Post by Deleted on Nov 3, 2015 7:33:51 GMT -8
Characters: Crispin and Mira
Summary: Crispin hits on Mira. It does not go well.
TW: adult language, sexual references
Crispin: Crispin left his house a few hours after his encounter with Rose, shaken to his very core. He replayed the events over and over in his mind, but they only served to make him feel even more angry, frustrated, and embarrassed. The woman had powers he simply didn't understand. All he really knew was he couldn't do a damn thing to her, not a damn thing. So, feeling sorry for himself he polished off the remainder of the Johnny Walker black label sitting on his kitchen counter and then stumbled his way to a local
watering hole he knew of that served stiff drinks; he had every intention of drowning his sorrows tonight. And after being so emasculated by that bitch he was seeking some female validation, preferably in the form as tits and ass. It was cold out, so when he slipped into the warm embrace of the bar, with its familiar sights and sounds, he felt at home. He pushed back wind-whipped hair from his face, still a bit scuffed up from Violet's magic tea, and slid onto a bar stool. "Whiskey," he grunted at the bar tender. Rose may have taken over his bank accounts, but he still had a good chunk of change in cash on him.
Mira: Also at the bar? Miriam Roth. The dark-haired girl sat there with a fruity, red-hued beverage in one hand and her cell phone in the other. How best to describe her? Small, not more than five foot five, and built slim and athletic, graceful. Brown hair was up in a loose ponytail, and she was dressed for the cool of London in November. A black cowl-neck sweater-dress that clung close to her body, a pair of gray leggings beneath that disappeared into black motorcycle boots. Coincidentally, she had been seated on the stool beside the one that Crispin chose, but when he sat down, she didn't
give him much more than a brief glance out of smoldering dark eyes. Hm. Another time, another place, she might have found an interest in him. Back before she was so effortlessly ruined, before she had learned not to trust anything with a penis. Or without one. Just to not trust in general, with some very rare exceptions. She knew nothing of him. She already knew what he'd do to her, the same thing they all did. Fuck her and bail on her. It was what they always did. Except one. Her gaze held his for a hot second, and then moved away
Crispin: What, you didn't think he chose that seat at random, did you? His babe radar was on, and she registered the loudest signal. His brooding, smoldering tough-guy persona was on full display as he cast a sidelong glance at her, the right corner of his mouth tugging upwards in a crooked smile. His world might be crashing down all around him, but she didn't have to know that. The tender set the glass of whiskey in front of him and Crispin set down a 20, murmering something about keep them coming. A sip as he
contemplated this brown-haired beauty, his hazel green eyes looking her up and down. "You can't really be here alone, right? I'm just not that damn lucky," he crooned over the rim of his glass, a charming swagger about him. At least, he thought it was charming. "What're you drinking? The next one is on me." Ha! Like he had money to spend.
Mira: Oh, lord. It was hard not to roll her eyes right off the bat, but somehow she managed. Instead, Miriam reminded herself that maybe not the entire world was out to get her, and she flashed him a gentle smile. Gentle on the surface, at least. Beneath it, there was steel and ice and shadow. "I am here alone," she began, choosing her words very carefully. "Just by my lonesome. I'm not the kind of girl who needs a bodyguard, I prefer to go places by myself." Be nice, Mira, be nice, she reminded herself, though already something about him was trying her patience. He looked like somebody she
had once known, which was part of the problem. He looked like Gabriel. Beautiful, perfect Gabriel who broke her and left her. But his genes weren't his faul.
Crispin: Crispin was oblivious to the woman's gut feeling towards him; he'd had just enough alcohol and had just enough chip on his shoulder to miss it, and by nature he didn't really give a damn how much chicks felt anyway. Hearing her, he let out an amused chuckle and a slight shake of his head, saying, "Well, aren't you a big girl. No body guard, even." Now it was he who tried not to roll his eyes. He finished his drink and rapped his knuckles on the bar to have another one sent his way. "So what's your name, beautiful? Mine's Crispin. Crispin Wellings." He spoke with an American accent and was proud of it. And as he looked her up and down, practically leering, it was pretty obvious he didn't really care what her name was so much as what was under her shirt.
