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This is where my works shall go - Just to brag.

Kidding.
So no posting.
Or else.

Like what you see? Feel free to PM, we can start a role-play - maybe.
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Big Bunny

7,050 Points
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[ T h e / Coldest Blood / Runs Through My Viens ]



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          xxxx▐ ø ø 7 Shaken n o t Stired


• •




      The vast archives within the old building were nothing short of a monument for a simple library. M16 was adequately equipped with some of the most well known names in literature and a few that were banned to the public was easily accessible here. Every aisle was stacked to the brim, almost crowded looking in some places from names and historical entries to the very refined classical literature and art. And it seemed that every book held a deep mahogany hue that was offset by the gold or ivory typeset letter that showcased the name or author of the book. Coffee and an airy wood smell had overflowed most of the man’s senses but it wasn’t enough to make James lose sight of the girl. Camille had danced between a few sections, her eyes moving faster than her pace as those hazels processed information quickly all the while thumbing over special entries.

      The fascination she had for this place was amusing, but he doted on her quietly as her admiration for certain books began to pour through – the look she gave them, filled with love and warmth was a look he hadn’t ever really seen before…

      She had the library down to a T and easily mapped out the places of the books once she had gotten use to where the numerals started from beginning to end. Really, he hadn’t pegged her for such a… bookie. And Bond merely graced her backside with an unknowing smile, realizing that Camille was probably prone to being teased in school because she knew more about Hamlet than the next persons’ relationship. Those pale blues studied her and began to loiter towards her general direction only beginning to pick up that he hadn’t known much about her – even after all that spent time. They didn’t really talk about one another’s interest, their dislikes and likes. Broad shoulders had sat squarely as the languid male came to rest behind her if only lured out of boredom, those lips pulled apart and was quite ready to voice that ‘he never would have figured out that her confidence came from what she read and not how well she read into others’

      There was a sense of sensuality that came when a woman knew her grounds and while the rich and arrogant had clichéd the sense of culture for being snobbish, the arts really could refine a human being. It molded her almost as shapely as the curves before him – almost. “Find anything you like?” His gift at perceiving things really was what set him apart from veteran agents – he had the ability to analyze, but abused it for moments like these. Like how he caught on to her eyeing that book on the third shelve, to the right corner – the one just out of reach. That wolf smile had hammered down on her and as much as he could have merely reached it, he gave her a sense of independence as well as the excuse to touch her when he hoisted her to that same bold and broad shoulder. Her soft laugh had filled the empty, quiet halls, branding James with a lovely little feel of her soft rear – one he wouldn’t quickly forget anytime soon.

      Time had passed and somehow, someway she had managed to convince the double o’ to read her a ‘few’ lines that began to turn into something more than that. And only until had she dosed off did he find the book unnecessary, uttering a few more lines to the slumbering French dame offhandedly. It wasn’t like he would readily quote line for line out of the sake of thrills – the book was merely there, as an excuse, for her to spend time with him; to occupy James in case he grew bored and drifted elsewhere. But he knew his fair share in literature, he read other things aside from gun manuals.

      There was just one problem though and his chest gave a soft deep breath before finding the strength to wake her – she was tired, a little too tired from someone who should have held a good night’s rest. And her confession came, upon his appropriate suspicion – that she hadn’t called him on her supposed nightmare. The pair of hands came to rest casually, one that was looped around her and the other that found her knee, but he was studying her. Actually James was always studying her, those watchful eyes behind a playful, dark smile; the one that drifted off his face with a little too much ease like it was all a lie to begin with.

      He didn’t want to be that guy – the one with a damaged background, the one who killed with cold ease and could rest well at night. The dark sort of person who had witnessed impoverished villages in the Philippines and different countries suffer and people die from a mere lack – nor did he want to be a statistic. But he didn’t expect Camille to be the same and shake off ill thoughts with ease; it wasn’t like she had experienced everything he had. They had stolen something from her, something important and vital – the sort of essence of who she was and turned her into a victim. But he felt a nervous sort of fear – the kind that made him dig a little deeper; even if he had to become that demon and drag her out of that hell. She was holding back, holding it in and it was eating her; destroying her and he couldn’t let that happen. Even if it meant she would hate and despise him for it.

      That ice cold whisper was hushed against her skin, clutching that warm vivid body into him with one hand. “What did they do to you?” Curious-like eyes laid to rest on that small body and face, his gaze glossing over as he easily accessed what an easy capture she was. The way she tensed all over, that frozen sort of stare as if some thing haunted her. The brunette felt as if she was miles away, but he brought her back, when that hand dragged up against her bruised thigh. It wasn’t a mere ‘if’ but it became a reality, that there was something haunting her and even if it was painful, Bond was going to make her relive it all. This time she would conquer it or – “What… Did they tell you?” The voice was low, but it throttled just above a whisper and his emotions collapsed within him, like how they did just before a kill.

      The pained sort of look she gave and the nails into his forearm had all but screamed that: she wanted to go home. Or at least away from him who merely reached that bruise, high at her inner thigh and gave a subtle stroke feeling her jolt against him. She was in that room again, hands tied, hope lost and her dignity fading, but she so readily didn’t want James to be that guy. “… Fight it.” He wasn’t going to save her, he couldn’t, these weren’t demons that he could just chase away with sugar coated words and kisses. “Let me go, James.” that voice was filled with a heavy tide of emotions; resentment, fear, anger – all through clenched teeth.

      There was a brief-laugh, the one that flowed into his statement, uttering in contempt, “I’ll never let you go.” Those displeased blue eyes looked at her, finding that fury beginning to surface and it shot off, first at the mouth for a final warning. [******** you,” it could have been more subtle, but Camille’s face had a hot pink all over, the kind that burned with anger and an accusing tone. “You don’t even know what I’ve been through,” sure he did, he read the reports – but it wasn’t cause of justice, at least not enough.

      “I can guess…” his voice lingered on the shell of her ear giving a subtle bite, dominating over that wild flex and avidly held her down when her elbow tried to thrust into his ribcage. With enough force he had her on the ground, above her, like how he found her with the former guy. There was a bit of a struggle, but he shushed her words – it wasn’t like a hundred agents were going to come running in if she screamed, but more than that he knew she didn’t like to be subdued. Still, the blonde was stronger, adequately enough to wrap his hand around her wrist, high above her head. Where it took two men to hold her down, it merely took one, trained agent to do the job of that. “First… They beat you,” a finger trailed over the marred bruises on her face going through the tactics of an interrogation. “To break you.” A cocky grin filled the bastards face when she jerked her head away, defiant until the bitter end. Those warm knuckles had brushed against the cool delicate skin on her throat as her breathing increased and deepened all at the same time as the sense of danger remained surreal.

