JR
VT:L Adventure Guide 
Posts: 93 
writes for: Alice Clare Bell
writes for: Freya Black
writes for: Isla Byrne
writes for: Jude Fein
writes for: Sybilla Lyons
writes for: Aurie Grey
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Post by JR on Oct 27, 2015 0:02:12 GMT -8
Characters: Abaddon Bell & Alice Clare Donovan
Summary: Unbeknownst to Alice Clare, she experiences exactly what her sister goes through in the very minutes of her death by the Alice Clare Doppleganger. Ironically, while in a body of water. Don comes when he feels her panic, and both of them worry over what she just went through -- until Don replaces a bad feeling with something good and makes her forget all about it.
Triggers: Feeling of drowning.
Alice Clare: It was a perfect night for a swim. Actually, it wasn't. Cold out. Pretty effing windy. Fat, pregnant clouds covering the stars and the moon, threatening rain and making the woods even darker than they actually were. That didn't stop our Alice Clare. She was at their lake. Where the waters still bubbled with their combined magics; made stronger because of the way hers was so in tune to the wet depths of it. The sandy shore where she'd once carved into the grains her runes and symbols and lit her fire and sprinkled it all with her blood was void of anything but the small pile that her clothing made where she'd ditched it before stepping into the lake. How long had she been in there? Long enough that another persons skin might have already gone wrinkled and fish-belly white from the affects of the water, but Alice? She was as pristine as she ever was. A golden siren, skimming through the dark waters that glistened with an eerie blue trail in the wake she made with every movement that glided her from one end of the lake, to the other. But not too deeply. The deeper she went, the easier she saw them. Lifeless faces staring up at her from where they'd found a final resting place. Every once and awhile, she could swear the eyes of a few followed her; but she knew it was just a trick of the movement of the water, of the way they bobbed there at the bottom, despite the chains that kept them weighed to the bottom. None had a face she recognized, but that was no wonder; the length of time they had rested here -- how they'd died. It was like a garden, Alice decided, but one she was going to keep far away from -- even as she went from a quick breaststroke at the surface, to diving down a little closer to the swaying corpses. Halfway down though, something seized in her chest, and made Alice contract in a white sear of pain through her sternum. She curled into herself a moment; the pain enough that a silent scream opened her mouth and had her dragging in lungs of water. She kicked, kicked, and kicked, until she broke the surface; sputtering and coughing out the water that filled her -- water that was replaced with a feeling of absolute cold, of dread and despair that felt like lead taking over her bones. Bobbing in the water, hands pushed back the fall of heavy gold strands, and Alice used her feet to spin her about to get a three-sixty view of the lake that she was in the direct middle of. Every fiber of her vibrated with one thing. Danger! Danger! Danger! But that wasn't all. Betrayal. The air stunk of it, in a way that was almost overwhelming, making her cough again, making her tremble. Was something out there? The pain gripped at her chest again, and even though she was above the line of the water, bobbing there like a frantic buoy, it felt once again like her lungs were filling with water, and all at once Alice knew she had to get out of the water. She kicked, she swam, her heart beat wild -- and with each thudding frenzied drum of it, there was a name bursting in her head, and a few times, gasping out past her lips. "Abaddon!" It seemed like took forever, but her feet touched the murky bottoms of the shore, and Alice heaved herself half out of the water, and onto the sand; fingers clutching at the grainy stuff while her naked body fought against the pain that sliced through her like a heavy anvil laying on her chest. No air was getting in, no sound was coming out. Was she drowning? -d-
Abaddon: More than a city away the monster Abaddon played as Mr. Bell in a mundane world with mundane people, but they certainly did hold themselves in high-esteem. Custom made dresses designed for custom made bodies and the older men that paid for it all, politics were a boring affair and even though he mingled with a mirthful grin, his soul was aggravated. Maybe a part of his heart reached out and requested for something to come up, anything to draw him away from menial tasks of insuring 'resources' were kept happy. Wishes were a dangerous thing, especially for a monster, karma having a way of giving exactly what was desired, but by taking a broken path. He felt her agony and fear pierce into his gut, the scream of his name. It was easy to slip from the minds of the mindless and sinking into shadow was another simple trick, at least for a man who had mastered the black. He rode on shadow faster than light, speeding through a blistering cold. Skin was forced to simmer and heat, revolting against the chill that frosted into brown tendrils and beard. It was nearly fifteen seconds since her first ringing of the Bell, expelled from blackness of night and made physical from shadow. Expedient journey had him stumbling in shallow-end of the bank, feet splattering around and arms wavering to keep himself balanced like a plane on a hot landing. He wobbled and the water at first began to frost over, but then instantly melted and steamed as his core temperature had no chill to fight against any longer. Suit-coat jacket of hunter green hung on muscled shoulders, open down the center to reveal a cut of that inked over torso. "... Are you okay?" Words shook with the chill, but then were flattened out by the intense heat that flourished at his center and burned through his aura. Sloshing water as he treaded deeper towards the girl that bobbed in lake's hold. <done>
Alice Clare: He appeared so quickly; bearing witness to the way she sagged in the sand; half on her side, half face down in it -- wet hair clinging to wet skin, muscles contracting at her back and shoulders with the way she fought against the feeling of the abysmal black that was taking over. He asked, she couldn't answer -- could only claw at the sand further, as if she were still underwater and struggling to get to the surface, struggling against whatever was keeping her down. There was nothing in her lungs though, she'd coughed it all back into the lake moments ago, but her body still tried to get it out, get away from the pain, still fought to survive. And then it was done. It was all gone, just as quickly as it had come on. Leaving a stunned Alice Clare in the sand; panting for the air she'd been denied by unseen forces. Little by little the tension that overtook her form released, and slowly Alice rolled over to lay in the sand; a beached mermaid by the looks of her. Wide eyes stared up at Abaddon where he'd landed in the water so close to her. She felt it now, realized that the water had gone to freezing, and now steamed like a boiling pot, and Alice found she suddenly craved that heat. "It's so cold. Why is it so cold?" It was cold before he'd gotten there, given the way she chattered now, confused blues seeking out the steady of his green stare. "I don't know what happened." She sat up some, and scooted down until she was more in the water than out of it; soaking up the witchcraft that lingered in the minerals there -- in fact, her aura guzzled at it like a thing gone without it's thirst quenched for too long. -d-
Abaddon: He'd see her, from his shadow flight, murky and in the big blue. But when he was expunged, she was already there at the bank. Dragon sloshed through the waters a little further, black slacks soaking in the water, growing damp and darker as it clung to his skin more readily. He lurched down beside her, and around her, all in one motion, she was sitting up and being pulled a little deeper into the water, but on the boost of his lap. The water came up to the middle of his gut in the position he took, and she was set on thighs, ass smeared in the mud. Right hand brought lettered fingers over beautiful visage, knocking aside loose gold that may have interfered with his inspection of blues. Those greens flicking quickly back and forth over the lakeside view. Fingers that pushed and moved gold around now came to cup her cheek, stroking the smooth skin in a steady stroke. "Shh, shh. You're safe now, tell me what happened..." He wasn't sure what it was, but he felt the sting of pain and lance of fear that she experienced. Not exactly, but a muffled version of it. He had an idea of what it was that she felt, enough to know that she needed assistant as quickly as possible. And then he came. The chill of water and bite of air didn't bother him a bit, nor should it her, the heat of his magic burning warm and even keeping a steady steam on lake's surface around them. Menacing face of the monster still showed cut of softened grin in the expanse of brown beard, gleam of eyes gone unhindered by blink and remained sinking in the blues she probed back. <done>
Alice Clare: Don lifted, and Alice clung; winding her arms about his neck for the duration it took for him to get fully settled in the water there in his clothes. Oh his suit. She'd have to fix that later. He was so warm now, and sliding her arms down, she burrowed into his chest; dipping her face up against the thicket of his beard to take in the scent that clung there. Him. All him. The magics he cultivated, the acrid smoke of the magics he smoked, the underlying scent of man beneath it all. Hers. All hers. His touch found her cheek, and she lifted her face up some to search his face again. "I .. " The bold of her brows furrowed, but she shook her head to clear it away. "I was swimming. Peeking down at the bodies. They move like kelp, you know, despite their chains. Weaving back and forth when I swim and disrupt the water. I like it when they do that. But I don't know what happened. I was fine, and then I wasn't. Something in my chest, pain, mixed with fear and .. betrayal. It felt like betrayal. Tasted like it. That horrible coin taste in the back of your mouth, and then my lungs were full of water and even when I surfaced and coughed it all up, it felt like it was still there. Even when I got to here, when I wasn't under water anymore, I was drowning. That's the only way I can think of it. I was drowning. And then it was just .. over." Fingers sought, and found, his mouth. Grazing over the fuller bottom lip, and plucked at it a little. "It wasn't one of your lessons?" Another woman might have found a problem with thinking her gentleman lover tried to kill her. This wasn't that woman. It wasn't the first time he'd done something to test her strength, or even her loyalty, and Alice knew without a doubt it wouldn't be the last. In fact, she might have thought less of him if he never did something like that again. Loyalty was a thing steady and strong between them, but she still had so much to learn when it came to other things, didn't she? -d-
