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Ladykiller

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Ladykiller

Character: Saturn (Pokemon)
877 words, Reply post.
The Legendary Dog Trio
xxxx The female standing next to him now had a sphere of red and white resting in other hand. She proceeded to empty her other hand of the radar. This meant the damned thing was in one spot. Did exhaustion get to the fat thing? Or, is it in hiding? Either way, it will be easily captured. The only problem was the possibility of civilians around the area, but that would be easily solved if someone around has a Pokémon with the move Amnesia. If Saturn could remember correctly, a grunt that had a Slowpoke with that move came with them. The police would probably be so slow that by the time they came Team Galactic would be all back on that aircraft flying back to headquarters. Mars agreed with the supplies list, wonderful. The pace of this mission was starting to go faster, but the clock ticked, both the one that counts precise time and the one on the bomb inside of Cyrus. Their boss blowing up wasn't a pretty sight, and Saturn knows that neither he nor Mars would want it feel the impact of the explosion. Jupiter, though, would probably be blown to bits in the explosion once she was caught.

xxxx Mars mentioned the fact that somebody might be watching Team Galactic. Who could that be? As far as anyone could see, there was nobody but the two commanders and some green-haired, mushroom-headed grunts. Could it be just a simple wild ghost Pokémon watching from a far? Or, was it a human who mastered the art of camouflage and disguise? In the group of grunts, nobody looked suspicious. His thoughts were interrupted by Mars who motioned him to continue the mission. The blue-haired commander followed close by the female. She was determined to catch that pain-in-the-a** lava rock and to get back to do whatever she wanted. Saturn felt the same determination as his partner, and his dark azure eyes clearly reflected it. They were going on foot through an area Olivine City. That was definitely going to cause some people in the area to stare, but most of these people do not know about the existence of Team Galactic. And, they would most likely look in curiosity and think they were some nerd group going to a convention on the beach.

xxxx The beach held a calm breeze that smelled of saltwater. The waves were gently brushing against the sandy shore, moving the sand in the area back and forth. A Krabby slowly made its way down into a burrow, and a Wingull descended from the sky to its nest to retreat for the night. The Wingull and Pelipper that ruled the sky in the day were being replaced by the kings of the night, the Zubat. There was no Phione or Manaphy in the sea to blast him to death like in his frustrating game. The moon casted a circular, white glow on the water luring out a many Tentacool and Tentacruel out from the warm, mellow waves. The ruby-like orbs place on their heads seemed to shine out like as if they were performing a light show. The Pokémon of this area were probably unaware or the harmony’s disturbance, Heatran. A mountain rock from Sinnoh did not belong on the beaches of Johto, but somehow the Lava Dome Pokémon was able to join the habitat. No Zubat or Wingull circled the large rock, nor did they attack it. Did the Johto Pokémon respect Heatran because it was a legendary? Nothing snitched the unexpected visitor out but the radar Mars carried with her.

xxxx The objective was simple: catch Heatran. A bright, white light flashed out of the red and white Pokéball in Saturn’s hand, and it started to form the silhouette of a Bronzong. The light disappeared with a sparkle revealing the bell-shaped psychic and steel type. Saturn ordered the Bronzong to slowly approach the living rock, for he did not want to startle the Heatran causing it to flee again. The grunts behind him and Mars started sending out their Pokémon. Some were unnecessary for the task like a Beautifly, but others like Bronzor could be helpful for the situation. A yawn-like sound came from a clueless pink Pokémon, Slowpoke. ‘Yawn! Making Heatran drowsy or putting it to sleep could lead to easy capture.’ As Bronzong got closer to the Lava Dome Pokémon, the feline eyes of Saturn saw that Heatran was too large for his Pokémon to simply cover using its metallic bell body. Attacking it would cause more fleeing, which made that completely useless. A lot of the grunts were rash and would throw an attack as soon as they were given the order to be deployed, so the simple ideas of having them do the work could lead to the failure to catch the objective. He needed to catch Heatran using the simple method of putting it to sleep, but his Pokémon did not have any sleep inducing moves. “Mars,” Saturn whispered quietly not to disrupt the currently serene Lava Dome Pokémon perched atop the rock, “I’m thinking the best way to catch Heatran is by putting it to sleep.” He turned over to the grunt who was partnered with a Slowpoke, "I may need to use your Pokémon."
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Ladykiller