      “Then they tell you a couple things, to get inside your head, to get what they want.” His voice slowed and lowered as he inched his face nearer to hers before giving a crash course when he uttered a few words that he would take her, right there, if she didn’t fight. Crushing his lips against hers, a warm lucrative kiss remained a little one-sided, filled with spite and bite to it. The heat of her flesh warmed him it warmed his very blood and he sank to those collarbones, giving a bit here and there, coloring the flesh near her bruises a bright vivid red. The way she tossed and turned her head only gave him more access to bite her, but he strayed and instead, pressed that warm liquid tongue against the nape of her neck, tasting the salt of her sweat. And he sank another hand, under that shirt, as the buttons snapped off before he felt her snap – it was sudden, like a bolt of lightening that flashed and she had wormed her way free, just enough to get a jab at that bruised bandage that sent James into a hacking, choking cough of pain.

      And here he was, hoping she would just become a dead fish and comply – but he was wrong, painfully wrong. He was on all fours, rolling off of her and thanked god silently that she wasn’t able to knee him between the legs – he’d almost forgotten what sort of fight she had in her. That, she had any fight left in her at all was amazing, but it got a little better. When she was ontop of him, her fingers jabbing into that bandaged area and sent a dull, dizzying pain to his head, but it became clear he wasn’t going to fight her off and he delayed the dark drowsy wave just so she could vent a little more with a couple more hits. He only aimed at protecting his face and eyes, with a hand that covered a portion of his face. She was frustrated, clearly, but so was he – “How do you think it made me feel, Camille?” Those angry words chewed on her, a bit tired of her selfishness. He had eyes to see, the way she looked when she gazed at his wound as if she was the one who pulled the trigger. His own harrowed mistakes were his own, but he didn’t like the idea that she tacked on a larger weight. Watching her crumble wasn’t the easiest thing in the world and Bond gave a painful swallow, that muscle in his throat bounced a little as those teeth clenched down in anger.

      He swore to himself he wouldn’t fall for anyone again – that he wouldn’t trust them like he did so foolishly before.

      Those cool words graced her bitterly. “What do you think it would do to me, if I lost you?” He felt the strong taste of medicine collect at the back of his dry throat. It made his stomach turn, but it was nothing in comparison to how spent he felt - he hadn’t rested, he skipped and drank fighting off those open nightmares that visited him sometimes even during the day. “You’re a lot stronger than you think,” he joked, as a hand went to comfort the bandage but ended up grabbing her only to feel her pull away sharply. A part of him had wanted to play off the how things had turned out, but his head turned away, rejection was never an easy thing no matter how cool he could try to play it. The emotion that mixed across his face was unnerving as the irritable man pulled away as well to slink back to his room to cool off with a strong drink.



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{ It longs to kill you, are you willing to die? } {The coldest blood runs through my veins}
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Big Bunny

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[ T h e / Coldest Blood / Runs Through My Viens ]



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              xxxx▐ øø7 F o r y o u k n o w m y n a m e


• •




        The blonde french found himself at a loss for words when Camille had stepped so gracefully out of that skirt and poised the small palm of her hand against his. He’d be lying to say he hadn’t gotten a good look at the back of those supple thighs and equally curved bottom as she had all but crawled in like a feline on his bed, but his fetching in fantasies didn’t go any further than a kiss on her lips before she had prompted him to face the other direction..

        Well it wasn’t like he was expecting anything in return, but it was a good thing she hadn’t read his carefully confused expression – until those hands had begun to knead and mend at the otherwise taut muscles. A pair of firm, but smooth thighs had crossed as best as they could around his waist and every so often he felt the brush of her breast against his back until her lips grew a little closer to his ear.

        “Why on earth do you want me?” She voiced, surely lost in a midst of her own faults that she had been stuck on. He would have confessed casual sex right there, if it wouldn’t have spoiled the mood. “I can’t make any sense of it,” there was a pause and a soft laugh. “You know I’m only trouble.” His hand had grasped at the soft calf that had ensnared him and traced along the swell of the soft tissue and muscle, dipping in at the back of her knee before turning to look over his shoulder as best as he could. He’d placed on kiss on those lips, nuzzling into that supple warm flesh and took a soft bite before the movement at the door had him pausing in shock. It seemed Camille had been swept up by the abrupt presence, noticing in unison -

        “Bond.” It was like looking at a hellish storm on the rise, that tall, brooding frame that was leaned up against the door panel. A pair of icy blue eyes cut from an otherwise sinister grin that simply said ‘I caught you.’ He didn’t look entirely out of order, the cut of his suit was a bit disheveled and he swore that was blood on the collar, but his was already turning cold as he tried to muster up something other than the man’s name. Like how long had he been standing there? Fortunately and both unfortunate, James took the lead with a soft laugh that seemed misplaced. It wasn’t like James to be one with a lot of words, but when he wanted to be, it was certainly a bomb waiting to explode.

        “Oh I hope you don’t mind.” His voice, eager with bewildered excitement seemed to throw a wrench in the otherwise murderous intentions he had. “Its nothing personal, I just thought I’d pop in, you know security around here isn’t all that lax…” The words trailed off with soft amusement and he held Christian’s gaze for as long as possible, delaying in addressing Camille. Who she banged was the least of his concerns, but the taste of losing wasn’t something he wanted to grow familiar with. Besides, he could replace her at a moment’s notice.

        “Now imagine my surprise when I came to and found myself having a nice chat with those gun-for-hires.” The decorated words were thrown into the air and the strong, towering framer took a step further in, venturing in for two-pairs of prey he had found. “Don’t worry though, I made quick-work of them, cheap material doesn’t last.” His gaze coyly found the brunettes whose interest had piqued to a third level. She was a smart cookie though and he knew within a few more minutes if not now, she’d have picked up on all the hidden gems within the talk. It wasn’t like he made her business his business, he just happened to have business with Christian – even if it was going to be a blood bath.

        “I’m sure you did.” Christian had finally managed a small retort, one that momentarily revealed the M16’s assassin’s irritation and irked expression, that subtle flinch and tight lipped. Oh, well at least Camille had caught it, enough to have her standing, if only the nerves to move out of the way.

        “Did you have fun?” The small tease came at an expense – James wasn’t smiling as before, those cold eyes and dead look was going to match Christian’s soon if he didn’t shut up. “Sending you on all those errands, vainly searching for something that wasn’t there?” His gaze went to Camille’s body, if only mutually disappointed the man had interrupted them then and there and not the morning after.