Abaddon: And there were some tests she passed that she didn't even know were tests. Maybe someday he'd show her all the things he was the cause of, all the things that he had done to her, and had her do. And that in itself would probably be another trial for her to go through, accepting the master manipulator for what he was, and for the things he did. But for now, the only concern he had was for her. He flexed a hand over her naked chest, pressing thumb and pinky on each of her breasts the other three spread along the breastplate. Energy seethed through her and coiled about twisting, coiling energy to spiral into her system like a calming sedative, meant to comfort the soul. "No, this was not me... I don't... feel anything wrong with you, mm, I don't know." He knew there was a connection between him and Ophelia, but he was not privy to it, nor was he subject to the type of effects that they would share. What he sought for were curses, enchantments, twists of magic gone awry. There were no signs, not a clue of it, and that was probably more worrisome than a relief. The spider did not like finding kinks in the webs, nor was he too happy to have his most precious thing in the world be in distress. He continued to ebb energy through her lithesome frame, heat humming along her skin to keep her in a shell of his body and aura. "You feel fine now though? You seem fine. Was it something in the water? Or you don't know?" He would've have frowned, but the grin was not having it. Eyebrows did crumple a bit, but it had no effect on the stretch of serpent's mouth. He bent forward and pressed his mouth against hers, hand again spreading across her cheek. Another kiss smeared hard and head tilting, nudging noses and foreheads while he continued to present gaze. On the edge of muddy bank they sat. Radiant flame of magical energy pulsing in the stagnant wild, the cold of night keeping the world quiet, except for the howling call of wind every so often. <done>
Alice Clare: A soft hiss expelled from her at the first feel of the heat that he spread through her chest with talented magic hands, and Alice closed her eyes for a moment against the slow burn of it. It was the sort that made her toes curl beneath the water they sat in, and made her squirm herself that much closer to the source of it; to the man who was using his body as her throne, providing himself as her solace. He pushed the lingering ice-scald of the remembrance of pain away, turned her belly into the best kind of mush, and filled her ears with his voice. But it was true, he'd find nothing. There was no tampering to the magic she bled, there was no curse affixed to the witch, or the stone she wore about her neck -- it's leather string clinging wet to her skin. She was just as she always was; brimming with sea spray, a hurricane of disaster and an occasional calming eye of the storm. "Not you," she murmured in an echo, and a frown deepened at her lovely mouth. Then who? It was a question left in her brain. She'd not done it to herself, after all! Or had she? Was she working against herself? It'd happened before. Worry settled into the base of her skull, but the energy he provided pushed it away and had Alice squirming closer to him again. "I don't know. Maybe it was nothing? A fluke? It didn't feel like it belonged to me." But, for Alice, it couldn't be Ophelia. She'd shut down the connection between them weeks ago, when her sister had pried to hard, when her sister had sought to invade after it'd been made clear that Alice didn't want her there. Little did she know that some things were just too strong to be kept away. Thoughts swam away now, darting about like interrupted minnows, when his mouth sought hers. Lithe arms slid down, coming about his torso and holding tight, and she kissed him back with the fervor he pushed into her with that transfer of warm energy. "It's still so cold," she declared, and maybe she was lying, just go get more out of him. He kissed again, harder this time, and Alice pushed back with her own kiss; tongue slashing at his mouth when he angled deeper into the kiss. Fingers clenched about his wet suit coat; tugging it at, though it fit too well at his shoulders and refused to go much of anywhere from that position. So she loosened the hold she had on him, swept her hands around and underneath the warmth of the coat to find skin that burned even more hot, and pushed the jacket from his shoulders so she could have skin. Always needed skin. -d-
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JR
VT:L Adventure Guide
Posts: 93
writes for: Alice Clare Bell
writes for: Freya Black
writes for: Isla Byrne
writes for: Jude Fein
writes for: Sybilla Lyons
writes for: Aurie Grey
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Post by JR on Oct 27, 2015 17:38:58 GMT -8
Characters: Alice Clare, Charles Donovan.
Summary: Returning back to the black house in the woods after her late night swim, and subsequent "attack", Alice receives a phone call from her grandfather. Charles requests her presence at Argosy, right away, no questions asked.
Triggers: Death, grief.
He never called this late.
In fact, he rarely called at all.
Alone. For the first thirteen years of her life, Alice Clare had no concept of that feeling. Of being that. There was always Ophelia. If not in her sights, in her head. They shared everything. Ophelia was a constant. More than a best friend, more than a protector, more than a sister -- she was Alice Clare's and Alice Clare was hers. It wasn't just sharing for the Donovan twins, it just was. There was nothing to hide, because how could you hide a thing when all it took was a thought and you were in someone else's head, and they in yours? There was never the idea of just for one, and not the other, when the pair of them were as close as can be that more often than not a midnight check in would find young AC sound asleep in her big sister's bed, rather than her own just a few feet away. No, alone was never a thing.
But it couldn't always be so. They were so different while being the same. Ophelia, so poised and centered and focused. Alice, so distracted and volatile and broken. Tragedy should have brought them closer, but it was only the beginning of a long series of cracks in their foundation. But still, Ophelia was always there. Sacrificing her own wants and needs, her education, her social life, her wits for her mentally ill counterpart. She fell into an obsession with fixing what couldn't be fixed, of finding a way to piece Alice back together every time she broke, until she was nearly as broken as her sister -- but so much better at hiding it than Alice Clare ever will be.
It wasn't fair. The way Alice had pushed her sister away so recently. The one who'd always been there, no matter the situation, no matter how terrible and awful AC was. Always there. She was never alone. Always Ophelia. A soft touch, a soothing voice. Always Ophelia. A calming force, when the storms were too fierce. Always Ophelia. With her nose in a book, with an idea shared between both of their minds, with an steady determination. Always Ophelia.
"Ophelia is dead, Alice Clare." Alone. The quiet of it was overwhelming. There, seated at the formal dining room in the elegant apartment above the bookshop, Alice just watched her granddad. He looked older than he ever had, though he held the same stoic expression he always had, with the same underlying exasperation. Alice frowned a little; bold brows furrowing. Her lips parted, but nothing came out and when Charles went to speak again, she shot a hand up to stop him. And she pushed from the inside. Prodded a little at the connection she'd selfishly shut off because she wasn't willing to let her sister into the dark love Alice had claimed for herself. Nothing. Quiet. The prod became a poke. Nothing. The poke, a shove. Nothing. For a moment, there wasn't even her own raging thoughts. Just a cold eerie quiet that had her eyes widening, and flashing over to her grandfather. "How?," she whispered, but he heard her just fine despite the length of polished mahogany between them.
"She was drowned," he started, but paused when Alice let out a horrified sound that was more a strangle in her throat than a gasp. She'd felt it! Realization hit her like the crash of stormy waves against the very cliff she'd jumped from after her parents death, and Alice reeled out of the chair; the scrape of it against the wooden floor a thing too loud and unnatural in the stately appearance of the room. It'd been no curse, no attack, no lesson, there in the lake when she'd drowned without drowning. It'd been death. Her sister's death. The same pain sliced into her chest, and the lion on her pointer flexed when Alice clutched at her chest. Wobbling on her feet, she had to move or she'd fall. The sole of her sneakers back pedaled her away from the table, and though he could see the frantic search for escape in her eyes, Charles did not waver from his stance across the room. He was not a sentimental man, despite the way he loved his granddaughters. Despite his own pain. "This business with the doppelgangers from the mirrors, Alice Clare. Beth Lyons and Jade Cooper had an encounter with yours. They've taken care of destroying them, and of closing the mirror." The you should have been there too went unspoken. "Why you never came to me after that night in the library, why I had to get second hand information from Thomas, I'll --" He cut the posh clip of his words off with a press of thin lips. Now was not the time. "It was your doppelganger who killed Ophelia. She .. " Here now, his voice sounded too strained, too hoarse, and something came into his eyes that Alice had never seen before, not even when his son and daughter in law had been so horrendously murdered eleven years ago. There was no way around telling her what had happened, no way to soften the blow. "Her head had been taken and given to Beth. Her body was found on campus, by Cinthie Griswold, where she'd been drowned."
So many name drops, Elder Donovan. All Council, all the time. The silence in Alice's head was replaced by the pounding of her heart. A loud bray of a broken sound, beats faltering and too quick. His words seemed to echo, repeat, and flood. His words had stilled her retreat, and now her knuckles went white over where she gripped the high back of the chair she'd vacated; holding on to it to keep the weakness in her knees from taking over. Alice hadn't said a word, just listened as best as she could; tension riding through her just the same as the pain. So much pain. Waves and waves of it threatened to destroy her, welling up in her throat and making speech impossible. Making breathing impossible. Just like only hours ago. An anvil on her chest. Weighing her down. When she could finally find her voice, it came out in the same whisper. "I understand." Too-dry eyes blinked a little then, and Alice looked to the archway that bled from the dining room to the sitting room, as if someone might be there -- but her attention went back to Charles right away. "We failed to protect her. To protect others." One hand lifted from it's clutch, and rose to close over the milky stone that hung from her neck.
The one that kept her true darkness hidden. The one that bore her secrets. The one, that when Alice chose to remove it, would destroy everything Charles Donovan stood for.
"I won't fail again."
"See that you don't, Alice. Sit, please. There are arrangements to see to. Family to notify, and the Council." All Council, all the time.
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JR
VT:L Adventure Guide
Posts: 93
writes for: Alice Clare Bell
writes for: Freya Black
writes for: Isla Byrne
writes for: Jude Fein
writes for: Sybilla Lyons
writes for: Aurie Grey
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Post by JR on Nov 2, 2015 5:02:19 GMT -8
Characters: Alice & Abaddon
Summary: Straight from destroying Thistlewaite's plans, Alice heads home to find Don and the rest of the Bell crew in the yard. Abaddon notices his girl is wrong, and forces information out of her the only way he knows how. Post-coital, and not logged, they talk a little about how unnecessary Councils are ..
