Post by Countess on Oct 4, 2024 22:54:30 GMT
A strange thing, silence in New York City. Des closes her eyes, reveling in it. Her mouth opens, and she screams, loud and hard, all of it swallowed away, like it never happened. There is something cathartic about it, letting go in a way she never really can. She didn't know she needed it until she did it. She gives Nigel a look, something thrilling and treacherous, a spark all on her own. When it all comes back, she's humming, as if making sure she can hear again. Then, she stops, grinning all the while. Damn, she loves chaos. She likes making it, she likes rolling in it, she likes basking in its glory. So few people see this side of her, but Nigel has a front row seat.
"Oh, Nigel. I am only as dangerous as the people around me," Desiree says, utterly aware of it. She feeds off of this, in a way. Damn, she wants another hit. "Scared of me yet?" she asks, grinning perhaps a little madly. Throwing caution to the wind, she finally starts to drink her wine, eyes on him over the rim. She listens, watching him in this more unraveled, more confident state. Him, at his core. Someone once told her that someone is their truest self before death... Des disagrees. This is when, on the precipice of greatness.
"I'll help," Des says, knowing it is because of him, not anything else. "But I do it on my terms. For as long as I wish. I don't want this public, not yet.
Desiree takes a long sip of her wine, then grins. "I don't know why you haven't just made your own damn country yet. Beseech the Gods like Themyscira, or just find someone really good at hiding places," Des says with a shrug. "They haven't nuked Wakanda, Paradise Island is beautifully hidden, why are you seeking sanctuary where none will be given? Fuck the world, make your own. You fight tooth and nail for a place that means nothing to you, and you mean nothing to them. Move the damn earth itself, rip open the heavens, call forth the masses...
"That is a project I would be willing to work on."
"Oh, Nigel. I am only as dangerous as the people around me," Desiree says, utterly aware of it. She feeds off of this, in a way. Damn, she wants another hit. "Scared of me yet?" she asks, grinning perhaps a little madly. Throwing caution to the wind, she finally starts to drink her wine, eyes on him over the rim. She listens, watching him in this more unraveled, more confident state. Him, at his core. Someone once told her that someone is their truest self before death... Des disagrees. This is when, on the precipice of greatness.
"I'll help," Des says, knowing it is because of him, not anything else. "But I do it on my terms. For as long as I wish. I don't want this public, not yet.
Desiree takes a long sip of her wine, then grins. "I don't know why you haven't just made your own damn country yet. Beseech the Gods like Themyscira, or just find someone really good at hiding places," Des says with a shrug. "They haven't nuked Wakanda, Paradise Island is beautifully hidden, why are you seeking sanctuary where none will be given? Fuck the world, make your own. You fight tooth and nail for a place that means nothing to you, and you mean nothing to them. Move the damn earth itself, rip open the heavens, call forth the masses...
"That is a project I would be willing to work on."