Mira: "Yeah, uh." She sounded American as well. New York was written in every word that came out of her mouth, between sips of her drink that was suddenly not nearly boozy enough. She was going to need to be a very, very drunk woman to put up with this Crispin guy. "Miriam Roth. Mira, if you want." He probably didn't care. He'd probably just want her to get naked. Yep, she knew the type. "Are you going to actually remember that, or are you going to just remember my tits?" There was no mincing words with this one, was there? "Because don't think I don't see where your
eyes are headed, mister." She wasn't that old. She couldn't have been. In her twenties, early to mid. But there was something in her gaze that spoke of being way too old, in her mind, to deal with this bullshit. She had been through way too much. She had deal with way too much. She had been hurt way too much. And if this guy thought he was going to be next in line to pull a fuck-n-run on her, he was dead wrong.
Crispin: "Ha! Nice. I like that. You're all right, Miriam. But to answer your question, It's all but certainly I will remember your tits more than anything else. But don't be offended -- if anything, that's just a compliment for your tits. Enjoy it. Honestly, you women these days with your rabbid feminism and equal rights and all of that shit..." he waved a hand dismissively, "It's really obnoxious. I'm dealing with this one bitch right now, and let me tell you..." his voice trailed off. He hated her so much he
was literally at a loss of words. Crispin took a deep breath. "At any rate, any woman I come across who isn't a super cunt, I consider it a win for mankind." He was definitely buzzed, but not drunk. He seemed to be carrying a weight on his shoulders though, and a closer examination of his face showed he'd been banged up pretty recently. Maybe that's why he was so surly?
Mira: Well, that confirmed everything that Miriam had anticipated. The guy was a pig, and he just wanted to have sex with her. Her response was blunt and to the point. "Oh, I'm sorry, are women nothing more than a thing to put your cock in?" she fired back without hesitation, her eyes rolling. "Look, I get it, some bitch wronged you. But that's like if I decided I hate all men just because one or two or seven or all of them hurt me really badly." Wait, no, bad analogy, and she backtracked. "Anyway. Sorry, no, you're not getting to see my tits. So just..." Her hand waved in a dismissive gesture,
one that clearly meant 'stop now if you know what's good for you.' "Have a good night, okay?"
Crispin: He was pretty much on board with what she was saying, because yeah, maybe he was being kind of a dick about it, but that last thing she said...about stopping if he knew what was good for him. Crispin' had already been bullied once today, by a woman no less, and he was in no mood to suffer any additional threats. Letting out a long sigh, he took up his glass, paused and said, "You threatening me, sugar tits?" then took a sip of the whiskey and set it down. Everything about his gaze hardened. "Because it sure
sounded like it, and I've got to tell you....I'm getting real tired of it. So why don't you apologize, and we'll forget all about it."
Mira: Mira just looked at him briefly. Her expression was frigid suddenly, something approaching a blind rage. "Mmmm. No. No. No, I'm not going to apologize. Actually, I have something for you." She leaned in close, close enough for him to look down the cowl of her sweater to the pair of perfect tits beneath. It was deliberate. Get his attention. Make sure he was looking at them when she snagged the glass of water beside her booze. The ice-cold water was immediately splashed in his face. "It's a piece of advice. Do not fuck with me, you little pissant. I might be here alone, but there are two
men in my life who are probably equally willing to beat the ever-loving shit out of your pathetic, sexist ass the second I say so." Her voice dropped. Lowered. "That is, if I leave anything for them to beat."
Crispin: The rush of freezing cold water splashed against his face sobered him right up! He gasped, pulling away from her now dripping wet, with a look on his face that was equal parts shock and anger. "Bitch!" he turned, spitting water from his mouth. Today was just not his day. He rose from his stool and cocked his hand back, about to knock her teeth out, when he thought better of striking a woman in public. Seething, he lowered his hand, though he was not above giving her a rough shoulder-bump on his way to
grabbing some napkins to dry his face off. As he came back he whispered harshly in her ear, "Watch your back, Miriam Roth, because I'm not going to forget this."
Mira: The cocked hand received nothing more than a frosty stare, and his threat didn't get much better. She sipped her drink without flinching, stared straight ahead while she spoke. "Quaking in my boots," she muttered, wriggling her feet in them. "I won't forget this either, Crispin. If you think even once of laying a finger on me again, harassing me again, I will wear your fucking teeth as a necklace." Her anger was quiet, but it was terrifying in its intensity.
Crispin: Crispin looked momentarily taken aback by the intensity she displayed, revealing an inner anger he didn't know was there. But his ego kicked back in and he curled his lip up into a sneer. "You're all the same. And, hey...Quakin' in my boots too. Give me a break." He reached around her to grab and finish his whiskey, then gathered his coat and headed for the door, hoping he'd never run into her again.