Triggers: Sex stuff, duh.
one reaI bad man [2:03 A.M.]: After Alice left the dragon decided that a fire was needed. And not any ordinary fire, but an impressive one. Teepee of dry-wood erected after nearly an hour of labor, and a little magic, and a twelve foot pile was created. A pyre of stacked logs, branches, dry brush, etc and when it went up, it burned bright and high. The tip of its yellow tongue scratching at the still too overcast sky. Rain threatened above to come down and purge the built inferno, but Abaddon was not going to allow that to happen. He added more fuel to it periodically, adding more than what was necessary to keep it alive, and instead made it grow in birth girth and height. Frank had driven Alice to the Argosy, but returned, and when he returned he was given charge over the fire and its health. The wizard popped a squat with crossed legs and a book in his lap, and bobcats allowed to wander outside and prowl around the big fire. It wasn't long after that when the five ended up curling on and or around the shadowmancer, snoozing on the grass was the little fuzzball Brama. The first few drops of the rain finally starting to plummet in fat pearls that fell heavy and wide, but Abaddon let his energy flare and solidify. A dome of crackling energy keep the monsters, both natural and unnatural, safe from gloomy clouds above. The fire still tended to by Frank, who operated outside of the protective water-free zone Abaddon constructed. The poor golem forced to endure the immediate downpour that came on like a flipped-switch, buckets of hard pellets let loose out of thin air. A few of the bobcats stirring awake at the sound, lazily perusing beyond the invisible barrier of protective circle, indifferently watching the dead-man cursing and holding a hand over his head while poking at the pyre that began to fall apart with the brutal change in weather. <done>
wrecked ships [2:27 A.M.]: The rain was a welcome thing after all that had transpired since she'd left him. There was too much. From loss, to revelation, to shock. Alice felt numb. Felt cold. Colder than she had before, when she'd felt the effects of the drowning that had killed her sister. Killed her sister. Just the thought made her stop where she was coming up the drive. She could have called Frank, but she needed to be alone. She'd taken the shadows home, riding them with an ease she was steadily growing used to, and dismounting there where their woods began; a lane cut between the trees that lead to their house. She was from here to there when the rain started, and she stopped and stood beneath the downpour. Lashes closed as the rain pelted her face, and arms slid their way about her middle. She wasn't dressed for standing in the rain, and it soaked through the thin tee she wore until the thing clung to her shoulders and chest like a second skin. Did he notice when the Brama darted out from the protection of his circle, waking out of nowhere and disappearing into the darker depths around where Abaddon had lit the yard with his fire? Hank arrived in a flash, circling about her feet and nipping at her booted heels until Alice paid him attention. A bend lifted him into her arms and she clutched the odd wet-dry furry body to her chest, and buried her face into his wet dog smell, making the rest of her trek to the house like that. She was surprised to find what was going on in the yard; slowing her steps to take it all in, especially poor Frank left on the outside of the circle. The Golem stopped his muffled tongue-less curses when he noticed her, in fact stopped at stared at her in a way that was almost uncomfortable. He'd spent far too much time with these two, hadn't he? Able to notice when they were .. off. Hank wriggled, and Alice let him go; not bothering to watch where he scrambled off to. Lackluster blues picked up the shimmer of the protection Abaddon had thrown over his reading area, but Alice didn't enter through it. Not yet. She skimmed her fingers along it first, taking steps along the outside -- much like she'd done with his circle in that very same place not so long ago. -d-
one reaI bad man [2:42 A.M.]: He wasn't even damp from the lake any longer, naked frame completely dry, but in a waterfall prison, torrential downpour accruing around the invisible dome and pour off both ends. Skittering Brama thing was only given a lift of eyes once it was already moving, head tilting, but the proximity of Alice was felt by way of auras. Gaze returned back to his book briefly, finishing the words written on ancient paper before closing flesh bound book. One of the cats stretched languidly long claws digging into the muscle of his thigh, nearly peeling open skin, but he was careful not to budge. Waited for the claw to relax again and then carefully pulled the paw from his thigh and used his other hand to push one of the large heads from his knee. Oblivious or indifferent, maybe both, the immortal cretin grinned some at the girl that now lightly fingered the exterior of magical shell. "... I wasn't expecting you to walk back." Figured she would have called Frank when she was ready to leave, but that didn't really matter. He merely gave her the first thought that came to his mind as he peered at her with glimmering greens through the opaque filter of pouring water. He reached through the edge of shell and caught her by the wrist that teased outside the circle, curling into her arm and drawing her inside where it was warm. The second time in the same night that he met her while she was dripping wet, but she was a creature of water so there should have been no surprise in that. "How was your visit?" Water sloshed when he pushed wet gold back and squeezed onto wet tresses, purging water from lengths while he deposited a small kiss to the tip of nose where water beaded. <done>
wrecked ships [2:53 A.M.]: "I didn't," she responded in a tone that was far more casual than Alice ever used. She offered up no other information as to how she'd arrived, just kept circling the dome; where water spilled and splashed and soaked her more -- until his hand shot out and captured the girl who only hours ago had been telling him they should get married, while horrendous things had been happening to Ophelia. The shift in the temperature from out in the rain to here where the fire raged was a thing that had goose flesh pimpling on her arms and legs, and Alice trembling visibly when he pulled her close to skim his fingers through the hair that lay flat against her skull with it's wetness, and peppered a kiss to her nose. Lashes fell and Alice sucked in a breath that was all him. Her hands came up to his chest, curled there against his skin and she leaned in; tilting her head down so that her forehead was against his chin some. "It .. " What the fuck did she say? Something clenched in her gut, and she didn't know if she could even say it. Words she'd not yet said aloud. "It was fine." Dropping her touch, she peeled away from him and closer to the fire. Keep moving, witchy woman. Dropping to a knee, she began to fiddle with undoing the laces of a boot; vision going here and there and all over the place to spy the big cat kittens doing their thing -- looking everywhere but at Don now. -d-
one reaI bad man [2:16 A.M.]: The green-eyed wizard focused his attention with the twisted grin still sprout upon beard, feeling her curl. And listening to her... briefly. Never brief, was the babbling brook. The girl's words flowed with a river's caress, never ceasing, to the point he had to put things in there to keep her quiet. Now though, all too quiet. Bark colored brows crumpled further when he felt the lithesome thing pull away, peeling from naked frame and moving from the warmth he offered to that of the fire. Teeth grit with and grin became a painful thing to muster, but still he sallied forth. The grass felt damp, but not drenched like that beyond the bubbled magic that kept them dry. He could feel the blades curled in between the writhing of toes and scratching at the bottom of his feet. He twisted sharply, looming wolf padding a rounded step behind the girl that fell to a knee. "Why are you...." Tattooed right hand rose up casually, even though she couldn't see it, indicating the whole of her. ".. wrong?" He was not at all fond of this version of Alice, the one that moved past him and was not so infatuated she wouldn't dare to take an eye from him. This one that said nothing and left his touch. No. This one would not do, not do at all. Pair of hands fell to her shoulders and thumbs dug themselves into the base of her neck, slipping against golden skin. The grind and massage of tissue beneath felt in the strength of his grip, but he was also a hair away from clenching fingers around her neck in a throttle. Or at least it felt that way with the intensity with which he gripped the wet witch. <done>
darkest Iove [2:29 A.M.]: Dark blonde tendrils fell freely in front of her face, making it that much easier to keep her features aimed to the ground and not to the man she felt displacing the grass with every step; displacing the water that clung to each blade that had come from the sky before he'd cut of it's flow with his barrier. The question drew in a breath from Alice -- one flavored with the man and the energy that came from him. He didn't have to ask the question to let her know he sensed it. She could feel it in him; feel it in herself, where they were so joined. "I'm not." It didn't even sound convincing to her own ears, and if it hadn't have come out before he touched her, she wouldn't have lied at all. Calloused touch found the delicate stem of her neck, digging in so that she'd feel the threat there. But even that wouldn't lift her head. No, she made quick work of losing one boot and the sock beneath; then shifted so that it was her second knee in the grass, and fingers fumbled stiffly at the laces there too. Earlier, her toes had been too cold within the confines of those thick socks, and now she was feeling hot all over. Too much had happened in the hours they'd been apart and none of it, not a single bit of it sat well within Alice Clare. Okay, maybe one part -- but she'd barely had a thought to revel in the death she'd claimed this night. It'd come without thought, without reason, so naturally -- as if she were on auto-pilot. Once she was barefoot, her head lifted -- but not her gaze. "Let go. I want to take my shirt off." It was wet and sticking to her, and uncomfortable. Just like the grief that sat like a rock in her belly, refusing to go anywhere else. -d-
one reaI bad man [2:46 A.M.]: He remained poised behind her when she gave her feeble response. It triggered an itch in his jaw that set pearls and head to cast down, brown hanging on either side of that face that stared down at the top of her golden crown. The wet lengths stared at, breath held. A response held at the edge of his tongue, but never given life because she then told him to let go. The pressure of hands faded, but they became statue still. The warm grasp gone placid and the dragon still yet to take a breath, letting him remain absurdly quiet and motionless. He finally inhaled and simultaneously pried strong grip from her shoulder, folding the roughness of murderous claws together in a mesh that he held in front of his groin. Grin that strained against the growing ire was sharp and wet as ever above and behind her. "Didn't we just have a discussion about lying Alice? I don't want you lying to me." Words came out in the usual honeyed smoothness, direct to ear as he had pointed his face down over the top of her head. Fingers remained clenched together across his front, while a few of the bobcats stirred and lazily put their gazes towards Alice and Don. The Golem having ran for cover under the canopy over front porch. The fire still large enough to survive the torrential downpour that surrounded them in dry-circle. The downpour curtaining off the world in a smudge and blur. <done>
