Amias|Love|Mentions: Shiloh, Cresil (indirect)

Amias wandered down the long hall, his gait smooth and breezy, his stride long and confident. Despite that confident appearance, a million thoughts were running through his mind, endless worries and concerns. After last time, were they really attempting all of this again? What catastrophies would await them this time around?

It was quiet. Eerily so. All except for the sounds of his steps echoing softly in the large hall. His cold gaze drifted around in a searching manner as the large table came into view upon approach. Was he the first one here? What if no one else decided it was worth it to show up? He felt a prickling sense of dread and wariness across the nape of his neck, his eyes searching for the source. Why did he feel so on edge? He normally cared not for being alone in quiet spaces, especially spaces as well lit as this. Yet he still found himself looking closely at every crevice, every nook, ever corner, as if he was expecting Cresil to be hiding around each one. He wasn't sure what it was about that deity that made him want to crawl out of his skin, but part of him hoped that perhaps he wouldn't show.

After all, why would anyone want hate to be spread amongst this new world when that was surely what had caused the massive disruption of the last one? Amias of course couldn't be sure, but he wouldn't doubt that Cresil's thrill of chaos and ruin had certainly sparked the flame of destruction upon their first creation. For that there was resentment, and yet...perhaps even the smallest bit of respect.

If Cresil does come, Shiloh better too. He thought to himself, taking a gentle seat in one of the many empty chairs, feeling a bit small and insignificant in this large and empty hall. What if he truly was the only one who thought it worth to show? No, Shiloh will come. I'm certain of it. He reassured, leaning back into his chair. This new world would need peace in order to function, she would show up. Besides, everywhere he went she seemed to follow shortly behind, keeping his wild and reckless tendencies at bay. He couldn't deny he was grateful for her companionship, although sometimes he wished she would just buzz off and let him have his fun. If Cresil could, why couldn't he?

Amias tapped his fingers in a soft rythym on the table, his rings creating a soft tick of sound each time they hit. He was beginning to feel a bit more nervous, his gaze still shifting around in hopes of catching a glimpse of someone. Anyone.

What if this was all just going to fail again? They've proved to one another that they couldn't get along, who was to say that this world wouldn't fail as miserably as the last one?

Cresil | Hate | Mentions: Amias {Directly}, Lyrssa {Directly},Other Deities {Indirectly}

There is no rest for the wicked, and Cresil found that to be an absolute staple of his existence. Even now, as his arrogant gait allowed him to prowl down the vast stretch of the imposing marble and quartz hallway, the deity of hate only found himself contemplating the variety of ways this meeting could dissolve. While he had initially been greatly averse to having his time wasted by a conference that would surely fail in its objective, his otherwise cold inner workings had warmed up to the notion of being able to achieve something worth being a part of.

Voices familiar enough to elicit an inward swirl of dismay echoed in his ears, though he supposed he should have expected the weaker divinities to come together first. Anything or anyone ruled primarily by emotion though was something Cresil viewed as inferior to himself, as most things were regardless, but most especially when it came to his fellow gods and goddesses. To a measurable degree, it disgusted him to see beings of such high power being swayed by things as primitive as ‘feelings’.

With his pale blue eyes settling on an exchange between Amias and Lyrssa, he also noted them to be the only other entities besides himself in the immediate vicinity through a brief sweep of the area. “How quaint,” Cresil had begun with a cold smile, condescension poisoning his tone in a comment directed at the assurances he overheard Lyrssa offering to Amias. “Though I suppose we’re all entitled to our own delusions.” His slow, predatory stride did not cease as he spoke, not caring to stop and exchange otherwise unnecessary chit-chat. It would have been a waste of words to indulge in greetings and throwaway inquisitions of well-being.

Noting the seating arrangement, more chairs than necessary placed across from one another and divided by the grand table in the center, Cresil inserted a low chuckle into the air, one meant only for himself. “So many seats,” he mused with an entertained lilt in his voice, casually moving a chair out of formation to place at the very head of the table. “So few participants.” Asserting himself by confidently sitting down in the chair he had placed for himself, and delicately crossing one leg over the other, his arrogant poise dared anyone to challenge his move.