Character: Deoxys Gijinka (Pokemon OC)
740 words, Reply post
The Thread
Deoxys’s golden eyes stared outward into the skies above emotionless. Her crimson hair was worn down with the crystal fragments floating down her mane as if it were a tiara-like veil. This gloveless and barefoot state revealed crystals that plated her skin. Her elegant nightgown, lacy and beautifully decorated with celestial shapes, gave Deoxys a more feminine look than her typical clothes. One probably cannot comprehend why her womanly features were emphasized with less skin revealing clothing (though one may argue that she had never been very gifted with breasts). She was a fragile, extraterrestrial angel, but though angel she was still an intruder to this world. Every foreign crystal that scattered all across her body like deteriorating armor, the eyes filled with frozen honey, and the streaks of crimson seeming to bleed out of them in perfect lines. They exposed her remote origins. In the moonlight these features seemed to glow. They glowed in a celestial light like the curious stars that gazed upon Earth nightly, the light of a stranger. It lacked that mundane light of Earth, clearly different from the flickering taillights of fireflies and even the streetlights that illuminated the evening for the midnight lad. However, Deoxys was a welcome visitor to this seemingly ordinary planet.

Those jolly stars resumed their romantic dinners tonight with the milky moonlight watching over them. All the celestial faces from the night before have returned. If this was a Valentine’s party or none of them can get laid, she could not tell. But, if the latter they still retained their usual cheeriness. However, the moon shone in melancholy tonight. Whose love was Luna denied? Was it her close neighbor Phobos, or was it the Charon the man whose residence was millions of miles away from hers? Luna was a female, more emotional than her starry friends. Women always hoped for their chance at this “love”, but only the most beautiful of sisters could win the game of gaining this sacred feeling. The sisters gifted with beauty were vixen. They were sly and cunning, luring the hopeless males into desire via seduction. These whores only feasted on the best meal, rich and handsome, leaving the rest desperate. Deoxys did not possess this skill, suffering Luna’s loneliness, but was glad she had not walked the disgusting path of the slut. However, she still kept a small ember of hope that love will give an unexpected ambush before the night dies.

Deoxys hated confinement. She could not stand just lying in her bed expecting something to happen. Her body held an urge to travel, but her mind knew there was nowhere to go. The world was plagued with love, and the infection would travel to her mind in the form of envy. The places nobody went would only give her the same feeling of loneliness, the emotion she wanted to burn. So, she leaped out of her window stories from the ground below. She greeted the cutting air as it accompanied her through the ride. Falling and allowing gravity to grasp her soul for a moment relieved her of this disease of loneliness. She was so carefree, so independent. All of those worries and thoughts loosened their tight hold on her mind until they disappeared into the friendly wind slicing at her skin. Amber orbs peaked through the curtain of flesh. ‘I am nearing the ground.’ The typical man would have thought she could not handle her lack of companion this night and had found death’s greed as a way to free herself, but he was wrong. Red armor grew from the plates of crystal and embraced her. Clouds of smoke and dust arose from the impact site and cleared away to reveal Defense Forme Deoxys with a new worry on her mind: Dialga’s wrath upon destroying a good portion of his garden.

The defensive form lasted for another moment before she returned to normal. She was normal, but not the heavens above. The sky now radiated of colors. Viridian, violet, and gold crowned the moon and she seemed to finally find her companion, one that would dare to shine beside her the brightest object in the evening. This light show would be marveled and hated. They loved a beautiful sight on their night of love, but she hated the fact that she forgot to think. One can easily follow the radiation signals and find Dialga’s loyal space conquistador.
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Ladykiller

Character: Hawthorne The Lumineon Gijinka (Pokemon OC)
1,015 words, Reply Post
The Thread
The man before her was such a bore. Why did she spend her precious Valentine’s Day with a deceiving prince! He had shocked her with a gallant smile on that fateful day which she supposedly fell in love, and now he proved to be some shallow, underage drunkard with not a drop of personality. He had taken her out to a fine diner and expected her to pay! How could a lady bring out her money in such a fancy, public area? That would be such a shame to her family! She would be seen as an outcast who dared to go on dates with the lower class. A lady was meant to marry higher, and she already felt humiliated sitting near this imbecile who claimed to be a refined gentleman. By the time he was on the sixth glass of wine, he was ready to trip on the boundary of drunkenness. “So, Hawth, you want to go to my apartment tonight for some classic Valentine’s bedtime?” The Lumineon knew exactly what he meant, an unmentionable, vulgar activity that would ensure a mortifying marriage to this b*****d a long with a lifetime of going by that embarrassing nickname. She continued to play the game of the actress only smiling and looking downward in the most decorative way.