darkest Iove [3:06 A.M.]: Alice was just as still as he was; waiting for him to do whatever he was going to do. Let her go, or lash out at her for making the demand that had been neither impolite, or even polite. It'd been rather matter-of-fact. Passive even. The garment, gone heavy with the soak of rain, was pulled from her head just before he leant in to give her those honey smooth words that should have sent a shiver of anticipation down her spine, but did nothing. Nothing. Why had it done nothing? Her brows furrowed with the thought, where he couldn't see with how close he leaned. It was suddenly too hot, not just her toes. Everywhere. The tension already riding in the body he knew so well went completely rigid, and Alice so stiffly leaned back, and finally slid the blue of her eyes to meet the green of his. But while his carried the brilliance they always did, that serpent green that brimmed with magic far too ancient and powerful to keep contained, hers in this moment were .. dull. A poor reflection of their electric allure. "Back off," she spoke barely above the sound of the rain coming down outside, barely above the crackle of the inferno he'd stoked to life, and through the grit of her teeth. "I can't breathe with you so close. I can't think! I can't -- " Rocking back from her position on her knees, Alice rose in a stumbled move to her feet; wet and half naked, with only jeans and a bra covering the view of his favorite treasures. -d-
one reaI bad man [3:18 A.M.]: Maybe she couldn't breathe because his radiated heat was stifling, tenfold when irritation began to fester and cause it to crackle. The black seething flames snarling when she said back off, making a part of his soul break in the process. The words she lashed at him causing pain, but instead of wincing he retaliated in the method he knew best. Flexing power. "Can't breathe?" Right hand caught her by the back of her jeans and yanked on her with a sharp action to bring her stumbling back in his direction. She wasn't left to be off-balanced for long though because he twisted his body and the other hand caught her by the throat and latched. He clenched on narrow thing and again his energy flared, fueling his body and allowing it to exert itself to feats that some would say impossible. Or maybe it only made the possible look easy. She was a foot off the ground feet left to dangle and she was lifted up and shoved against invisible wall of protective dome. The energy pulsed hard and a breeze whooshed through the circle. Opposite hand came forward to clench at her chin and cheeks, slowly lowering her dangling, possibly kicking legs back to the ground. Still she was held pinned against invisible barrier by straight-arms, clenching throat and face. "You say hurtful things, I do not like them." Very matter-of-factly said with chomping mouth that tried to remain mirthful, and lurched towards maniacal. Arms had bent inwards and closed so she was between him and the wall of his magic. She probably could have fell through if fingers weren't latched on so tight. Grip on throat loosening from the windpipe and instead held her by the neck. <done>
darkest Iove [3:43 A.M.]: Every little sound that came off the dragon with the way she provoked and lashed out with her words should have cut through her like a knife, but she felt none of it the way she should have. Just a dull pressure against the skin, lacking the slash that she so desperately needed. She needed to feel -- and needed it to be him. Always him. "Get aw --" But she couldn't get out the rest, it was cut off with a shriek when he did the opposite of what she was about to demand, and caught her by her pants and sent her tripping over her feet while he twisted and yanked, and finally had her bare toes off the ground -- too high off the ground. She struggled; kicking at him with feet that may have once or twice met their mark against his shins. Choked by his hand, her own flew up to clutch at the wrist that held her aloft, but despite that initial cry, she made not a sound. His energy pushed at hers, and hers pushed back. Crashing into his much like she'd done at the lake just earlier that night; only harder. Battering at him in a collision that hit again and again -- to no prevail. Her feet sank into the wet grass again, and toes curled against the blades. The force of his magic behind her back was just as overwhelming in these moments as the man himself. She'd expressed a lack of air, and now he was making it a literal one. Squeezing her throat closed, feeling it contract beneath his fingers while her body revolted against the abuse; but she only stared at him through slitted lashes. "I .. don't .. " Care, would have come out next, but he'd loosened the grip he held on her fragile throat, and he'd see something spark in her eyes for the first time. Panic. It rose fierce and fast once she realized her words didn't seem to be doing the trick in illiciting his violence. He still held her, pinned her to the barrier, but that didn't stop her now, from raising a foot and lashing out hard with it; aiming for the meaty part of his inner thigh, a little too close to the family jewels, if you get what I'm sayin'. -d-
one reaI bad man [3:59 A.M.]: Abaddon could only handle so much of her silent treatment, and her tantrum. When the foot rose and struck him on the thigh, he didn't care about the panic or the glimmer. If it was a reaction she wanted, she did well by attacking him with the foot. He actually thought she may have been aiming for his groin, the flinch of hip and tilt of thigh capturing the blow squarely and then he wrenched her body forward. Even if he wasn't fueled with magic in his blood he had a physical advantage over the smaller thing, but that didn't mean he held anything back when he drove knee up into her gut. He didn't aim to strike her in the belly, but through her belly. The wind vacuumed out from lungs and hands releasing her to let her collapse to knees or bend over. Fingers carelessly curled at her exposed back, hooked end of bra unlatched with a fidget of fingers. "I don't know what you think you are doing right now..." If she had fallen over he helped her up, if she was bent over he bent her straight.. Either way he drew her up to stand straight and aid her re-capture her breathing pattern. "Breathe easy now, slowly." Both inked up hands rose to gather up those blonde lengths while she recovered, taking them up in his right hand. Tight grasp firmly taken and jerked her head back sharply, opposite arm swinging around her side and landed near the front of her jeans. Button plucked and zipper dragged down. <done>
darkest Iove [4:15 A.M.]: Truthfully, she hadn't actually been aiming for anything. That's just where her stupid food landed. But what happened next? Alice could never have predicted that in a million years. He jerked her forward, and if anything, she was prepared to collide with his chest; not to find the impact of his knee hitting in her in the soft flat of her belly in such a way that Alice felt the world tip on it's axis. Right down to her knees the moment he let her go, and she was gasping and sobbing out against the waves of pain that rocked her. Her hands sunk into the crash, and she curled against herself -- much like she had at the lake when he'd found her, that way he didn't like. He'd feel her body in a violent tremble of revolt when he pried apart her bra, and the way he pulled her up to her feet then just slid the thing right from her arms to fall forgotten to the grass. She couldn't find her footing at first, too caught up in trying to fill her lungs again after he knocked the wind right out of them. Her hands clutched at his shoulders, and she heaved in a wheezing breath finally; head falling forward for drying locks to slide into her face, against his skin when she pressed her head against his chest -- only to have it wrenched back and she was forced to face him. She had no answer for his words on what she might think she was doing. She only pawed at him now with one hand leaving the steady of his shoulder. Pawed it along his clavicle and over the bird that rested there in flight. Up, into the thick of that chocolate spaghetti beard, where her fingers spread and gathered the facial hair between them, and while he worked on her jeans, she closed her little fist; pain-swirled blues, still too dark to be her own, locked right on angry greens -- and Alice sharply twisted that fist to pull on his beard, at the same time, surging forward and up to find his mouth hard with hers, pulling against the bind he had on her hair. -d-
one reaI bad man [4:27 A.M.]: Wet jeans were fondled and a difficult thing to get off her well-rounded hips. Hand flatly pressed against the outside of one thigh and slid down hard against the blue that peeled like a layer of flesh, sticking to moist skin. Same hand pressed to the outside of opposite thigh and did the same, getting them down the thickest part of stems and then letting blue pool around. He made a face around her beard tug and felt her cause herself pain in order to reach his mouth. She scraped petals across his, and he returned the passionate embrace... for a second. Only a brief moment of comfort found from those pink morsels, and he yanked her head back harder. Panties were pulled at next, peeling them down in a similar way he went about those jeans while he spoke. "Nothing until you tell me why you are wrong..." Voice came out more rigid than it had ever before with her, always playing a game of some sort, but now it was hammered out sternly. Pelvis was clutched sharply, slap of palm coming hard between her thighs. By that hand alone he spun her and jerked her hard up against his naked front. Soft back smashed against the marble carved chest, and opposite arm curled around her neck. Throat was caught between forearm and bicep while fingers curled at her shoulder and he let that spaghetti beard she had grabbed onto sink onto the opposite side. "You have to tell me. " <done>
darkest Iove [4:45 A.M.]: Denim and zipper scraped at her delicate skin when he tugged it off, but Alice was too distracted at causing more harm against her case to really notice. Too busy trying to get at his mouth. He played along, for a little moment; kissing her back, just to give her a taste before he took it away with a pull on her hair that had her crying out -- finally able to make a real sound now that her belly was no longer contracting against the pain from his knee. It was still there, don't get me wrong. But not as intense. Alice whimpered out a half-sob with the theft of his mouth from her, and tried to get back at him, but he wasn't having it. What he was having, was her panties off, and to tell her flat out she'd have nothing out of him like that. A sharp inhale, and she shook her head; squeezing her eyes shut too against the implication in the words. He was going to force it out of her, but Alice was determined to not let that happen. But then he slapped at her groin; took the whole of it in his hand, and pushed himself inside her, and she sobbed out against the rough invasion that was only made more so when he spun her about on those fingers like a top. He made it work though, impossibly so, and Alice crashed into his chest and was caught against the steel of his arm coming to her throat. "I can't!," she burst out, "I can't tell you. I can't, please. Please don't make me tell you." Her nails sank into him; a set at his wrist, another at his hip, and Alice mashed herself down some.