        “Yeah… Actually I did, you know the real irony in this? There’s a family that just so happened to be legitimate to your claims. Of course I poked around in there using your name and well turns out they don’t take kindly to those that break the omerta of family business and secrets.” There was a subtle pause, Bond who had looked on with a winning gaze as Christian who seemed to be the one at his boiling point. The young prowl that had lurched forward with an adjacent swing nearly hit the double o’ who had moved back with a strong reflex and delivered one, if not equally painful to the french quarter who did everything not to double to the floor.

        It wasn’t like it was just going to end there after one or two punches and James found himself being tackled to the floor, with that strong shoulder hitting his rib on contact. Glass and pretty much anything menial that was in their explosive way was crushed, shattered and – the banging sounds on the door of hotel security was yelling, arguing for the two to quite down and open up. Neither of which was going to happen. Two strikes in at James’ rib and he latched on one arm and delivered a painful blow back before throwing his weight over, wrestling for the top and reeled in, striking Christian squarely across the jaw, lip, face – until the fight was becoming a bit one-sided and he heard Camille’s calls to ward him off.

        Well it wasn’t like he was going to stop, no matter whom and how much a person would plead with him. He wasn’t all that happy, knowing Camille had been courted up until her panties were nearly off, but he was caught off-guard when she had grabbed his fist and his look and attention were back at her, all the fire still building up. He wasn’t going to stop and with one thrust to her chest, shoving her, hard to the floor. Had it been cement he was certain she’d have skinned herself alive, but his attention was misplaced and it seemed that Christian had awoken with a bit more hostility than before, throwing James off of him just enough to throw him through the plaster wall, shattering the picture frame behind him. The crunch of glass and was standing, ready to grapple again until the soft groan had caught both their attentions…

        Their gaze went to the offhanded and otherwise ignored brunette who was out, with no doubt a lump on her head, laying near the coffee table. They had put the two together and exchanged another look until the fight within them had warded off. “This isn’t going to work,” Christian had mumbled, fixing at his tie and wiping the blood on his mouth with the back of his hand. “Yes, you can’t kill me,” truth be told, James wasn’t all that willing to quit, but the somber look had him back to being grounded. No, truth be told they weren’t allowed to kill each other, M would never settle for it and of course Camille wouldn’t be so happy if James had died.

        “I asked her to marry me, that’s more than what you can do, isn’t it?” The smug expression ran on James like a cold shower, who was back to his icy pout, shaking the shards of glass off of him, feeling their razor like cuts all around him.

        “I wouldn’t know,” honestly he didn’t, but he didn’t enjoy the idea of putting Camille in some glass box – the woman could do better than the scantly clad Frenchman, but voicing it now was albeit a tad too late. “You better figure out what your going to tell them about this,” them being the lucrative M16 that had hired James for the false job and false information.

        James had returned, standing tall over that limp frame before he lingered down and swept a piece of hair away to reveal the hot red mark on her forehead. She wasn’t going to forgive him anytime soon, but he wasn’t quite sure if he wanted to be forgiven. His hand had grasped at her wrist, throwing it over before he had picked up the rest of her to lay over his shoulder.

        No… He wasn’t really going to leave her in the lustful arms of some young french guy, but that didn’t matter. By the time he had reached his suite, he had slipped the brunette back on the bed and went to fetch for ice and a soft small towel, wrapping the cold cube for a makeshift compress and dotted at the mark for awhile… It wasn’t like she was going to wake up soon and while he stayed to mend the wound; he found himself, loitering over those unconscious lips and stole a kiss… She tasted a lot like Christian. Well he was starting to not feel all that sorry about the bump on her head just then. With another soft moan he watched, as those eyes painfully opened, her half words jumbled in confusion with both his and the others names reaching out until she saw only James.

        “Where’s -…” “He’s dead,” it was a cruel, horrible joke, one that had Bond simply testing to see if the other mattered all that much, but it didn’t last no more than a few seconds before she read into him. She had gotten good at that, hadn’t she? “It’s on a momentary truce…” For obvious reasons, he confirmed her worries to rest; they hadn’t killed each other, yet. She wasn’t happy, but neither was he when he pressed her back into the mattress. ‘What the hell is wrong with you?’ He could feel her eyes ask, but he didn’t know and he wasn’t all that bothered about finding the answer.



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i wont answer what you need answered i wont say a word, i wont say anything

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d a m i e n {۞} l y n c h



          They said this was going to be easy.

          Easy in the sense that once he actually managed to make it past the surveillance cameras, the gated community and step foot into the prestigious mansion – it would be a walk in the park from there. At least it helped that there was inside help from the maids and the few new hires. No one would recognize his face, because no one was going to be allowed to see it.

          A pair of sharply dressed men were making their rounds and heading towards a guest room for a small cup of coffee. Their small privilege little chat was on yesterday’s fight game – apparently the one they missed due to working overtime. Regardless though there was a small juvenile sense of peace – that nothing could happen or would, no one would touch the girl of a high ranking, perhaps most powerful man’s daughter. The idea was just a fantasy to some, but the drive and adrenaline made it that much more interesting.

          “Some challenge this turned out to be..” The sarcastic biting remark was almost overheard and he moved quickly to make his way further into the house. Ideally it didn’t lack any value, the walls held a crisp untouched white coat with a few mirrors and portraits that deemed to look like the family escrow if sold. Some of those wild paintings had an odd array about them, but Damien didn’t bother to lag too much.

          The lithe, long agile body moved quietly as the next gossiping maids were fixing at a few nit-knacks and he had a good eye to see one slip a watch into her pocket. “They have so much stuff it’s sickening, what’s one thing…?” The soft voice whispered and with a slight eye-roll he moved along.

          Easy, yes, it was easy when no one frankly gave a damn.

          An audible sigh slid out of the pair of thin lined lips at the mere disappointment. This wasn’t really the way he had pictured it to turn out, but at least now all he had to do was look forward to the loads of money he’d get in the pay off. They and they by the two other people that were in on the job were going to split the money and already one of them knew how they were going to spend it. The Bahamas, sure it sounded fickle enough considering all the movies that were spawned out of it – but where else could he have fun in the sun with women and their bikinis?

          The debauched thought brought on a small smile he had a hard time fighting off and it couldn’t have came at a worse time. Those lips pursed trying to remove the urge to laugh and without in so much as a knock, he turned the handle and sealed the door shut behind him. The room itself had enough smells that could have knocked him dizzy and he wasn’t the one that needed to pass out – but all the flowery, airy scents of jasmine and a mixture of perfume seemed to stick to the place.

          It could have been worse – had the politician had a son, who knew what he would have been smelling the moment he stepped in.

