever-lengthening line of other foolish men who’d forgotten to get flowers. Desperate to make sure they still had flowers at all, I craned my neck to see.

Nothing but day old pathetic red roses, their seams crispy with near death. I had no choice.
As it became my turn, my wallet already out but clutched in my hand like a beggar, I ask the flower gal for a dozen. She said they only had 4 left. I bought the four verging on imminent death roses, leaving the other desperate men behind me shit out of luck, even more out of luck than I had already been.

And it was raining. But not just raining – pouring. Absolutely drenched, stupid, clutching old roses, I raced home. My feet squelched against my soggy socks, the roses swaying to and fro as I darted around corners, trying my bed to keep my head dry, and the flowers intact.

[ZiekwaltZier]

Looks like others are joining too now uwu

[ArtisticVicu]

Trying, at least. ^^;

[Kiki]

Last day to post those prompt replies!

[ArtisticVicu]

Spoiler: Thursday 15th February (Devil) 

The mask obscured quite a lot. He could clearly make out his opponent and the arena but anything beyond that was blurred. The noise of the audience droned on louder than the announcer and he was grateful when the ref stood in the middle of the arena and gestured for them to start. The moment the ref was out of the way, his opponent was already halfway across the arena. Bracing his feet, he caught the blow on his shield and shoved the attack wide, using it to create an opening.

Or, at least that was his intent. Instead, his opponent redirected their attack and tried for his legs, twisting out of range of his own swing.

Thirty seconds. Combat barely ever lasted more than thirty seconds but his opponent was hell bend on making it only last five. Gritting his teeth, he knocked an attack over his shoulder, drawing his opponent in so close, they were nearly chest to chest. This close, he could clearly make out his opponent’s face through the mesh of the mask and for less than a heartbeat, their eyes met.

His momentum did not stop and his shield into his opponent’s side, forcing the other away again. Recognition had flickered through his opponent’s gaze which had only shoved confusion through him because he hadn’t recognized the other. They clashed again and he let the thoughts fall away.

The match was called with him victor, which had surprised him more than probably anyone else. His opponent had been far better skilled than he and it had only been sheer luck that he had managed to even pin the other. As soon as he was off the arena, he yanked his mask off, ignoring how the sounds sharpened and grated against his ears. The blessed cool air felt wonderful against his damp scalp and he shook his hair out.

“Pallen!”

He glanced back, not recognizing the voice. He did recognize the garb, though, as he opponent came jogging over, their mask tucked under an arm. “Jakob Pallen, right?” He raised an eyebrow in question and his opponent thrusted a hand forward to shake. “Marcus Leary. We went to high school together.”

“Ah, I hate to say it but I hardly remember anyone I went to high school with,” he offered, taking Marcus’s hand. “Over a decade since has rid me of quite a bit of those years.”

Marcus grinned at him. “I hear that. How has life been treating you? You’re still clashing I see.”

He shrugged. “The only exercising I do anymore.”

“That’s valid. Hey, if you don’t have plans after this, want to go get drinks?”

“Unfortunately I’ll have to raincheck that. I’ve got another bout since I won ours.”

“Oh, right! Yeah, no. I’ll reach out some other time then. Good luck on your next bout!”

He thought that would be the last he saw of Marcus, especially when they hadn’t exchanged contact information, but it seemed that wasn’t meant to be.

Nearly two weeks later he had all but forgotten about Marcus’s words. That was until he was winding his way along the familiar path between the headstones and grave markers and saw someone standing at his sister’s headstone. His footfall stuttered to a stop when he realized it was Marcus. He bristled about to snap at the other until he caught the expression on Marcus’s face.

Grief he was all too familiar with occupied the majority of Marcus’s face, remorse filling in the edges. He carefully approached, gaining Marcus’s attention only when he was within reach. “Ah, shit,” Marcus muttered, rubbing his arm across his eyes. “Sorry. I had intended to be gone by the time you came by but I guess I lost time.”

“You knew my sister?”

Marcus barked a laugh, sharp and hollow all at once. “Knew her? I’m the reason she’s dead.”

He frowned, that remark clashing with what he knew. “Unless you’re the one who let them drive drunk, I doubt it.”

Marcus met his gaze and he realized he knew that gaze but he couldn’t place it. Oddly, though, Marcus faced him and offered his hand to shake. “Let me correct the mistake then.” He hesitantly took Marcus’s hand and watched as the other committed the next words. “When we had first met, you knew me as Rebecca Straif.”

Ice filled his veins. Rebecca Straif, his sister’s high school girlfriend. Rebecca Straif, the girl who had been behind the wheel when they had crashed. Rebecca Straif, who had been the only one to survive.

[ZiekwaltZier]

i spaced mine out so I didn't get burned out lol

[Azazeal849]

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