one reaI bad man [4:59 A.M.]: The rain continued to plummet down hard and fast, but the muffled sound of it barely crawled inside the protective area. Sound, smell, heat, wind, water, everything seemed to be prevented from passing through the energy. If something didn't have a will of its own, it wasn't capable of passing through. She pleaded with him and offered the rub of rump to the erection that sprouted between thighs. He squeezed at her from the inside and out, thumb stroking over words offered in hushed warm breaths along her neck and ear. "... Alice. I will only tell you one more time...." He ignored the sting of crescents dug into arm and hip, it was only an additional burning sensation to go with the thrumming desire in his loins. He could feel the heat of her seeping into his palm, imagined himself buried deep, and he pushed forward with a touch more force. Mouth closing on the lobe of her ear. Lips curled on soft tissue, suckling on the rounded bottom and tilting nose to brush in the crease of ear's shell. "... Tell me why you are wrong." <done>
darkest Iove [5:17 A.M.]: The rain was a beat with the fast drum cadence of her heart where it pounded inside her thin chest, quick and erratic. Alice writhed against the solid wall of her man. His fingers were a torture, the friction building and building; welling up inside her to push at the gut-wrenching grief that threatened to overwhelm. He was going to push away and Alice wasn't sure if she was ready for it to go. Wasn't it proper to keep it? To hang on to it, so everyone knew you were upset? How could she just let it go? Don't worry, Alice Clare, it will come back. She sobbed; arching her spine so that she pressed harder against him and needing it more than ever. His words clung to her ear, and she sobbed again; wrenching her head to the side so that her nose pressed against his and her mouth got that much closer to his own. "She's dead," she said the words aloud for the first time, even in the croak of a whisper. Made them real. Made it impossible to take them back. "I'm not wrong," these came out on a moan, with the depths of his fingers hitting somewhere so good, and Alice's hand at his hip crept from the front to the back to clutch at the muscle just above his ass. "I'm not wrong," her head fell away from the press of it against his face, back to his shoulder, and it shouldn't have happened this way. She shouldn't be fucking cumming all around his finger-fuck, she shouldn't be moaning out what came next from her mouth in the throes of crested oblivion, and shattering around him -- "I'm not wrong, ohhhhh, I'm just -- just .. ohhhhhh, Abaddon, please -- I'm -- Ophelia, Ophelia's dead." -d-
one reaI bad man [5:36 A.M.]: Those tips that stuffed themselves sought out to push against velvet walls, feeling the soft and squishy texture of tensing muscles. She quivered and trembled, drenching the fingers that ground at her. She whimpered, squirmed, and broke down. Telling him the words that he bade her to spill, needing to know why it was she returned to him a different flavor than the one that had left. She was dead. Ophelia. There was no sympathy to be had it seemed, none offered, even if a piece of him felt the pain she experienced. It was.. ornamental, to him, to the majority. She shared her painful secret. And she came. And in response the dragon clenched around her and laughed. A sharp crisp bark and arm tightened a little in its lock around neck, voice again offered in quiet tone against the shell of her ear. "She was always going to die, Alice. She was weak. Does that surprise you?" He didn't provide a shoulder, but cold truth that was given in heat. Heat that dripped from her spread, heat that fell in humid breath, and heat that simmered with his still brewing aura. Teeth again sank themselves against the side of her neck, lips sealing over and sucking on soft skin. Tongue spread itself fully over tenderized skin and scratch of his beard dug in nagging fashion at the curve of shoulder. Against her skin he spoke, words spoken against the golden girl again. He could see all of the plans he had considered falling apart, the webs weaved to deal with the inevitable conflict with Ophelia falling away. None of it would be required, an obstacle eliminated by some twist of fate. He never really considered her a 'viable' threat to what he and Alice had, but only because of all the possible 'outs' he had created if a situation were to rise ever. <done>
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JR
VT:L Adventure Guide
Posts: 93
writes for: Alice Clare Bell
writes for: Freya Black
writes for: Isla Byrne
writes for: Jude Fein
writes for: Sybilla Lyons
writes for: Aurie Grey
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Post by JR on Nov 2, 2015 5:12:16 GMT -8
Characters: Alice Clare ( wrecked ships ), Mira ( igna fatua ), Saint ( shotgun politics ) & Will ( any other tale )
Summary: It's a not so average night at Not Your Average Joe's. Alice is still riding the trip that started after Samhain with lovely Jasper Cross as a coping mechanism for her sister's tragic death. Mira arrives after a smexy date. Saint is already watching porn sports, and later Will shows up in time to become the object of Alice Clare's affection and Mira's good natured ribbing..
Triggers: Language, morbid thoughts, drug use, sexual references.
 wrecked ships: Alice Clare was having the equivalent of Sunday Funday. Wasn't that an American thing? Oh well. Bitch was a believer. She'd woken up in her own bed, but she really had no recollection of how she'd gotten there. The last thing she'd remembered clearly was leaving the Grove with her armslipped through Jaspers. The rest of the night was more flashes of color, flashes of movement, and the feeling of just .. blackness throughout. It must have been a good night though, considering the hickey on her neck, the skinned knee she was sporting, and the fact she came home with a handful of Jasper's happy mints -- which she then spent the day working on consuming. The water witch was flooooattting -- sometimes literally, little steps made out of water that supported her weight while she danced her way through a forest of crayons in every color at one point that afternoon, and then she could have sworn that she was riding a triceratops ( it was poor Frank, who was following after Alice everywhere she went to make sure she brought no harm to herself, or others ). But the last fun mint was already working it'sfinal waves through her system, hours after she'd gobbled it up, now late at night and Alice was seated at a booth inside Not Your Average Joe's. There were a few cups in front of her. Various forms of coffee made by Andy, but she'd not really touched a single one of them past a sip here or there. She just .. sat. Staring at one in particular where he'd made some sort of design in the froth -- it was the face of a cat, and it was talking to her. One word over and over. Scooby Doo. What the fuck did that mean? Nothing was able to distract her from watching the little whiskers in her cup move with the chant the cat was making, not even the fact that her shirt was moving. Just a plain white shirt, a little too big for Alice Clare, with black lettering across the breasts that simply said ``B U T T`` and a pair of leggings decorated with a rose garden on a black background made up the girls outfit; unlaced boots on her feet, and tucked under her butt in the indian style way she sat. The shirt was in constant motion -- that was real, people, not just in AC's LSD riddled head, some little thing pushing against it, rolling against it, and sometimes it even made some sort of .. mewling sound, one that Frank, from one booth behind Alice; his back to hers, would cover up by a tongueless cough. -d-
igna fatua: Alice wasn't the only one tonight who was floating, also in an occasional literal sense. That was what those wings of hers were for, right? For the most part, physically speaking, her feet were on the ground, but when she strolled into Joe's, Mira was wearing a smile a mile wide. She was also dressed a little out of sorts for her usual style. It was typically New York glimmer and flash, or sleek black, or smoldering reds. Tonight, she seemed to have centered her outfit on a pair of...cowgirl boots? Brown with teal accents. Her legs were bare beneath a teal miniskirt, but the black v-neck and the earthy-burgundy-dark-red cardigan were much more her usual flavor. Dark hair, still damp from her shower, was left down about her shoulders, and when she strolled up to the counter and placed her order with Andy, it was with a lazy sort of contentment, like a fat cat laying in the sun. Of course, the shadow of her encounter with the asshole in the bar early in the evening was still there, stretching over her mood, but the less she thought about him, the better. There was Alice Clare, and she took her chai and her boots and her surreally cheerful self over to join her. "Hi!
shotgun poIitics: Saint was there, he rolled into Joe's earlier that night. Having selected a corner booth so he could stretch his framework out along the cushions. That was before he downed several cups of Colombian roast while working on his laptop. But with as much as he drank, he felt the same familiar urge to run to the bathroom. Maybe he should've limited himself, but it was difficult to do just that when his attention was mainly invested in the research he was doing. On his way back from the restroom, he noticed there were a couple familiar faces seated nearby. "Jesus fuckin' Christ. How long was I in there?" It was more a rhetorical question than meant for anyone in particular. Oh well.He just shrugged his shoulders, offering a nonchalant wave to both Mira, who we knew, and Alice Claire, who he had only met the night before. They were both afforded pleasantries on his way back to his corner booth. Okay so, maybe he wasn't so much doing research as he was watching highlight videos of European football. /d
wrecked ships: Mira sat down, and that was a thing that lifted AC's stare away from the cat in her cup. Her pupils were so wide, there was barely even a hint of blue in the wide eyes that shot up to the dark Fae. "Mira. Mira. This cat has a clue. There's a clue, but it won't tell me. Can you hear it?" The cup in front of her was turned quickly, sloshing the foam that layered it's lip a little. The cat distorted some with the movement, but as if on cue there came a meow. A second into that meow, Frank sounded like he was hacking up a lung, and then Saint appeared, and Alice's bug eyes lifted with the tilt of her pretty face up to him. "You. Trouble." She said nothing else, but he was already on his way back to the his seat anyway. "Mira. Mira. Look at this one. There's no clue in this one." A second of the four cups in front of her was pushed at Mira; this one simple coffee, black, no doctoring or the like and all it did was ripple with the disruption of being moved. She was panting a little now, and her shirt rippled too, and from out of the top neckline popped a pair of pointy furry ears, and then a face. Kitten? Sure. But certainly not domestic. "It said Scooby Doo! What does that mean?!" While she spoke, the little bobcat -- already the size of a fat adult housecat, like a Maine Coon one, too -- swatted at her moving mouth; claws catching at her chin and leaving a bloody welt that Alice didn't seem to notice. "WHAT IS THE CLUE, MIRA?" Stop shouting, dumbo. -d-
igna fatua: Dark eyes, alight with fire and life, lifted to watch Saint as he passed by. "Well, well, even the mighty have to use the crapper," she teased him as he passed, winking his way. Honestly, she seemed a little tipsy, though there was nothing on her breath to suggest alcohol consumption. "Fancy seeing you here." Attention was stolen by Alice, as she shoved the coffee cup at her and gestured at the foam kitty that was...wait, was that cat making noise?! She stared with a what-the-fuck expression. "A clue? A clue to what? What the hell is meowing?" Oh! And then she got the answer. A giant kitten! Mira's joyful squeak was absolutely ridiculous, and she reached hands out towards it. "Oh my goodness! Look at you! What a beautiful little thing you are, with such sharp little claws!" Alice was shouting, but Mira was reaching out to pet the kitty-thing if it would let her. "Um. What? Scooby Doo? I dunno. Are you drunk? You sound drunk." And she looked drunk, so between the two of them it probably seemed like they'd been out partying. They had not been. Or at least, Mira hadn't. "Maybe it means we should all split up and look for clues, gang."