Absently, Cresil pulled at the base of the black gloves sheathing his hands. He typically wore them in the mortal realm for the sake of not wishing to accumulate filth or blood on his bare hands. Now, however, he supposed he fancied himself with the gloves for the purpose of making those around him wary. To give the illusion that perhaps he might have been anticipating for things to get messy, if their last gathering was any indication of what could be expected. Cresil hadn’t exactly come to prod at slights and injustices that had grown between the deities, but he was not above weaponizing such things if he felt the need to.

“I sincerely don’t wish to impede on wishful thinking,” Cresil had decided to voice in a thoughtful tone, looking between Lyrssa and Amias as if they should have been grateful he was willing to directly speak to them. “But wishes and baseless optimism have no place here,” having placed an elbow onto the table and tilting his head into the comfort of his hand in a bored manner, he added in a patronizing tone, “as charming as it is to see you both comforting one another with naive fantasies, it’s best to leave your lofty ideals elsewhere.” While Cresil did find entertainment in being cruel, he didn’t believe himself wrong in what he said. If they were going to have a discussion, he wanted it to be strictly pragmatic and feasible. He didn’t care to spare the other deities with sentiments or pretend things could go any better than they did the last time, and if that made him the villain at the table, then by all means he was prepared to play the part.

Amias|Love|Mentions: Lyra, Cresil (direct) Other Deities (indirect)

Amias was pulled from his thoughts at the sound of a familiar voice. His distracted gaze shifted to Lyra, having not even heard her approach. "Lyrssa," He greeted formally in return. His deep resonance was smooth, his voice dripping off his tongue like sweet honey. "A pleasure to see you, as always." He gave her a warm smile, her presence seeming to relax his worries. "I should hope Shiloh makes an appearance," He mused softy in reply. "Wouldn't be much of a world without her say in it." The two fell silent for a moment, Amias not missing the soft glance Lyra made towards one of the empty seats. Fussing over Mejer, no doubt. The pair seemed to go hand in hand, not unlike Shiloh and himself. Where one was the other often showed.

"I've been as well as us all, I'm sure," The deity replied, a soft lilt of sorrow in his otherwise seductive voice. His gaze softened at her reassurance, the corner of his lip turning up into the smallest of smiles as he reached across the table, his hand open in an offer of holding. "One can only hope." The sound of approaching steps pulled him from their conversation, and by their gait alone Amias had no doubt in his mind about who it was. A slight chill tingled along his nape, his eyes shifting to look at the tall deity who'd just made his presence known. The familiar chill of his words elicited a sting of irritation in Amias, hsi gaze shifting to follow him as Cresil passed breezily by, his stride unbroken.

"I'm shocked you decided to show," His words left his tongue swiftly, coming as a bit of a surprise to himself. It was rare he found himself very inclined to speak with this fellow god, but perhaps his irritation had lit the fires of his ambition. Despite the words, his tone came across as cool and collected, his voice still dripping with a haughty charm that went unmatched by many. "As much as I'm inclined to disagree with your sentiment, I cannot bring myself to do so. It's a fools game to sit here and discuss hopeful ambitions for a new world when the last one we created fell to ruin." He shifted his gaze to the gloves Cresil wore, his brow furrowing lightly. "If I may be so bold as to say perhaps the one who caused it has decided to make his presence known again. If that be the case, I think we are all doomed to failure." He flickered his eyes to Lyra, as if he was to apologize for disagreeing with her. He admired the hope she had, but no matter what happened here Cresil's ambition surely outshone the rest. Who could compete with a fiery hate so strong?

"Shiloh always has more to say on matters," He mused. "Perhaps she can find reason in the midst of chaos."

Shiloh | Peace | Mentions: Lyrssa, Cresil, Amias

Shiloh padded down the marble and quartz hallway barefoot barely making a sound. It was quite grand and meant to impress and she was a rather small person. Her strides were small and quick instead of overextending. She looked rather mousish because she was so small and quiet, but it hid parts of her nature than many underestimated. She was not sure if that was a good thing or not. She knew this meeting could be important, but she rather hoped they could do it without the more destructive deities. However, they'd all agreed and been summoned.