          Now this was business and like the perfect actor he decided to play along with a wholesome game of trickery. The pair of black, long pants seemed to elongate the already tall frame that stood at a powering height of six foot and the light weight individual moved across the thresh of her bedroom towards the desk for a peak. The shower water was running and the pair of blues slanted at the bathroom’s door assuming she was taking her shower. It was probably where all the scents came from..

          The pair of toned arms had uncrossed from the owner’s chest and with some curiosity he looked through the drawer until a notebook caught his eye – probably a personal diary. Hell, with that he assumed he could have blackmailed the girl out of enough cash to stay afloat, but that wasn’t what he came here for.

          Fortunately for her he was cozy enough to wait. That tall frame had taken a seat at the foot of the fluffy bed, ideally waiting for her to come out. The last thing he wanted was to drag around some unconscious, nude frame and try to slip by unnoticed.

          Hopefully she wouldn’t take long.

          Passing the time with menial nit-picking, a pair of slim digits had moved a piece of lent off the sleeve of his blouse and flicked it away. Scratch that – he was the impatient type. With another sigh registering he moved, towards the door and pressed himself against the side before giving it two, subtle hard knocks. He wasn’t going to wait all day for her to scrub, wash, dry and repeat the process. He could hear the water being shut off and with that he made due to roll up his sleeves incase things got a little messy. The pair of fingerless gloves were slid on and he doused the small clothe with ether only to put it in his pocket.

          “Miss? It’s me Taylor,” he used the supposed name and decided to randomly piece together some story. “Your Father asked me to retrieve you.” That sounded believable enough.



i wouldn't quit even if everyone else quit
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i wont answer what you need answered i wont say a word, i wont say anything

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d o m i n i c {۞} c r o w e l l



          Pressure.

          That’s all the world really had to offer aside from the many vendors and thousands of illicit advertisement that seemed to crowd up the atmosphere. This was supposed to be a bar, a day out with a few buddies who could drink and preferable score one luscious babe or go home empty with nothing but jokes of what ‘almost’ could have happened. And yet… Regrettably and irritably he couldn’t help but listen to the sad devotion and pitches those so-called ‘friends’ try to cope at him.

          “Come on man, can’t you spare a little cash?”

          That’s what it always came down to and when those pair of sharply dressed blue hues had stared blankly at the request – he realized then and there a little too late that this was just one big con. Of course he couldn’t blame them; it was his fault, for being so readily available and foolish enough to assume ‘they’ were any different than the rest. Granted he wanted to answer with a fist, but for a small moment he found himself lost in an endless sea of faceless people. It was really discontenting that there wasn’t a single soul there that didn’t have their minds on laundering cash. And all because he was at the heart of the crowd and with it priced that daunting pinched nerve of scamming, penniless fools. They wanted an answer and his silence was only provoking them to fear, anxiety and a mixture of anger for being what they called ‘stingy.’

          The cool, slim cigarette passed away from his lips and the wisp of cancerous smoke and menthol was pushed into the air. He stayed quiet for a moment longer until the rustic caustic voice answered before another could speak up.

          “Sure.”

          For a fleeting moment he could see the astonished look of pure happiness – the way their faces lit up like a light bulb. Adorable. They were all such utter fools and crushing it seemed to give him an unsettling high like no other– “Only if you give me your body, otherwise.. What’s in it for me?” A passive laugh slid out and he left them at their own defenses, where a few dirty curse words were tossed in his general direction. He turned where the stream of neon lights were flickering across the floor and the sway of each gyrating hip seemed out to get him.

          They called the place ‘club metro’ for the pulsating music that both bounced and entranced people into a six hour dance. The smell of alcohol was mixed with a euphoric scent of cologne, perfume and sweat along with some other chemicals he was beginning to question. The only path out of the place was through the back door by the bathroom pantry. It took him down a poorly lit corridor of white and forest green stones that were illuminated by a black light. Pieces of his wardrobe seemed to glow and the rim of the white framed lens was most audibly the trickiest piece that held itself on the slightly prominent nose.

          “Dominic – man, will you at least wait up!?” An astounding voice had echoed over the music and earned the fellow a few odd stares of a couple that was making out; including the dark haired male. “I was joking.. I mean, I wouldn’t really do that to you.” So out of the five, there was one a**-kisser amongst them, the kind that came crawling back only to slander him when he was turned. Tch, what the hell kind of person was he to keep up with these guys in the first place?

          “Just come back and enjoy yourself a little,” that pleading voice was harping on him, as if he was the one stuck in the mud. His jaw tensed a little and out of fictitious habit he did little to break, those smooth pearls slid across one another grinding to a halt. At this point, Dominic wasn’t going to bother to turn around and see that sorry hap of an expression. It would all continue to boil down to one thing: money. Money makes the world go ‘round.

          “I told you what my demands were, if you can’t then find someone who can.” A hand flicked flick a good-bye gesture and when he reached that precious clear, night air he turned in one final cigarette before retiring home.

          Well, he couldn’t really call it home, considering he had to check in to get there, but it was a suitable bachelor pad. And it sat on the highest pent houses, a pride above all others that nerved the rich and wealthy. Being a politician’s son had it’s certain privileges, but when it came to dealing to the black market – now there was where the real money paid into. A pair of elongated fingers had slid apart and unmanned the black sleek tie before throwing it over the cream white cushion chair. It took some distance, even for those long legs to carry the tall lithe frame across the threshold of the carpet to reach the small mini bar. And when he rolled back those sleeves he served himself an nice, cold hard drink against the ice and clear cup only to retire at the balcony.

          Hell. How was he supposed to blow off steam at this point? With a frank laugh he glanced down at the busy street, the colorful lights and cars still blaring. And that’s when it clicked in – his co-worker had slipped him a card earlier that day. Something about –private entertainment and more. After another hour of staring at that business card that only held a number and the words ‘Jake’ written in black ink on the back, he pulled out the cell and dialed it as it rang a couple of times. A groggy voice answered and he half wondered just who the hell he was calling – “Hello?” The wisp of a voice seemed busy and the sound of a softer feminine tone was clearly talking in the back, asking questions.

          There was no sense in beating around the bush… -

          “I heard you offer special services.” The lucid tone adjusted and with some curiosity he could hear the other answer back with a simple ‘yes.’ “I’m a little bored; send someone who likes to play.” He concluded and gave the hotel’s address and room number before clipping the phone close and laying it aside. Damn, he should have asked for extras if that was the case.





i wouldn't quit even if everyone else quit
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seяvαnт oƒ яακsнαɴα

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"Find her.”