shotgun poIitics: "Jinkies!" That came completely out of left field, he wasn't invited to the conversation but that doesn't mean he was above interjecting. When the mention of Scooby Doo came within earshot, he was all over that like a white plate in a snowstorm. "Hey Mira, I'll help you look for clues." He said, a little eyebrow waggle attached for the purpose of further teasing her. "Oh yeah, I wasn't using the shitter—ahthankyou. I was writing my name in the urinal." At least he set her straight on that assumption. "Also. Is she all right over there? I mean, I can hear her all the way over here." Says the man yelling halfway across the interior of Joe's. After receiving several stares from others, he just decided to close his laptop and slide it back inside his black backpack. Saint slipped his arm through the shoulder strap, and lifted it onto his broad shoulder. Strides carried him over to where Mira and Alice were. "Maybe if I sit closer, I won't have to scream across the room. I'm almost positive that everyone here thinks I have Tourette's syndrome by now." He said, scanning the coffee shop suspiciously. His words were meant for Mira obviously, because Alice seemed to have fallen down the rabbit hole. /d
wrecked ships: Did Mira know she was sitting next to Ophelia? Not the real one, no, not even some ghostly presence -- but a manifestation that just sort of appeared, and was staring Alice down but miming her expressions, and mouthing along with whatever Alice had to say next. Mira was making gimme fingers at the bobcat, who caught sight of them and wormed his way out of the top of Alice's shirt and flopped heavily onto the table in the awkward way that kittens had -- but this one was far bigger than an actual kitten, and the cups on the table clattered, and silverware jumped. "You weren't supposed to die," Alice said, staring at Mira's left, while Ophelia mouthed along. "Not yet." The cat made a wriggling butt leap through Fee, who turned into particles of a thousand colors and disappeared, and into Mira's arms ( watch the claws ) and Saint arrived, turning Alice's head towards him. Dark-sin eyes started from where he began at the end of the table -- probs his dick, she's not sorry -- and worked their way slowly up the rest of him to his features. "Which one will you protect first, Saint Jones?," the words were a hush compared to the shout she'd given moments ago. Andy seemed to have finally noticed the severe health code violation that Alice had brought in, and the stitched together Golem, made of so many peoples parts because Alice kept ruining him, swooped out from his seat behind her, nudging his way past Saint, to very rudely steal the mewling bigcat from Mira's arms and take off out of Joes with the bundle of fur in a football clutch to his chest. -d-
igna fatua: "I don't think there are clues in my panties, Saint." Mira said that once he had gotten up and come over to join them, because seriously, yelling across the coffee shop was bad form. Alice at least had the excuse of tripping balls or something, but Mira and Saint had no excuses at all. Once he was over beside her, she utilized his size and leaned against him like a post, while arms came out to catch the leaping bobcat. "Oh! Hi there, aren't you just precious? Ow!" Because the bobcat caught her upper arm in a play-bite while Mira scratched behind its ears. "Now play nice! We're friends here, mister--awwww." That last came as Frank picked himself up and took the kitty off to places more suitable for it. "Cuuuute. I want one. Think they'll let me keep one in my dorm?" No, and it would probably try to eat Pan, which would be tragic. Her brow furrowed as she faced Alice again, watching her just...talk to things that weren't there. Oh. Oh, yes. The news of Ophelia's death had indeed reached her by now, and she looked pained as she reached out to smooth Alice's hair back like a mother touching a feverish child. Nothing was said, but her expression said it all. It had been more than the customary seven days, but the tradition in her faith was to sit shiva and have people bring you food, so Mira stepped away for a moment to confer with Andy. A few moments later, she returned with a gigantic sugar cookie, which she set down wordlessly in front of Alice.
shotgun poIitics: "Says you. I'm almost certain I could find the answer to world peace inside your panties." Oh, right. Saint should've behaved himself in public, but that wasn't likely to happen. Due to his ridiculous six foot seven inch frame, he made an ideal leaning post for Mira. It was about that time Alice's words caught his attention. "Which one will I choose?" He repeated, just to make certain he heard her correctly. "Well, I don't know. I suppose that depends entirely on my choices." Oh, he noticed Alice Claire sizing him up, starting from his lower half. It's okay, he was used to it by now. Then he turned back to see a large cat leaping into Mira's arms. "My, my—what a large pussy you have there. It's not quite as big as mine, but it's not the size that matters." The way he phrased that, well, it could've been taken several different ways. He was aiming for comedic purposes, but that was before the pussy-napper intervened and everything became all somber. Saint only remembered bits and pieces from the night he went into the catacombs. But he did recall someone discovering a severed head, he wasn't exactly the first on the scene, seeing as he was slightly preoccupied at that particular moment. It didn't take long to make the connection, especially during the Samhain festival. It all made more sense; the soft manner in which Mira displayed with Alice. For the first time in a while, he was unsure of what to say. /d
wrecked ships: The big cat kitten, with all his soft tabby-striped fur and little tufts of extra in his ears, totally loved on Mira for the opportunity he was given before Franny so rudely swept him away. Alice still just stared at Saint, waiting. Downturned mouth slightly parted, and those too-big eyes hyperfocused on the man with their lack of iris that the pupils had seemed to eat with how big they were. His answer came, and she just sat back; turning back to regard Mira, but by that time Mira wasn't there. Panic leapt into her chest, and she scrambled within the small amount of space she had between the backing of the booth and the edge of the table to get to her feet; a frantic search from that high point over tall ass Saint's head to search out the petite Fae. There. There. At the counter. With the same stars that were forever imprinted along Mira's side and breasts swirling about her and through her while Alice watched, breasts rising and falling quickly beneath her ``B U T T`` shirt. She was still standing when the cookie was set down. Still standing when the uncomfortable silence filled the space of the booth they were gathered at. Attention bounced between them, and Alice was quiet too. Her heart thundering too loudly within her chest. Quiet quiet, far too quiet. "SOMEBODY SAY SOMETHING," she shouted, and threw out her hands. Water hit the both of them square in the face from out of nowhere, and every faucet in the place turned on in a violent rush. -d-
igna fatua: Mira wanted to dive face-first into a pile of bobcat kittens, claws be damned! They were so soft and sweet and precious and oh goodness she needed them in her life. NEEDED. Returning with the cookie, Mira offered Alice a gentle sort of smile, and she had her mouth open to speak, she really did. To say something that would hopefully prove kind and reassuring. Like oh, Alice, I hope you're doing okay, in my culture we mourn by eating because that's literally how Jews handle everything. But instead she got whacked in the face with water and went ass-over-cowgirl-boots, laying on the floor, dazed. She had been majorly taken off guard. "What the fuck?!" she demanded as she gotback up to her feet, watching as Andy panicked as the faucets all went on. "Alice Clare!" Saint was offered a hopeless sort of look. The woman was clearly trippin' or just off her rocker. Maybe grief had finally made her snap, and she knew she could relate. Her mother's death had triggered one hell of a downward spiral for the little faerie, and that had been an expected one. She had known for months that her mother was dying, and it hadn't softened the blow. To have a death in the family come so suddenly and so violently...but still. Mira put her hands gently on Alice's wrists. "Make the water stop, Alice," she said, trying to be as soft and as delicate as she could about it, with cold water dripping down her face and shirt. "Make the water stop."
shotgun poIitics: Don't look at him, he got blasted in the face as well. He wasn't exactly fit to offer any assistance, because he had quite literally dove into one side of the booth to avoid Alice's naturally built-in supersoaker. "I sure hope this joint has insurance, 'cause it's gonna see some major water damage if Blastoise doesn't turn off the hydro-cannon." He wasn't much in the way of help, because he barely knew Alice as it stands. Saint could afford pretty words, but Mira was far more qualified given the circumstances; to be the kind of friend offering condolences and inspirational reassurances. All of which were below his pay grade, he was here to kill supernatural shit. It wasn't that he didn't give a rats ass, he was just positive that somewhere along the line he would eventually have a case of foot-in-mouth syndrome. "You got her?" He asked, totally providing backup for Mira. It didn't seem like such a bad idea to wear a black tee, but that was before Alice saturated it all the way through. Saint had wiped his face off by this point. "So, would it be bad to say, your friend makes me wet?" /d
wrecked ships: Mira was welcome to come dive-bomb in cats anytime she wanted! They could have tea in Alice's fairy tale caravan and throw the little cats peices of Frank and watch them wrestle over things like his liver or a kidney. It'd be magical! Speaking of Frank, he was at the window of Joe's closest to where they stood now, bobcat in his arms, and his silent mouth moving like he was trying to yell at her to stop what she was doing in tandem with Mira. She hadn't meant to douse so hard, truly -- Mira going down was not part of her intentions. At least not clothed and in public. Ba dum hiss. "You can't do that!," she hissed when Mira started to tell her to turn off the water. "You can't look at me like that, and be so quiet and give me BISCUITS. I can't have biscuits!" The second push to cut the rushing flow of water worked, and all the faucets kicked off as if they'd never been on in the first place -- the only evidence it'd ever happened was the two drippy faces, and the confused and horrified looks of the other patrons of Joe's. "I'm not a child to be fixed with treats," her wrists were wrenched out of Mira's hold, while Mira and Saint both dripped with more than water in front of Alice's eyes. Flesh melting like wax off their faces, and her hands came up again; almost defensively, but before anything might come out of it, Frank bashed his hand hard against the window and startled her out of whatever might come next. She sank down then, onto the booth, knees raising up to her chest. Miraculously, the sugar cookie had survived the water show. Alice picked it up now, and silently took a bite. Yeah. Not a child. Butt shirt. -d-
igna fatua: They were both drenched and in black. Mira, at least, had a good bra on underneath. Which everyone could now see the lace and lines of through the black if they looked hard enough, probably. She fixed Saint with a baffled expression. Did she have this?! "Uh," offered the typically witty fae. But it turned out that she did. And when Alice gave that lecture about being fixed with treats, she sighed and took a step back. "You didn't even let me explain," she pointed out. "In Judaism, when a loved one is lost, the family goes into mourning for seven days and it's customary for friends and neighbors to give them food. I know it's been more than seven days, but...I don't know, I'm not going to make you a fucking casserole, Alice. I like you, why would I subject you to my cooking?" A wan attempt at humor, but an attempt nonetheless. She stepped back, rubbed the back of her head, cast a nervous glance at Andy, who was staring in mute horror at the sink behind the counter, then at Saint. At least the trauma had passed, for now, and she set a hand on Alice's shoulder to try to soothe her. The other hand reached out for Saint, trying to pull him into this weird little comfort circle. "When we lost Mom, the guy across the street made us pork chops. Super fucking Kosher. We ate them anyway because they were amazing."
