The Devil's handmaiden (seraphim_grace) wrote in seraphim_eyrie,
The Devil's handmaiden

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fic: float 1/ (2-3)

Title: Float 1/?(3)
Author: Seraphim Grace
Feedback: Always appreciated and replied to.
Series : Original
Rating: 18/ NC17

Float for keire_ke
songfic = original universe. The song is Float by Bush on the album golden state


It's a beautiful world, everyone's insane

He was beautiful, as Eves often were, with the stifling sort of unearthly grace and a slow slipping smile that slightly parted his lips that were glistening with traces of saliva. He moved with an eerie slowness as if underwater or under some terrible weight only he felt. His hair was a feathery softness about his head, caught in cowlicks and curls that fell into his metal eyes.
He poured the drinks in the Floating Hotel, a short kimono belted about his hips leaving his forearms and thighs bare, as he gave indulgent smiles to the patrons of the bar as they groped him. He never said a word, he just gave them that same slipping indulgent smile and lifted their glasses.
Yet Simeon knew the smile he gave him was different; that it was just for him; as was the glint in his hard metal eyes.
His hands, beautifully kept and manicured, were cold when he touched him and offered him the same slow slipping smile that was slightly slick with saliva.
And when he looked at Simeon with those cold metal eyes, Simeon felt like he was drowning.
He had a pair of milk white hands and hard metal eyes, and soft pink cowlicks that Simeon wanted to push away from the curve of his winter cream white cheek and a soft glistening smile that Simeon knew was his alone.
His name was Jaime.
Simeon was aware of the irony and sometimes he imagined that he had the courage to call down from his room and have him sent up and he would push him down on the bed and peel the violet kimono from his shoulders to bare his milk white skin and put his mouth there and there and there, but he never did.

Either you swim, either you fade

The Floating Hotel was among the forefront of technology, sitting in orbit around the Phobos Moon. The light was always tinted just a little pink, but the air was fresh and sweet. Simeon walked through the lush gardens, his fingers trailing through the fronds of ferns and water heavy palms, the air wet with precious water that was wasted on plants but the mist felt good against his skin, against the dark curve of his neck where his collar chafed, against the hair speckled skin of his hands and the rough bitten edges of his nails. He wore heavy synthetic fabric that repelled the sweet greenish mist and rubbed against the hairs on his arms when he moved.
Jaime sat on the bench in front of the Casablanca lilies in a keikogi with a trailing silver vine pattern that circled his thin waist and down his left pants leg, a golden flower wrapped around his chest and up around his arm. In his pale milk white hands he held a book and his pink head, cowlicks and all, was bent over it as his slick pink mouth traced the words.
“What are you reading?” Simeon was surprised that he asked, Jaime offered him the same slow slipping smile and held up the book. “Fairy tales for children,” then lowered it back to his knee and traced a winter cream finger along the words, shaping them.
It was a charming image, of the boy- the Eve-, sitting by the flowers, that twisted in among his bubblegum pink cowlicks and curls, the gorgeous Casablanca lilies that were almost the same colour as his skin, as he read from the battered book tracing each word with his lips. Under his arm was a battered plush, a piece of stuffed red fur with button black eyes and a felt pink tongue.
Simeon sat down beside him, drowning in the scent of Casablanca lilies and the violets in Jaime’s shampoo and the glint of metal eyes.
Jaime turned, his white skin and pink lips almost reaching for Simeon as he pointed to a passage, smiled and then pointed again.
“At the top of a great mountain there bloomed a single pink rose, and for all the harshness of its surroundings it had been given a great gift, those that drank the nectar that gathered amongst it’s petal would live forever. The flower would bloom at morning and wither each night.”
And he offered Simeon a shining slip slow smile and the warm glint of metal eyes.

It's revolution time, we're sleeping at the wheel

Jaime moved slowly with an inherent grace around the bar, his tray resting on a slender white forearm and he wore a short kimono that showed the pale peach of his ass and his loving, mocking, slip slow smile. “They’re replacing them you know,” the bar man said to Simeon, “the Eves, ours are all obsolete now, they don’t last long, before the fatigue slips in. oh they do their jobs well enough but you could tell them a joke and they won’t laugh till the next day, or cry at a sad story. Have you seen the new models?” he continued on but Simeon wasn’t listening, he was looking at a pair of milk white thighs, at the blue veins at the back of rose pink knees.
“Look,” from under the counter the barman, one of the last human staff here at the hotel, pulled out the brochure and laid it out on the marblex surface. “This is the equivalent of our bartenders here,”
Simeon looked at the glossy paper, at the plump pink and golden flesh of the Eves on display next to their price, he looked at their plump lips and cheeks, at their golden honey brown hair and their all too human eyes, then he looked at Jaime, at his long thin limbs, at his milk white skin and bubble gum hair, and his hard metal eyes. “That’s the Lolita model, there’s also the Scarlett,” he turned the pages to show a voluptuous female sprawled across a silk divan, all corsetry and hard red lipstick, “I’m going to get me one of those, we had her, I mean Alice Eve herself, in here a couple of weeks back, tall woman, cold but brilliant, you know, didn’t want to talk, but left me a brochure. Seemed fascinated that we still had the old models, you know.”
“Really,” Simeon said, but he didn’t know why. He wasn’t really listening, he was looking at the fond look that Jaime was giving the mechanical fish that made up the wall of the Floating Hotel’s bar, how he traced them with his finger against the glass whilst he waited for someone to order.
“Yeah, she said we could get a huge discount if we sent them back, it’s good for them, you know, that the see how they survive out here for such long times, I mean they’re just Lolis, but we’ve had them going on ten year now without a lick of bother.”
“Really,” Simeon said, but in his head he was sitting on a stool behind Jaime brushing out his bubblegum pink hair. He looked like a doll, not like those new Eves, he was beautiful for all his inhumanity, for his metal eyes and white skin, skin that Simeon sometimes just wanted to kiss, but sometimes, when Jaime smiled to himself at the image of the fishes swimming back and forth in their watery world he saw himself reading to the boy as he had that day in the garden and knew that Jaime would listen to him alone.