A pedantic, well dressed individual had sat in a wooden chair – but the presence that came with the man was astounding. It was as if all the air in the room became thin and the only life source left was held at the grasp of a man who owned it all. How he turned one simple chair into the looks of a throne was beyond the forte that Lucas had, who only could keep his knee and head bowed while that cadence of vocals spread warmly with an eerie poisonous chill that came with it.

Failing was out of the exception.

On a whim swimming with curiosity, those brown earthy hues had the luxury of looking up. The courage he managed to summon was a tad different than simply being bold, but what he found came with an intricate prize. A scoff was settled on those haughty thin lips that stood apart from the olive slightly tanned complexion. All of it was set off by the deep garnished red colors that complimented the stark raven black hair. A few wisp remained wild and the subtly aged features on the man seemed to be accentuated by that earlier scoff – for every brief moment of emotion, Lucas felt himself experiencing something new. Fear, anger, insecurity and interest...

“And if I do…?” For the life of him, Lucas couldn’t recall what deal was so great that he even dared to bargain with such a shady man. He’d encountered thieves and danced with murders alike – but at the threshold of this particular person, all thought and reason seemed to be a loss. His mind was boggled and the nerves on his skin was screaming for him to get out of the room – something was misplaced but what it was he didn’t care to find out just yet. When a hand had slid itself along the lower lip, a touchy habit – Lucas found his thoughts fumbling over in question of the other’s power. It would have been a mistake to undermine the man who seemed well kept at his age, but the power that could have been displayed made it seem like having his throat crushed then and there would be a cinch. One hard lump formed at his throat, but felt a breath of relief when the other chuckled and answered coyly –

“Son, you know that you’ll be saving hundreds… No millions of lives if you do, we been through all this formalities.” Those hues fell off him and with it he half wondered why someone so formal didn’t seem so familiar to him. And clearly, the man he was supposed to call Father became an afterthought in the presence of the girl who held, a slightly bemusing attitude about all this. Her face was like a theater that held a theatrics of emotion.

Pink colored cheeks slightly ashen by a temper was bravely shown as the small girl that stood before him had twisted with disapproval. Clearly she wouldn’t have had any dealings with him, but somehow, somewhere he managed to find favor with her and by the time she started to speak he learned what had been hidden all this time. The memory of his mission became just a passing thought. What proved to be more interesting than reporting her wasn't what she said or did, but how she did it. Up one moment, down the next, bustling with life of a fully normal housed sixteen year old girl who at times, became to look more like a young woman than a child.

The visions of her mother – obviously a daughter’s favorite possession, seemed to be on a frequent return and for a small moment he wondered if the women imprisoned was the one he had seen before…? But it wasn’t to his knowledge that his father would have horrid dealings with the like. There were others that wanted that power and he simply assumed it nothing more than a look alike.

Now though – the only item she seemed to possess of the missing mother was a broken gem and he had ruined it. A shallow dry lump was forming and just like before his father he found himself at a loss words – but all for a completely different reason. Fortunately though – those whimsical powers that seemed to come and go proved to be useful aside from stressing her and restored the clasp like new.. It seemed that with the new charmed jewel restored and the simple acknowledgment that her classes were to be halted until the following two days – her emotions shifted. Really now, trying to understand how the complex girl could move was a dangerous feat and he found himself mercilessly riding out the storm. One wrong step next time and he might end up like the broken clasp if she willed it.. But that sense of danger only seemed to draw him near.

When the melodic laughter reached his ears though… He could feel a few self defense walls crumbling away at how vulnerable the girl could be around him. There wasn’t really a need to stress the icy exterior unless… “So if you’re feeling… tempted… Lucas, I suppose you’ve only yourself to blame.” The little vixen had did all in her power to flaunt the new hold she had over him and without a chaperon around to explain that teasing wasn’t the smartest thing to do – she still sauntered over with each expressive step and swing to her hip simply testing out her womanly powers.

“Careful now,” he concluded with a smile that was forcing its way into hiding. “You keep up that attitude and I think the gypsies will spirit you away with them,” whether it was the new clothes she donned or the open attitude he wasn’t quite sure how to handle the sudden change and found a lot of those heavy suppressive emotions were nothing but a light airy sense of relief. At least nothing bad could come out of it for now.. So where could there be any harm in teasing her back?

A hand had strayed and reached at the slender delicate neck but this time, those long artistic fingers landed just shy of cupping her cheek while those brown hues had sympathized with her earlier remark. All the hate had flew away at the grace of her smile, obviously charmed as ever that the lady had taken a liking to someone so 'humble'.. “Unless I end up spiriting you away first?” The threat that there was no one there to stop him remained unspoken, but a caliber that could be preformed whether it was daylight or not.“Not that I’d think you’d really mind – unless old, heavy and rich is what you’re into.” That same appreciative hand released the soft, silky cheek and dismissed it to his side leaving it at that. Trunking over towards the old campfire that had half died, Lucas took the heel of his boot and stomped out the remaining warm embers.

“I think we have a lot of catching up to do, but shouldn’t we go get something to eat first?” He called out just shy over his shoulder to search for her reply.






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[ C a s t / your iron / stares aside ]



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          xxxx▐Black Star of Iron


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{ the simple things in life are pleasurable } { I search for her - what is her name?}
{You know my name; }
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xxxxxxI'm just a b a c h e l o r, looking for a p a r t n e r.
xxxxxSomeone who knows how to ride. Without even falling off
xxxxGotta be compatible takes me to my limits.
xxxGirl when I break you off, I promise that you won't want to get off.

                                                  The smell of perfume, incense and the occasional scent of kerosene filled the place.

                                                  Low-level lighting fixtures lit the room, reflecting off of the velvet and satin pillows as well as a few cushioned chairs. A few flames illuminated bits and pieces of flesh that moved to the hum of the debauched tunes. This was a gentleman’s club – filled with more flowers that would make a Queen of Hearts blush with envy. From lilies, to sunflowers and every now and then a beautiful rose – there were all types to cater to that special need. To make an old man feel young or a young boy feel like a man this was – Ladies of the Night.

                                                  Blue ocean hues flickered over the place, settling back by the bartender’s side, downing a small mickey of a drink. The blonde hair looked like cold honey that was pushed backwards – it took a lot to wash out the gunk that his Father’s secretary had put in. And even then he wasn’t always successful. Holding a promising image of a young scholar by day, given that he was the son of a Politician, the boy turned to a younger man by night –seeing to it that the ladies had everything they wanted or at least needed.

                                                  Some where a little stormy to deal with, moody and just off the wall hard to handle, but Elijah prided himself on a good challenge every now and then.