wrecked ships: "I'm not a Judas," she sneered at Mira around a mouthful of white sugar cookie, though she probably should just shut up. She did, a little, other than a grunt or two while Mira went on to talk more about sitting shiva. Watching Mira through the fringe of her lashes, with an almost feral look to match the way things felt on the inside. Like her organs were fighting each other to be the victor. The hand on her shoulder was totally okay, but when Mira tried to bring Saint in like it was a group hug, Alice snarled, and shoved and pushed -- until Frank slapping the window again made her stop. He was holding a pad of paper up against the window, with masculine chicken scratch in big bold letters. I CALLED DADDY. The words were all swirling, but she read them just fine. An offended gasp, and then both middle fingers thrown up at the Golem. "Fuck. You. Snitch." Not a shout at least this time, and Alice turned her pretty blonde head back to Mira and .. well, not Saint. She musta pushed him right out the door. "Don's coming. We should hide. He fucks so hard when I'm bad. Am I being bad? I could give him this biscuit." There was only a bite left. She held it up, between her own and Mira's faces. -d-
igna fatua: Well, Saint had headed out after that! Which was fine, and Mira smacked his ass and told him to behave himself on the way out. He was kinda cocky and snide, but he looked good and he fucked good, and frankly that was all she asked of the cambion of pride. Dark, dark eyes flickered towards the scratch in the window. Now. How would Mira have responded to the threat of seeing Don in the past? Sulked, probably. Reminded herself that she wasn't good enough for him. Drawn to herself like a tiny, sad, scared ball and wondered where she had gone wrong, why she wasn't as good or as interesting or as pretty as her dear friend Alice. Something had most definitely changed in the faerie, because the threat of Don coming to visit made Mira grin. "Oooh, is he going to spank you for misbehaving?" she inquired. A toss of wet hair revealed what she had been deliberately hiding from Saint, not that she figured he'd care. A wicked bite mark where her neck and her shoulder met, quite fresh. A few hours old at most. "You did get me wet," she pointed out, glancing at her shirt. "I don't know if that's being bad, but it probably wasn't being on your best behavior. Maybe you should try something more than a biscuit." She tapped her nose thoughtfully. "Oh! What if we made sure he had hot tea waiting for him when he comes? I don't know, is he into tea?" Mira had no idea what Don was into other than, you know, the stuff that he was very obviously into.
wrecked ships: Hot tea. The suggestion was so ludicrous that Alice, even in her trippy state, barked out a hoarse laugh. Her hand went over Mira's mouth, the other one finding the back of the woman's head; slipping fingers into dark wet hair. "Shut up. Shut up shut up shut up." She still had that cookie bit between her fingers; getting crumbs on Mira's cheek now, and she began to push it towards the Fae's lips. "You eat this. He'll eat me. Eat me all up in the dragon's teeth. Spit out my bones and make a whole new girl. We made a whole new Frank, a dozen times. I'll be a new Alice. No more need for the old one. Bad Alice Clare," her voice dropped and she leaned in a little closer to Mira; sliding her hand away from the fullness of her friends mouth. "Do you want to see him open me up? I'm black on the inside. Rotten." Stone 'round that neck or not, magic mints couldn't stop her brook from babbling morbid nonsense. Just a bitty lean, and she nipped at Mira's bottom lip, barely making contact before she let her go and twisted to face Frank again. "SNITCHES GET STITCHES, FRANCINE." Her thumb went slowly in a line across her neck at the Golem, who was far too used to such behavior, and only hoisted the bobcat kitten in his arms a little higher, and lifted one of it's too big paws in a wave at Alice and Mira. -d-
Any other tale: At some point in all of that, Will had come to stand over the duo. I'm not going to bother with a long entrance post, because he's telling me not to. He's literally just standing there, tattooed forearms crossing over a chest that reads FUCK OFF, I HAVE ENOUGH FRIENDS and lifting an eyebrow at first Alice Clare, then Frank, and finally Mira. "She lost her shit again, Mir?" nodding up and across Alice Clare's way. (d)
igna fatua: Of course Mira took the cookie that was offered to her, plucked it right out of her friend's fingers with her teeth, delicate as could be. This was the way it would always be, she knew, the push-pull of flirtation and touches and kisses. Alice Clare would always do something to her, deep down where she kept her secrets hidden, and she hoped the Donovan witch could say the same. She smiled, accepted the offer, and even took the nip to her lower lip, which she countered with a mirrored gesture. "Nobody's rotten fully on the inside," she said. "We're all just shades of..." You know, that stupid book had ruined Mira's ability to say 'shades of grey' without thinking of badly written housewife porn, so she settled on, "Shadow. We're shades of shadow." But there was no denying that Alice was a very dark shadow indeed. She brushed hair back from Alice's forehead, tucked it behind her ear, and...looked up at her quadmate. You want to talk about people doing stuff to her deep down in her secrets-place? Will fuckin' Byrne, so perfectly her type and so damn untouchable. "I see you were able to wash the eyeshadow dick off your cheek," was her first reply, a grin lighting up her face. One that faded away quickly. "She's...she's having a rough time," was the best she could come up with out loud, but her eyes said yes, yes she has lost her mind and I need backup so please pull up a chair and some coffee and help me.
wrecked ships: "Shadows," Alice Clare echoed, turning back to Mira and looking past her at the ones that crept in the corners bled across the wall in ways they weren't supposed to. A masculine voice spoke up then, and Alice's gaze flew to Will Byrne standing there. Had he been standing there long? "Will." We'll show you untouchable. Alice was all limbs as she pushed her way out of the booth and around Mira - to climb that tall Byrne tree like it was something she did often ( it wasn't ) and hang around his neck, with her face burying there, and her long long legs folding about his waist. Nothing more. Just that. Pleasedontletherfall. "Why do you smell like fruit punch?" -d-
Any other tale: "Figured it was a sign I should shower," he explained, unfolding his arms to shrug away a grin that matched Mira's. Will just ended up having to fold them again, though, under a very unexpected cling-on's ass. Oh, yeah. She'd lost her shit, again. He narrowed brown eyes into the big, black centers of blue ones. "Ace, who gave you what, this time?" Ace. Like A.C. Only Will's way. Befuddled was an understatement, by the way. Not because Alice Clare was being weird, because let's face it, when isn't she? But because she was being weird wrapped around... him. Like a child who didn't want to go to bed on time, even. (d)
igna fatua: She watched as Alice scaled him, smirking to herself, losing herself in her coffee for a moment. It was still warm, or at least warm enough to be potable. Coffee kinda reached that middling point where it was gross, and then when was iced it was good again, but it hadn't gotten there yet. Or at least I assume it does because I don't drink coffee, but that seems to be the general consensus. "If that's what it takes you to shower, then I'm going to do it every time I think you've gone more than two days without. Fucking bathe, Will. You're gross. Your cat's going to die of stink. We are gathered here today to mourn poor S.Mo, taken from us too soon by his owner's body
Any other tale: "Fuck you," he laughed, interrupting Mira. (d)
odor." The queston that was asked of Alice made her shrug with an idek sort of look. "She sloshed water all over me," she said, gesturing to her wet hair and damp black shirt. Aw, he was going to interrupt? She beamed prettily his way and gave him a pair of impeccably manicured, fashion-forward matte black birdies.
wrecked ships: It was all Will's fault, you know. Him and his beardy good looks going around being all beardy and good looking. So it wasn't entirely just his neck she was face buried in, but by the way she was smearing her features up a little, it was right into his beard. "Jasper," she spoke against the facial hair, rubbing her whole face all over it; squirming a little to try and get herself a little higher up his body. Was she chewing on his beard? A lil'. Fingers, with their smattering of delicate ink ( save the full Aslan lion ) tugged at his hair, though one did shoot it's way into his shirt at his chest. Wait. Was it LSD or ecstacy in those mints? "Stop talking," she announced in his beard. Though it was unclear if she was talking to him, Mira, or whatever was going on in her own head. Frank, bless him, was knocking frantically on the window and not pleased by look on his face craggy face. -d-
Any other tale: Er. This was easily the strangest thing that had happened to him in England, thus far, including being hunted down by his faerie-loving father and having the wind knocked out of him by an animated tree. Will shifted his weight to accommodate Alice Clare's needy smearing and fussy wriggling, at first, but as soon as the beard chewing and the hands inside shirts stuff started happening he was pulling his head back with a furrowed brow whether her hand was still tugging at his mop o' curly mess or not. "Cool it, Jane," he whispered, loud enough for Mira to hear, but probably not poor frantic Frank. "Do I look like Tarzan to you? C'mere." Let's see if he could shake the little spider monkey loose. He pulled at little hands, lowering onto the edge of the booth seat across from Mira, and then pushed at little body, trying to squish her into the corner where he could block her in, maybe. Poke tuck squish. Assuming she tolerated it at all, he shrugged out of the predictable flannel-with-rolled-up-sleeves he always hid in, kind of tossing it around the side of the table at the unseelie. The wet one. So she could do a thing with the thing. It was not gentlemanly; she just looked fucking ridiculous. (d)
igna fatua: Jesus Christ, was she seriously nomming on Will's beard?! She had seen her do that to Don before, which was probably what motivated to say what came out of her mouth next. "Alice honey, I know he's tall and beardy like Don, but he's definitely not Don." She was all prepared to get up and start helping Will wrangle her, but it looked like he had it down pretty good, at least for now. So she just sipped her coffee and watched the proceedings with a quirked brow. Like, seriously, what the hell were they supposed to do here? It was like they had somehow become the unwitting parents of a girl who was actually older than either one of them, or at least was very close in age. A temporary thing, she knew. When the drugs wore off, she'd be good old Alice Clare again, a level of crazy they could manage. Deftly she caught the flannel, made a big deal of sniffing it for body odor in a way that suggested she knew it was clean all along, and then she was rising from her spot in the booth to put it on with a grateful smile flashed his way. Once it was buttoned, arms disappeared within the sleeves, and it only took a bit of deft maneuvering before she had her wet shirt off and Will's dry flannel shirt on. Granted, it looked like a dress on her, but she could rock the 'borrowing my roommate's clothes' style surprisingly well.