Summary: Crispin hits on Mira. It does not go well.
TW: adult language, sexual references
Crispin: Crispin left his house a few hours after his encounter with Rose, shaken to his very core. He replayed the events over and over in his mind, but they only served to make him feel even more angry, frustrated, and embarrassed. The woman had powers he simply didn't understand. All he really knew was he couldn't do a damn thing to her, not a damn thing. So, feeling sorry for himself he polished off the remainder of the Johnny Walker black label sitting on his kitchen counter and then stumbled his way to a local
watering hole he knew of that served stiff drinks; he had every intention of drowning his sorrows tonight. And after being so emasculated by that bitch he was seeking some female validation, preferably in the form as tits and ass. It was cold out, so when he slipped into the warm embrace of the bar, with its familiar sights and sounds, he felt at home. He pushed back wind-whipped hair from his face, still a bit scuffed up from Violet's magic tea, and slid onto a bar stool. "Whiskey," he grunted at the bar tender. Rose may have taken over his bank accounts, but he still had a good chunk of change in cash on him.
Mira: Also at the bar? Miriam Roth. The dark-haired girl sat there with a fruity, red-hued beverage in one hand and her cell phone in the other. How best to describe her? Small, not more than five foot five, and built slim and athletic, graceful. Brown hair was up in a loose ponytail, and she was dressed for the cool of London in November. A black cowl-neck sweater-dress that clung close to her body, a pair of gray leggings beneath that disappeared into black motorcycle boots. Coincidentally, she had been seated on the stool beside the one that Crispin chose, but when he sat down, she didn't
give him much more than a brief glance out of smoldering dark eyes. Hm. Another time, another place, she might have found an interest in him. Back before she was so effortlessly ruined, before she had learned not to trust anything with a penis. Or without one. Just to not trust in general, with some very rare exceptions. She knew nothing of him. She already knew what he'd do to her, the same thing they all did. Fuck her and bail on her. It was what they always did. Except one. Her gaze held his for a hot second, and then moved away
Crispin: What, you didn't think he chose that seat at random, did you? His babe radar was on, and she registered the loudest signal. His brooding, smoldering tough-guy persona was on full display as he cast a sidelong glance at her, the right corner of his mouth tugging upwards in a crooked smile. His world might be crashing down all around him, but she didn't have to know that. The tender set the glass of whiskey in front of him and Crispin set down a 20, murmering something about keep them coming. A sip as he
contemplated this brown-haired beauty, his hazel green eyes looking her up and down. "You can't really be here alone, right? I'm just not that damn lucky," he crooned over the rim of his glass, a charming swagger about him. At least, he thought it was charming. "What're you drinking? The next one is on me." Ha! Like he had money to spend.
Mira: Oh, lord. It was hard not to roll her eyes right off the bat, but somehow she managed. Instead, Miriam reminded herself that maybe not the entire world was out to get her, and she flashed him a gentle smile. Gentle on the surface, at least. Beneath it, there was steel and ice and shadow. "I am here alone," she began, choosing her words very carefully. "Just by my lonesome. I'm not the kind of girl who needs a bodyguard, I prefer to go places by myself." Be nice, Mira, be nice, she reminded herself, though already something about him was trying her patience. He looked like somebody she
had once known, which was part of the problem. He looked like Gabriel. Beautiful, perfect Gabriel who broke her and left her. But his genes weren't his faul.
Crispin: Crispin was oblivious to the woman's gut feeling towards him; he'd had just enough alcohol and had just enough chip on his shoulder to miss it, and by nature he didn't really give a damn how much chicks felt anyway. Hearing her, he let out an amused chuckle and a slight shake of his head, saying, "Well, aren't you a big girl. No body guard, even." Now it was he who tried not to roll his eyes. He finished his drink and rapped his knuckles on the bar to have another one sent his way. "So what's your name, beautiful? Mine's Crispin. Crispin Wellings." He spoke with an American accent and was proud of it. And as he looked her up and down, practically leering, it was pretty obvious he didn't really care what her name was so much as what was under her shirt.