                                                  Long fingers had held the tip of the short glass of whiskey, a silver-band on his ring finger. He wasn’t married – just engaged and even then his fiancee knew little of his side business, but he chalked it up to none of her concern. The whole thing was nothing more than a little show – lined up by his Father’s men and friends.

                                                  He wore a grey suit by Marc Jacobs, the designer and money wasn’t flaunted, but it showed from the black dress shoes and a pristine white shirt. His lips were full with a sharp jaw-line as a plus feature; full eyebrows were on that chauvinistic visage – as his gaze held that of a young man, who had seen a thing or two before.

                                                  There was that sort of routine that this place had – like a heartbeat, the music would begin to set the mood and the gentlemen would line in. Each man came with a thirst and hunger that couldn’t be sated by the wives, girlfriends or mistresses that garnered their checkbooks. For some – they had all three and still found themselves drawn to this place where the birds of paradise roamed. This was full on fantasy for some, but for all of this to be a success – took an artwork that was vastly under-appreciated.

                                                  With a lukewarm gaze, he watched a few peacocks – a smile passing from time to time toward the warm adulterated flesh. They certainly knew how to make a man’s blood grow warm. For some that were hard on money and strapped for cash, this play was a convenient tool to help them earn that, but beyond that there was a promising scope of potential – to be a star.

                                                  Sliding a crisp twenty toward the bartender’s tab and placing the drink on top, he moved away, running a thumb along his bottom lip to assume his role. Women while expensive were actually easier to handle – they could run a business by themselves having their own willful ways, so long as they checked with him every now and then. Rather than hold them hostage like a tyrant, he gave the ladies their room to breath, for every performer there was a private room for themselves and for those who waitresses – they only had to double. The men’s changing room was separate, so as not to offset any invasive means – let alone tempt those with weaker wills than his.

                                                  “Julus?” He knocked, coming to her star door – she was promising, held a lot of talent, but sometimes she just didn’t know it. “Are you decent?” It wasn’t a joke – just because some bared it for a peepshow, didn’t mean they had to be stark naked all the time, not that Elijah had a problem with that visual eye-candy. When a sound of a ‘yes’ came, he opened the door and shut it behind him, catching the young girl who sat in front of the vanity mirror. He didn’t always bother her, but every now and then he liked to find out how they were doing from their own, full, red-colored lips.

                                                  He felt a small smile crack those harden features, pulling up a seat beside her – legs open on either end as he sat on a make-shift chair. His eyes swam over the smooth flesh, voluptuous warm curves and sculpted thighs of a dancer. “You look very beautiful tonight, I’m tempted enough to eat you for myself -” he flirted, cautiously, not wanting to get caught in his own trap. With an elbow resting on her table, he glanced at her things, from mascara – to a few bits and pieces of lipstick and eye makeup.

                                                  “Is there anything you need before you go on later tonight…?” His brow perked, keeping his gaze looked on that heart shape face of hers, opting to do his rounds.




        Company || Julus Activity || n.a Mood || Harmonious Location || In Julus Dressing Room
        o.o.c || Huzzah, first post..!
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carry on my wayward son there'll be peace when you are done

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s a m {۞} w i n c h e s t e r



          The smell of cheap bourbon and whisky was powerful – only the chill of the night air seemed to occasionally flush through that 1967 Impala. They had just finished a job in the backwaters of Louisiana in the grotto – just the occasional demon-possession, but it was a snake pit compared to the real much bigger problems at hand. Like say – stopping Lilith or perhaps stopping the Devil himself from snatching up his soul.

          “Dean I just think we should rest,” he started, his patience wearing thin with his brother. That never was anything new. They had been back to back bar-club hoping all on one giant goose-chase of trying to hunt down a demon.

          Dean simply gripped the wheel, his knuckles turning white to that vinyl steering column, refocusing his gaze to that never ending winding road. The roar of the engine came to life – forever on its constant growl, threatening anything that got in its path. At first there was silence – which, with Dean was never a good sign: the man had always been quick to speak, even when he’d find it absolutely inappropriate. “Fine,” he growled behind the wheel and stretched out his leg as they began to reach the inner city of Virginia. “I guess we can call it a night – grab breakfast in the morning. God knows neither one of us had had a decent shower,” he tilted his head disapprovingly, a habit that was beginning to nerve Sam.

          It wasn’t really his brother – but just the twelve hour ride and the long-haul of those boot-cut jeans that were beginning to irritate him. He wanted food, bed and perhaps a look at those skin mags from awhile back. The shower was the least of his concern and that full lip formed a snarl, eyes rolling in the passenger seat as he looked away. It was a sight that was registered by his brother immediately.

          “What? You know what will do you some good Sammy boy? A woman – ah, a real one.”
          “Dean.”

          “I’m serious – hear me out, well don’t hear me out its not like you got much of a choice.” Dean grinned.

          Sam hung his head, chin tucking under at his chest, eyes to the floor of the car. “Ugh, just drive dammit.”

          “b***h.”

          “Assface.”

          The remarks between the two were left hanging in the air – brothers, to the end. Sam couldn’t help but grin, rolling his eyes though this time that irritation was replaced with amusement. They were so childish but for all the times they had rolled together it was good that they could make up in just the easiest name-calling fashion.

          The roadhouse came up first – followed by a quick pit-stop at the hotel. Sam had checked in while Dean had made no promise of returning that night. Not needing a follow up – Sam took it upon himself to change into a different pair of clothes. He freshened up at the idea of a shower – leaving the shaving for another day and slid into a clean white cotton shirt that well… Smelled clean and that was what was important. Along with a pair of relax shorts and socks that went all the way up to his knee. That form was built, impressive, with that shaggy grown out brown mussy hair. He’d settle down at the coffee table, opening up that laptop to do a quick bit of research before he would turn in.



dont you cry no more
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Manhattan – is a borough of New York City. It was a seedy place with all sorts of historical high lights. Movie stars made their names here and the people moved faster than the inner workings of a clock. It was fast, not just fast, but quick and for those who had a can-do attitude; it was a place of success. Here there were no such things as discriminations, but only a constant repertoire of business that climbed higher than the once iconic New York towers.

Business of drugs, laundering and crime syndicates. Racial profiling was a must for most law enforcement, for it was the only thing that could tie them to the men in suits. Here there were no low level thugs; gangs did not exist – for the criminal level had evolved past the streets of LA. They had made child’s play of those who poorly represented themselves.
Now in today’s times, criminals wore the faces of blue collar workers, they smiled and spoke polite: they owned beach houses and trophy wives with trophy kids. They lined the pockets of not only the police force: but judges, politicians and they brought the game of high stakes poker to a whole new meaning.