Any other tale: "Looks better on me," snarksnark.
igna fatua: "Well I don't think my skirt would look half as good on you," she countered, smirking.
Any other tale: "I have great legs, thank you." Highly offended.
wrecked ships: "He's like a little Don," she cooed, burying her face into the beard so that when she chewed again, it was more on Will's poor jaw than just facial hair -- but he saved himself a moment later with pulling his head away and squishing her into the booth. "Hey. Quit it, fartknocker. I WAS BUSY." She huffed, and she puffed, and she pouted, and she ended up in the corner of the booth anyway, even with how squirmy she made herself while he did what he did to put her there. Francis was still knocking on the window, and Alice finally turned to him. "WHAT." The pad of paper was back, this time scratched over it was a single word. Slut. Offense etched into her expression, and dropped her jaw. "Your mom," she retorted, and flipped herself so her back was to the Golem and her baby bigcat, crossing her arms beneath her breasts, and casting big pupils between Will and Mira. Those big brows of hers were doing a thing. Moving on her face in time with her eyes, like eyebrows should with the way she had them furrowed. "Mira. Mira. Scissors? Frank needs a hair cut." He's bald. Alice unfolded then, getting all sorts of comfortable, with sprawling long legs into Will's lap, since he was blocking the booth, y'know. -d-
Any other tale: "Yeah, all us dark beardy guys, we're just one guy, kinda. Wait, did you just call me a fartknocker?" HIGHLY OFFENDED AGAIN! Will glared at Alice Clare, poked and tucked at her some more regardless of all her repositioning -- in fact, he did his best to make all her repositioning more difficult than it needed to be -- and was probably the last to glance up at Frank's sign. Slut? What? Confused. She was baby spider monkeying him, not seducing him. Fucking weird guy with rude signs. Will gave him one of the birdies that Mira had given him only moments earlier. Oh, he had a name. Frank. Noted. Anyhow, as payback for the namecalling, Will folded Alice Clare's legs up at the knee, tucked her toes under his thigh and used her as a lean support. "Don't look at me like that," he threatened her pre-emptively. "You need sat on." Then he shook his head at Mira, wide-eyed. Do not give this crazy thing scissors. Do not. (d)
igna fatua: Oh, so Frank the Golembutler was now Frank the slut-shaming Golembutler, was he? Mira scrunched up her nose at him, then let her eyes cross dramatically in an immature face-making game. "To be fair, Will," she pointed out, "you are a fartknocker, you fartknocker. And if you look so good in skirts, prove it. I've got a whole closet full of them. Walk around campus in one tomorrow, of your choosing, and I'll give you like...I dunno, money or something." You know, she was still utterly drawn to the man, but at least she had learned to be his friend without stumbling over words or having dirty thoughts. So points for her? Living together probably did it. With Alice's request for the scissors, she caught Will's eye and gave him a barely-there nod of understanding. Fuck no, Alice did not need sharp objects right now. But she did go through the motions of pretending to look for one. She gathered her purse into her lap and began to dig through it, placing various items on the table as she did so. Phone. Keys. A pen. Three tampons--please don't die of awkward, Will, they're all wrapped. "Looks like I'm out of scissors," she mused. "You'll have to give him a haircut when you get home." She really didn't have any, to be fair.
wrecked ships: "No, YOUR SISTER," Alice amended her clever insult to Frank, making sure he knew exactly what she was saying this time as she actually managed to make the Golem look hurt. A little cackle, and then wide eyes were flying back to Will when he accused her of calling him something awful, and poked and proded at her again; making Alice gasp and squirm and giggle and try to get away. But there was no where to go, and she ended up scissorless and sat on. "No, I would never call you that. We're friends. We could make a water tornado. What are those called? A spigot? A sharknado? Why would I call you horrible things when we can make beautiful sharknados together?" Let's hope that her babble and Mira's purse emptying was enough to distract Will from the way Alice was slowly worming her toes further beneath his thigh. Higher up. Moving in. Thank god she had boots on. Or he'd eventually end up with toes where he did not want them. She was still trying. Still trying to toe his butt. "Mira, he is not a fartknocker, GOSH." Little glare at Mira. -d-
igna fatua: "He's our fartknocker. Our favorite one." Grin.
wrecked ships: "Not even a little bit of knocking or farts. I wanna eat his beard. Can I eat his beard again?" -d-
Any other tale: "Okay, look, one," he began, a calloused index finger extended in pointing at Mira. "I am not a fartknocker. You are a fartknocker. And two," point. Point. POINT. "There's no way in hell anything that fits your scrawny little ass gets up past my knees. Challenge not accepted. Nobody on campus wants to see that." You're welcome, Shepherd University. "THREE," he turned that pointing finger on Alice Clare. "Stop trying to toe-fuck my asshole, you pervert, I'm
igna fatua: She choked on her coffee at the words 'toe-fuck my asshole.'
telling your boyfriend. And four-no-you-can-not-eat-my-beard!" Pointing finger retracted, but not until he shook it at both girls like a cranky old neighbor, on general principle. He also clenched his glutes and gave Alice Clare's creeper toes a single bounce-upon. Bonk. Squash. Batman sound effects just appeal to me tonight, okay? And what's all this nonsense about sharknados? What the Hell had she meant by that? 'nado. 'nado 'nado 'nado. Silent worry about something he didn't yet understand settled in behind his eyes. Who told her about the wind thing? Or was she just really, really high? (d)
igna fatua: "Yeah, you're right. Unless you're really good at tucking, nobody wants to see your man-junk fluttering in the November breeze." Yeah, not even Mira. Nobody. Yikes. As he waggled about his index finger, she stared, at least until the words about toe-fucking his ass came into play and then she was almost dying of laughter that she was desperately trying to hold in. It wasn't until she caught that subtle change in his eyes that she stopped, because the comment about Sharknados had gone right over her head. Now, she knew very little about the Byrnes. She knew that they were a witch family, that Will was a wizard (Harry), and that they had probably been out at Samhain last night but she hadn't been there. She didn't know about his abilities, what they might have been, or what her tie to them was. Nothing. "Don't you need sharks for a sharknado?" she asked immediately, and then she promptly regretted it, so sure was she that Alice could find sharks in a heartbeat.
wrecked ships: "You look like you could use a really good fuck, babe," she countered, holding on to the back of the booth then to hoist herself up some, and sit up a little straighter; making a little face when he bounced on her toes, where she looked like she was in genuine pain. "Oowww .. ow, your rock hard ass is hurting my tiny lil' lady toes. Owww." Nudging him wherever she could reach with a flower covered knee. Alice? She'd told someone the other day that she was really good at putting two and two together to get four, and around here you didn't go around with the Byrne and not have it mean anything. She was, however, completely oblivious to how quiet he'd gone. "No!," she burst out with Mir's question. "But we can get like lil' fake ones, cause real sharks would kill people. We can just go killing people, Miriam," she scolded. Behind her, Frank was knocking again. Alice ignored him a few times, but he only knocked more insistently because of it. When she half turned to regard him, giving him a look that clearly stated she was going to do him great harm, he only pointed to where a white sedan had pulled up at the curb about a block away. "Eep. That's my cue. Off me, you dingleberry." A quick move popped her up, still in her seated position, to smear a kiss to Will's cheek ( much better than soaking faces, yeah? ) and she nudged him with her knees. "And by the way, he's not my boyfriend. We love with a love that's deeper than love." Okay, Edgar Allan. -d-
Any other tale: "This is what I'm saying to you," he managed, distracted by thoughts and whiny girls and knobby girl knees. "This is why November is No-Skirts-On-Will-November." Because every day is No Shave November for him, so he had to make up something to celebrate in its place. Uuuugh knobby girl knees knobby girl knees knobby girl knees FINE. He pulled himself out of the booth so that Alice Clare could catch her ride home, though he wasn't sure it was a good idea for her to be going home with someone who called her a slut, but that was just none of his business now wasn't it? Frogface, teasip. "What ever, Poe. Don't drown in it." The love, he meant. The love that's deeper than love. It wasn't until she was out of sight that he wiped LSD-laced Donovan slobber out of his beard like Lucy after Snoopy licks her in that one movie about the Great Pumpkin and those little circle-headed Pistachios characters. (d)
wrecked ships: Let out, finally, Alice rose to her feet, and slipped a hand through the lengths of straight blonde that fell around her as she righted herself. A slight narrowing of one eye for his comment. "Whatever," she echoed back at him. "Drown in this." In a quick move, off went the too big tee with it's ``B U T T`` across the front ( we're gonna keep reminding you of that, cause shit's funny, yo ) and she tossed it at him -- at first though, it was a wadded up shirt sized ball of water, but just as it hit him it was nothing more than warm fragrant cotton and Alice was topless in Joes with her adorable little boobs and their undertattooes. Listen to the message those boobs are telling you, Will. Don't worry. Be happy. Striking a little pose though, hip jutting and all that, she waggled a wave between the two of them, and then she was outta there! With only a pause at the Golem to steal her baby big cat back, cuddling the thing to her chest on her way to skipping to the sedan where another tall, tattooed, bearded creature waited -- the original, sorry Will, but he's got like a thousand plus years on ya. Cat and witch disappeared into the backseat to wrap around the waiting man, while Frank grumbled in a follow to find the drivers seat and head out of town. -d-
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