Mira: "Yeah, uh." She sounded American as well. New York was written in every word that came out of her mouth, between sips of her drink that was suddenly not nearly boozy enough. She was going to need to be a very, very drunk woman to put up with this Crispin guy. "Miriam Roth. Mira, if you want." He probably didn't care. He'd probably just want her to get naked. Yep, she knew the type. "Are you going to actually remember that, or are you going to just remember my tits?" There was no mincing words with this one, was there? "Because don't think I don't see where your
eyes are headed, mister." She wasn't that old. She couldn't have been. In her twenties, early to mid. But there was something in her gaze that spoke of being way too old, in her mind, to deal with this bullshit. She had been through way too much. She had deal with way too much. She had been hurt way too much. And if this guy thought he was going to be next in line to pull a fuck-n-run on her, he was dead wrong.
Crispin: "Ha! Nice. I like that. You're all right, Miriam. But to answer your question, It's all but certainly I will remember your tits more than anything else. But don't be offended -- if anything, that's just a compliment for your tits. Enjoy it. Honestly, you women these days with your rabbid feminism and equal rights and all of that shit..." he waved a hand dismissively, "It's really obnoxious. I'm dealing with this one bitch right now, and let me tell you..." his voice trailed off. He hated her so much he
was literally at a loss of words. Crispin took a deep breath. "At any rate, any woman I come across who isn't a super cunt, I consider it a win for mankind." He was definitely buzzed, but not drunk. He seemed to be carrying a weight on his shoulders though, and a closer examination of his face showed he'd been banged up pretty recently. Maybe that's why he was so surly?
Mira: Well, that confirmed everything that Miriam had anticipated. The guy was a pig, and he just wanted to have sex with her. Her response was blunt and to the point. "Oh, I'm sorry, are women nothing more than a thing to put your cock in?" she fired back without hesitation, her eyes rolling. "Look, I get it, some bitch wronged you. But that's like if I decided I hate all men just because one or two or seven or all of them hurt me really badly." Wait, no, bad analogy, and she backtracked. "Anyway. Sorry, no, you're not getting to see my tits. So just..." Her hand waved in a dismissive gesture,
one that clearly meant 'stop now if you know what's good for you.' "Have a good night, okay?"
Crispin: He was pretty much on board with what she was saying, because yeah, maybe he was being kind of a dick about it, but that last thing she said...about stopping if he knew what was good for him. Crispin' had already been bullied once today, by a woman no less, and he was in no mood to suffer any additional threats. Letting out a long sigh, he took up his glass, paused and said, "You threatening me, sugar tits?" then took a sip of the whiskey and set it down. Everything about his gaze hardened. "Because it sure
sounded like it, and I've got to tell you....I'm getting real tired of it. So why don't you apologize, and we'll forget all about it."
Mira: Mira just looked at him briefly. Her expression was frigid suddenly, something approaching a blind rage. "Mmmm. No. No. No, I'm not going to apologize. Actually, I have something for you." She leaned in close, close enough for him to look down the cowl of her sweater to the pair of perfect tits beneath. It was deliberate. Get his attention. Make sure he was looking at them when she snagged the glass of water beside her booze. The ice-cold water was immediately splashed in his face. "It's a piece of advice. Do not fuck with me, you little pissant. I might be here alone, but there are two
men in my life who are probably equally willing to beat the ever-loving shit out of your pathetic, sexist ass the second I say so." Her voice dropped. Lowered. "That is, if I leave anything for them to beat."
Crispin: The rush of freezing cold water splashed against his face sobered him right up! He gasped, pulling away from her now dripping wet, with a look on his face that was equal parts shock and anger. "Bitch!" he turned, spitting water from his mouth. Today was just not his day. He rose from his stool and cocked his hand back, about to knock her teeth out, when he thought better of striking a woman in public. Seething, he lowered his hand, though he was not above giving her a rough shoulder-bump on his way to
grabbing some napkins to dry his face off. As he came back he whispered harshly in her ear, "Watch your back, Miriam Roth, because I'm not going to forget this."
Mira: The cocked hand received nothing more than a frosty stare, and his threat didn't get much better. She sipped her drink without flinching, stared straight ahead while she spoke. "Quaking in my boots," she muttered, wriggling her feet in them. "I won't forget this either, Crispin. If you think even once of laying a finger on me again, harassing me again, I will wear your fucking teeth as a necklace." Her anger was quiet, but it was terrifying in its intensity.
Crispin: Crispin looked momentarily taken aback by the intensity she displayed, revealing an inner anger he didn't know was there. But his ego kicked back in and he curled his lip up into a sneer. "You're all the same. And, hey...Quakin' in my boots too. Give me a break." He reached around her to grab and finish his whiskey, then gathered his coat and headed for the door, hoping he'd never run into her again.