Crime – crime was something that was not visible to the naked eye. Graffiti was just a kid’s pastime and boredom, not the workings of a gang member who wished to own a piece of cement. They had moved up in life – so to speak and she wanted a taste of that high life.
Sophie Turner – a dame, whose large hues held glitters of gold in those earthy browns. A pair of pink lips jutted out past the black locks of her hair. Hair so black that it looked almost blue that shone in the night life. Tonight though, it shine on center stage – where a few cat calls where made her way before the music started: she was a dancer – a beautiful one that seemed to trap all who set their eyes upon her. She was tall, close to five-eight and weighed a good one-hundred and sixty five pounds. Her bum was pressed up against the pole behind her, back aligned as her legs crossed, she knelt forward as her hair fell over her shoulder and glancing up she spared a few who dared to catch her gaze.

Mob bosses who dared to bring their wife to their own carnal entertainment. She grasped the pole and with one lift, effortlessly lifted herself high and climbed to the somber music. Wrapping a leg around it she slide down, slow and seemed to drift into the men’s thoughts as they began to touch the nearest thing to them that had a heartbeat. Her gaze counted several armed guards whose stoic expression held a tint of envy. They packed weapons and chest protectors, but as hard pressed as they were for duty, they couldn’t help but take a glance as she spun around once more, her turns and twist a bit sharper.

This was her dance of death and bringing her hand to her red painted lips, she exhaled and tossed warm yellow balls to the air where they exploded like fire workers. A parlor trick was what they took it for, but the guards smelt the air of murder. Once more she breathed into her hand, fist held tight and tossed the glowing warm explosives into the air – but this time they did not explode: instead, they fell onto the tables of everyone present for tonight was a private dance.
They stared in wonder and surprise, some even handed it to their wives or mistresses, whatever they were. And then, BANG!! The explosion went off with enough vibration to rock the building, blood splattered across her pale face and piece of someone’s ear struck her thigh. There were screams of agony, fear and anger, but a few more explosions went off on the higher levels, rocking the building once again

The smell of death and flesh filled the place and when the guards gained enough sense of direction – they lifted their guns toward the stage to find it empty! Hearts were racing to exit the place alive, but torn if they should save their boss. Instead they had neither the chance to think about it for the place had caved inside, crushing and killing everyone present that night.
And that was the night, Sophie Turner rose to a higher life.

15 years later…

She was older now, standing on the streets as she remained propped up against a 67’ Chevy impala, watching a young man dare to rescue a jumper. He was the newest hero that everyone was raving about and she – was some thirty-four year old brunette whose cool gaze had watched as he effortlessly rescued the suicidal man.
Clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth, she sipped her coffee and watched everyone’s excitement. The suicidal person had looked at her in grief and fear, running into the safety of the ambulance that was already present on the scene: for now he was safe, for now…

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W I L L I A M x H U R T x W R I G H T H E A R T




A x L i t t l e x A b o u t x M e

        x Nickname(s) ⇢ Will, Willy, Willie
        x Age ⇒ Twenty-eight
        x Gender ⇒ Male
        x Title ⇒ Cinderella's Prince
        x Theme SongDepeche Mode - Heaven



D e t a i l s, x D e t a i l s . . .

        x Height ⇢ 6'0
        x Weight ⇢ 189 lbs
        x Eyes ⇢ Copper
        x Hair ⇢ Light Brown
        x Race ⇢ Human

        x Magic ⇢ N/A



G e t x T o x K n o w x M e x B e t t e r

        x Appearance
        He is a tall, robust young man. A bit on the athletic side and less on the princely because he enjoys the outdoors: earth, grass and field training. The dirt under his fingernails and a sword clutched to his side. Perhaps his only redeeming princely merit is that face of his, which seems to gain a few points with the ladies. Or perhaps the giant diary this cash cow seems to have.

        x Personality
        Prince William, first in line to succeed his Father - born into royalty and granted all things by right of blood. It'd be easy to say that he grew up a spoiled individual and not many would bat an eye at that statement, but it would only be partially true. Seeing as William had everything he wanted, he had need of nothing and the constant sate of being satisfied and fulfilled often left him listless, disenchanted with life and therefore never stretched himself thin for gain.

        Women, money, property, power - they were already there, he didn't need to ask or fight to earn these things.

        That was until one woman stepped into his life: Cinderella, oh and how she brought out the worst in him. What do you mean they couldn't find her - that he could not have her? He'd have traded his Kingdom to share his bed with her and while his Father wasn't too thrilled to discover this little faucet in his son, nevertheless he complied, because he made the mistake of having only one heir.

        So William got his way, as always and it was through Cinderella that he began to discover things about himself. Finally he was alive, living a life through a peasant girl - ironic, no? He found pleasure in giving and less on receiving, if only because he got to wow her. Status held of no real importance though for awhile, it did seem to halt the wedding, but who were they to tell him what he suddenly could have and could not?

        No one could hold a candle to Williams anger and lack of patience - the world was his oyster and only now someone decided to draw out a fine print?

        x Background
        Life was dull, boring and repetitive.

        There wasn't much that William couldn't set his sights on without taking with ease: he set himself in the thick of a fight not for the thrill of danger, but because he wouldn't be told to do it any other way. He fought with experienced men and harnessed much of their respect with his iron-clad will. The rush and thrill of victory would have made any Father proud, but what is power without control.

        Get him a wife - that's what the King's adviser's had to say. A woman would mellow him out, round out those sharp edges and thus without much disapproving or approving, a ball was held in his court.

        They were beautiful, but weren't they always? Some were kind and some were swift, smooth talkers and others hardly spoke a word. They challenged him, they were kind and assertive, they could benefit the kingdom, but they were not the one. So what was the fuss with all this true love? People spoke of it, he saw it often reflective in the lights of his parents eyes, but it never held out for very long. He didn't want a Queen who would grow old and tired and while he complained to his Father, the man finally spoke to him.

        "William, I don't care, have just one, have them all, I don't care just pick one!"

        Right well granted that wouldn't do him any good. That was until she came into the Ball, a bit late, but unannounced - and how she danced, the way she danced, so full of life. It was as if she was living in the moment and he was missing out - hadn't she always been to these sorts of balls? They were a dime a dozen, a ticket for many women who wished to marry, yet she acted as if this was her first time.

        And from there things spiraled out of control - he wanted to listen, tuned in to her world that was unlike his. She strayed from topics of her family, but everything else was fair game: an magnetic princess with just the right amount of enigma. It took some time and granted a bit of greasing of the wheels, a long with a multiple line of threats but he managed to obtain her once more.