So many people misunderstood how much work it took to make peace or control one’s own feelings enough to feel peace. She would have thought the other gods would have gotten a hint by her bloody white robes that swished around her ankles. Sometimes she did wear a shorter white dress, but the long robes made more of a statement. Obviously, she would attend this meeting. Out of all of the deities, by nature she would come to a meeting to try to avoid past mistakes that ended in chaos. Who would show up?

She entered the room with a smile and then it faltered when she saw the deity of hate. So was she late? His appearance impressed her the most. There were other deities she had expected to see sooner. She smiled using it as a shield to repel bad feelings hoping to comfort Amias when she finally spotted him. She knew that the more people that provided a buffer between him and Cresil, the better, and she tended to be the best at it. Of course she doubted anyone else had tried. Only another deity would attempt it, and they generally did not care for intervening in each other's problems.

"Hello all, sorry I wasn't more timely with my arrival," her shield smile relaxing to become something natural. "How is everyone doing?" It was good to figure out the temperature of the room before everyone started debating and getting all heated about it. "Lyrssa, I am glad to see you here. Amias! It's been too long. Cresil," her brow furrowed. "What a pleasant surprise?" At least the gods who had more of a tendency to build up worlds were here, but Cresil would be hard to counterbalance even by himself. She hated to be impatient especially since she was the one who had entered the room last, but she wanted to open the meeting and start brainstorming. They needed to figure out what had happened to their first world.

The air was like a heavy weighted blanket was casing the room. Machines beeped, the rancid smell of sterile cleaning supplies, the hushed whispers in the hallway. A woman, kissed by the sun for many years laid in the white hospital bed, her eyes closed. A IV ran to her finger, she was on oxygen. This particular woman was ninety-seven years old. She had seven children, four of which sat in the room with her. Her husband had passed on seven years before, leaving her a widow. Mejer sat in an empty chair in the corner of the room, leaning forwards, his weight resting on his elbows that sat on his knees, long tan fingers interlaced, humming a small tune to himself. “Mom?” The youngest asked, standing up and towards the bed as the machine began to beep rapidly. A sad smile on the gods face as he stood. His time was here. The black trench coat, black dress shirt, slacks and polished leather shoes was a dead give away as to who he was. His large silver laced wings tucked behind him, hands in his pockets as he stepped towards the old woman. “Ruth, can you see me?” His deep voice was soothing, gentle even as he took a seat on her bed. “I can.” She said, her eyes wide, “What do you want with me? Doctor!” Mejer sighed, “I'm here to take you with me.” His purple eyes shining in the dim light. “I'm not going with you!” She screamed. “But Ms. Ruth, it's your time to pass on. Ninety-seven years is a long time to live.” She looked at him, a weird look on her face, “I thought you would look different. Older.” He gave her a shrug before offering his hand to her, “Are you ready?” He whispered, hearing the stifled gasps as the three children realized that their mother was no longer with them. “But my last words-” Mejer shook his head, “Don't you worry Ruth, their last memories will be of you telling them that they are loved.” Ruth gave him a side eye, “You can do that?” A small nod as he focused on implanting the ‘zombie’ memories. “Before we go, one last thing.” Mejer said, mentioning towards the door as a nurse rushed in, in the chaos the door was left swinging open. In stepped a young man, mist left behind in his footsteps. The god watched her eyes light up, filled with tears as she reached for him, “John, oh Johnny.” “Hello Ruth.” He whispered, taking her hand and planting a kiss on her hand. A golden doorway appeared on the wall. Mejer's job was done here. “Let's go.” He said, standing up to lead the way. “Say goodbye.” He said, waving at the couple's children

Mejers' footsteps echoed down the hallway full of statues of himself in extravagant, powerful poses. There were only a few things he liked better than his own face. He walked next to a reaper, giving instructions. “I have a meeting, please fill in for me.” He apologized, stone faced. “Best of luck, you are my saving grace.” He said, giving the reaper a small salute. His reapers had no names but he still had nicknames for them, “idiot-face” was his favorite. What one it was, he had no clue. His black wings spread out, and he disappeared through an opening in the ceiling.