Apocalypse child in a nuclear field

Sometimes when he was alone, Simeon thought of Jaime, of his milk white skin, and he’d bite his lip bloody as he came.

We want to change the world but not what holds us back

Jaime always offered him his slip slow smile when he saw him in the gardens. He had his comfortable place among the Casablanca lilies when they gave him time off from his job. Jaime always looked up with his shining metal eyes, and swept aside his bubblegum hair, sometimes he wore his keikogi with their beautiful designs, koi that circled his thighs, phoenixes that spiraled around his pigeon chest, dragons that coiled down his arms. He’d sit there amongst the Casablanca lilies with his book on his knee and offer Simeon his slip slow smile.
Simeon would sit beside him on the marblex bench and follow the milk white finger with it’s French manicured nail along the black printed word, “the rose was at the top of a mountain that was surrounded by it’s thorns. And Just as the rose brought eternal life the poison from the thorns brought sure death. So although the rose bloomed every morning, rich with nectar, no one climbed the mountain to pluck it.”
And Jaime laid his cold white head on Simeon’s shoulder and listened to him read the stories in the book, mouthing along the words with him, to stories he must have heard a thousand times. He told the Eve of the inn at the bottom of the mountain of thorns upon which the rose blossomed, and how the men gathered there to hide from death but lacked the courage to climb the mountain and claim it. He told him his fairytales.

I want to be for you what I've never had

“I’m sorry, sir,” the concierge, an Eve with blue hair and a strict complexion, said “we can’t let you take him.” Simeon took a deep breath. “It’s not a matter of money, sir, we just can’t in good faith allow it, Jaime is nearing the end of his life cycle, we would be sending you away with inferior goods.” From a cabinet behind him he pulled out a glossy brochure, “however we have the details here for the new models, the Eve6, and they are very reasonably priced, if you would prefer.”
Simeon snatched the book from the counter and put it into his pocket without even looking. In the bar, through the fish tank Jaime offered him his slip slow smile shining with saliva as the angel fish circled his moon face.
The light was pink, reflected as it was into the hotel from the surface of Mars through the dome, but still his skin was as white as Phobos itself. He wasn’t real, he didn’t offer him the same slip slow smile he always did. Simeon wanted to smash his face, to break his polymer endoskeleton, to smash in his plastic skull against the marblex table. He wondered what they would add to his bill for an obsolete Eve4, whether or not it would be as much as if he smashed his vid-screen or threw the bedside table out of the window into the pool.
He took a deep breath to calm himself and clenched and unclenched his fist. How could they talk about him like this, he was beautiful, he was innocent, he wasn’t obsolete, he was a child.
Simeon crushed that impulse. He wasn’t human, he was an Eve, he was a machine, worth no more than the paintings on the walls.
Jaime stood against the fish tank and placed his white hand upon the glass as he offered him his slip slow smile.
He was innocent.
He was obsolete.
He was a child.
He was a whore.
He was whatever you wanted him to be.
He was all Simeon could think about.

And all of this time I was just trying to reach you

Room service were more than happy to oblige his request, no matter how odd it might have seemed. It was the sign of a very expensive hotel that they asked no questions and the Floating Hotel was very expensive indeed.
They had fulfilled every wish, her hair was the soft pink of bubblegum, a colour not found in nature and she wore sheer gloss on her lips. Her short kimono was open to show the crevasse between her breasts as she leant forward on the bed in a seductive pose, crawling up to meet him at the headboard.
He sent her away before she even touched him.

Through the rain traffic

Rain was a wasteful extravagance in the Floating Hotel. In most of the stations there was heat storms where the dome crackled with electricity but here it rained. The rain was thick and summer heavy against the glass where Simeon stood looking down at the garden of lilies and palms and wasteful fountains.
In the hollows was a white shadow that had cast off his keikogi and his hair was slick and hot pink with rain as he danced, light footed and a little mad, in the wasteful summer rain.

As you float into space
Your white eyes hide your face
As you float in between
I am with you if you leave

you know i asked for fanart for it, she obliged me, she was the first person to read this and i was chatting with her when i wrote it so she did the picture as we were talking so you're all to tell her how very very wonderful she is.

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Tags: eve, float

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