        And life was bliss, he grew to learn what love was and how important it was to care for others, not just the men who protected his rear. William courted her well into marriage and recalled the day she simply just disappeared. Disappeared would have been a great term, had it been as if she had turned the corner and disappeared, but he remembered it quite well. She vanished - right before his eyes, as a fat fairy godmother spoke of magick.

        And now begins his chase of finding his Cinderella once more.

        He took his search on foot, returning to the home he once found her in - to find it barren and a complete dead end. Feeling hopeless but unable to quit, he was a bit surprised to find himself whisked away in a same fashion as she had. Standing before a few faces that were haggard and green.

        Smart mouth he shot off quickly, "Unless you plan to prostate yourselves, you better return her to me..." And that was it. Like a flip of a switch, the magic had gotten ahold of him - turning his memories of her into just a blank space: her smile, her gown - they were twisted into lies and betrayal. She was just someone who wanted to use him for political gain.



T h e x O n e x I n x C o n t r o l

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          Hello. I've been coming on and off gaia for about six years now.
          I come to realize that this place is a really good gathering for roleplayers.
          I, myself, roleplay over many mediums: cv, skype, gaia.

          I am searching for a single thing

          a roleplay partner

          I know that most find their partners by pairing up in particular list of settings, ideas and plots. However rather than be on the hunt for a particular thing, I'd like to find individuals that I can start stories with from groups to one x ones. I just really miss writing and I want to get back into the thick of things.

          I'm very flexible but tend to enjoy the fluff. I love romance and pairings, I find interactions with characters easier to manage. I like to plot but I also enjoy diving into things head first. I enjoy romance, hetero and conversation [depending] and some ooc so that I know what's going on with my buddies.


          Before I start my quest, I will post below things that are just the general consensus.

          1. Gaia is where its at for me as far as roleplays go, but if you want to have some mini ones on skype or emails, then I can cater to that.

          2. I can rp any sexuality, but I prefer hetero and I do prefer playing the male.

          3. That being said, I am mainly interested in romantic rps. Platonic relationships always just seems to drag with me. I like the fluff.

          4. My limits are yours. Please let me know if something gets uncomfortable and I'll be fine to skip.

          5. I am a mirror responder. Meaning that you get what you give. You give me 3-6 pages, I'll probably match that, but only in terms if the quality is acceptable or not. I've had long-length partners in the past and hey, for that setting and that rp it worked: so I'm game for anything. If you write two paragraphs, no sweat -- I might lack a little interest if you toss me a liner though.

          If there's anything else, please ask me. Other than that, I shall add later.

          email-- thenewvisual@msn.com | Skype-- triggerfrenzy
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        His gaze was distant and his expression was forlorn – a sigh escaped his lips for the umpteenth time. Shoulder propped against the brick wall, as he stared out the window. His chest rose once, a deep inhale as the fresh herbs and spices of magic filled the air, screams of refugees and servants cried out in the back and then, he sighed again.
        Cinderella ~ her name danced at the front of his mind, that’s what his people had called her. A beautiful woman with a name befitting of a goddess who danced in the meadow – Clara. The maids at his chambers could only mutter under their breathes as they watched the solemn, depressed Prince pout about the palace.

        “Love sick fool – even after all the treachery, he still longs for her like some banished puppy.” A busy maid spoke to her counterpart, making the bed.

        “Maybe it’s his loins that long for her,” the second one giggled and then they grew deafly ill, when they realized he was in the room, staring at them. In an instant he seized the one closet to him, pushing the maid to the bed as his fingers wrapped tightly around that delicate neck, squeezing it.

        “Clara! How could you do this to me?! After everything we shared,” his gaze was intense, wild, those eye pupils were dilated as he envisioned the face of his beloved on the maid’s now eerily pale blue one. Seething, his words dipped low, chin tucked toward his neck as a bit of extra salvia lapped at the corner of his mouth, shouting, “I trusted you!” His arms shook with power, rattling the young maid back and forth, and drawing out that last choking breath until…! He released her. And she collapsed, choking and gasping for air.

        Clara. He took his spot back at the window as the two women collected themselves and left in a fright. He couldn’t wait to hold her cold, still body against his warm one once more. He would have her once again – that somber princess and he would show her the consequences of her actions. The feel of her dark brown hair between his finger tips and the smell of her scent. The blonde prince sighed once more and left his chamber room – to find the others and see what their plan of action was.

        His tall frame lingered a little in the hallway, losing sense of direction before he turned right, left…Ah! He found another – Phillip was what the servants called him – a not too distant prince from a not too distant neighboring kingdom.

        “What’s all the ruckus?” He spoke toward the young man’s direction, stopping just arm’s length from him.

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                                                                Well it was clear he had upset her and it took everything in Will’s power not to laugh. The little fairy looked rather cute and appealing when she looked angry, but he decided it was in his best interest to not state the obvious. It seemed he had a knack for upsetting the supernatural, first that iron man and now some half fairy, half demon girl. His confusion broke and instead was replace with a warm, prince like smile as his gaze still resting upon her.

                                                                “No, forgive me little blue…” He began but was interrupted by the flash of light and instead a slightly more human sized girl stood before him. She was rather short – about Clara’s height if he recalled: and he did, quite easily.

                                                                “My name is Isiel, not blue woman.”

                                                                “Right! And a very lovely name, Isiel.” Will corrected himself and took it a step further. Bending at his knees, the Prince squatted down and cupped his chin with the palm of his hand. It was a lot easier than craning his neck down and a habit he had – it made it easier to talk to people at their eye level especially when it came to women. She looked bubbly to him, though he assumed that appearances could be deceiving – he figured there was no harm in entertaining the girl. Maybe she was some rich lord’s daughter? This castle was too large and unfamiliar for him to place just her first name.

                                                                “Ah earlier you said you were half demon? You don’t seem like a demon, at all to me.” He grasped his mouth and studied her small stature and found her to be cute. “Perhaps you’re a princess of this castle?” He grinned lightly, though discovered that flattery would not get him far. So instead he fell back on his basic teachings, formalities and held out his hand for hers – though he was uncertain if she would offer it. It was only to kiss the top of her hand and nothing more.

                                                                “My name is William; of course you seem to know that. I wonder what else you know about me…?” His eyebrow rose slightly but he disregarded it completely. “Well you can call me Will, if you prefer, Isiel.” He spoke her name twice, deliberate at that. He grinned into the palm of his hand and decided that fun was where it was at.
                                                                “What sort of fun would you like to have, Isiel?”













                                                              OOC:

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