Leather soles slapped the Marbled floors. He hated these halls. White was painfully dull and not to mention quite literally blinding. He walked into the room with a stick up his ass, black trench coat flowing behind him. He could already feel the migraine. Familiar faces crowded the room. He gave Lyrssa a smirk before it dropped off again. He flopped in a chair next to Cresil, legs crossed and looked around the room. A quick nod to the deity next to him before speaking. “It better be important. I'm working.” His tone was nasty, and he remembered why he avoided meetings before. He wanted to say that the deities' faces around the room annoyed him, but really it was more how free they each were. Mejer had a leash, a job that kept him up at odd hours. With a sigh he stretched his legs up to the table, crossing them again below the knee at the calves.

Cresil was sure to make this meeting entertaining at least. He'd always liked Cresil, even if they butted heads. He felt deeply that the hate and chaos he brought with him was a part of death, after all, you just need to sit in a hospital room with family to understand the deep understanding of hatred. Truthfully, Mejer would never admit it, but he had no idea what the mortal realm looked like. He collected his souls and left, keeping his head down in a sullen silence, plotting ways to rid of his leash that pulled at him constantly. Silently, he watched the others exchange their welcomes and pleasant words.

Cresil | Hate | Mentions: Amias, Shiloh, Mejer {Directly}

Cresil had found himself amused by Amias’ swift reply. It was so effortless sliding off his tongue that Cresil could have congratulated the deity of love for not allowing his chaotic inner rulings of emotion to taint the delivery of his comment. “Why ever wouldn’t I?” He jested with a brow of intrigue, curious if he could bait Amias into beginning to simmer and lose his cool edge. As the hand not supporting his head began to tap idly atop the table, Cresil could only smile proudly at being openly agreed with. Of course, Cresil knew his opinion was not always favorable, and while his information was typically divulged for a price, no one could say he didn’t have his moments of being impossible to agree with on certain matters.

At the mere allegation Amias spoke of, the deity of hate had sat upright with a dramatic expression of surprise, placing his hands over the heart he didn’t have. “Amias, you flatter me with the faith you have in my ability to collapse a system so complex,” came his words drenched in mocking adoration, “but I would take credit where credit is due, and unfortunately, the glory is not my own.” Dropping his hands on the knee crossed over his other leg, Cresil tilted his head, a wicked smile set to the highest caliber upturning at his lips. “Perhaps this is misguided blame though, a sad thing really. Blaming one person for a world we were all responsible for, I believe, is a very convenient excuse to concede another's guilt.” Allowing his cutting stare to communicate the implications for him, Cresil later found himself rolling the same eyes in mention of Shiloh.

Shiloh was an inconvenient existence to Cresil, though minor enough to not be caught in his most malicious fixations. Of course, if it weren’t for Shiloh cleaning up and attempting to piece broken things together again, then Cresil would have no fun in knocking everything back down again. There was a parasitic symbiotic relation between them at best in some ways, but Cresil wasn’t privy to outwardly acknowledging his acceptance of her role. As if on a cue of some kind, there came the peacekeeper in white. Her childlike appearance annoyed him, it was just unsightly in his opinion. Maybe Shiloh was the reason he loathed the sight of mortal children so much.

Not caring to answer a question he hadn’t cared enough to ask in return to anyone, Cresil sighed as a way to purge his very being of the agitation of his time so far being preciously wasted. He gave a thin smile when Shiloh came around to acknowledge him. “Your enthusiasm to see me is truly almost overwhelming, Shiloh, I’m practically basking in it.” He replied with dry sarcasm. Sometimes he had to wonder whether Shiloh ever tired of being leeched off of for her presence by the other deities, and with that, he did not envy her.

Mejer’s broody presence was something Cresil had to consciously not smile at. While he hadn’t gone to the length of acknowledging Mejer until the deity of death greeted him with a nod first, Cresil offered a smile of sympathy that was all but genuine. “What’s more important than casual bonding? Few things, I imagine.” Leaving his comment to suspend, Cresil had decided he missed the world they couldn’t seem to fix. It provided an outlet, one he had come to actually adore. While he held no love for the vermin that walked the earth nor did he care about the implications his actions had on them, it was something he had grown more than comfortable with. It was familiar. He knew what to expect. He could not say the same about what would be of their new world. If it was any less attractive to him than their last, perhaps it would be a world he would come to level in a fit.