Oh, why had she not looked in this direction before? It stood there tempting her with its glossy crimson stare was wine. It did not wish for its consumption; it did not wish to be in anything but drama. The few ounces of liquid in her glass spoke to her in the method of telepathy, straight to the girls mind. Her pale hand grasped the glass with some energy, and her partner’s eyes grew curious thinking she dared to do the obscene act of underage drinking. Instead of raising it to her mouth, she flicked her wrist in a powerful yet quick motion towards the male who was now labeled her ex. Gasps of bewilderment, giggles, and strangest of all applause filled the restaurant. His green hat that marked the Cacturne Clan was dripping with deep color that would possibly never leave; this would be the lasting memory of the night he was shamed by his sweetheart. Her last words to the man, possibly forever, were only whispered into his ear as a faint echo, “Oh, forgive me for being so unmannerly tonight. I do hope usage fake identification card of yours succeeds.” She left into the night satisfied and with another secret trapped inside the realms of her mind.

The stars above drowning in the bliss of the many comedic acts of love were giggling away with their lighthearted twinkles. Polaris, the brightest one, pointed north and winked. For a second, it seemed, all of the stars stood still in curiosity wondering what their sage could be referencing, but they all dismissed it as no concern and continued their merry act of observing the world of the evening. The eyes of the twins, Gemini, gave a look of content at the Lumineon; obviously they were amused by her theatrical performance. As the girl took her steps, she realized the message of Polaris. Uxie’s Academy, where she was residing, lay north. By Arceus! The fate, in this case the star, was telling her to return to a place where hope still burned in its hearth. The young lady had no business marrying now; her studies could make her a more respectable woman than any man (unless, of course, she married Arceus himself). Tonight, a young lady lost her lover. However, she returned to her quarters with a grin.

The number six hundred twenty one appeared on the bronze plaque of the door. This was the twenty first room of the sixth floor, the room of Hawthorne. The room’s owner lazily lay in the porcelain tub. Her magenta eyes were half gazing at the bubbles and half in a fantasy that only she can wake herself from. The bubbles tickled the girl’s flawless skin and some claimed her unmentionable female assets to themselves. She, however, made no effort to rid of these perverts. They surrounded her giving the Lumineon the embrace of warmth. Eventually, the vain creature feared of becoming a shriveled dried fruit. She rinsed herself carefully fearing any leftover soap clinging to her body. She continued her next few minutes in her bathroom both for hygienic and vanity reasons. She opened the doors, the escape to that bathroom now a sauna, to her room dressed in a simple, turquoise nightgown and slippers resembling fish. Her raven hair, once pinned in a neat bun, was down a tad lower than her breasts. Her appearance was not suitable for a night of dating; however it was perfect for an evening bounteous with petty gossip.

Hawthorne took herself down the hallways. They twisted and ended such manipulative things. The digital clocks embedded into the walls were apparently broken, for no minute changed. Or, was it karma cursing her for the merciless act during dinner? Down the stairs, up the stairs, it was even a surprise that she, a graceful beauty, did not slip. Around every impish corner was a room with a bit of promise, friends. However, most were either doing the highest bonding of bodies or finishing last minute half-heartedly homework after a mesmerizing love story. There was a door in the corner that caught her eye. She had seen this girl many times before, was Estuko her name? Perhaps the infatuation blinded bat can entertain the bored eyed fish. Inside was that girl she knew consuming a sugary treat sure to give her a monstrous ability of hyperactivity. Her pale blue hair had two wings strangely coming out, but Hawthorne would admit it did not look bad on the girl. The Woobat’s eyes had hearts, not that every other lacked Woobat this appearance of yearning, showing how infatuated she was with every mildly attractive male in her age group. “Hello, Estuko,” Hawthorne greeted the legally blind girl; “It is a wonderful evening for feminine chatter, is it not?”
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Ladykiller

Character: Caspian (OC)
1275 words, Intro.
Clear Falls High
The faces engraved into the plain walls of the school each shifted to welcome the male slut back in his last year. Forward was the only direction that the grey-green jewels pointed, but in their reflection it showed slight reaction to each emotion. Disgust and hatred was mostly scattered among the animated mural. That Sarah giggling as she erected the ego of the popular and cutting the heads of those she deemed insignificant was at fault majorly of his bad reputation. She was a modern Marie Antoinette. The peasants she taxed insults upon grew grouchier year by year, second by second. Perhaps a more civilized queen would tone done her extravagance, but Sarah’s reign of hate and envy would only end with her departing. Caspian wasn’t a traitor or a double agent. He wanted to leave a positive universal impression, but her respects of this wish was almost like stepping onto a podium and giving a speech about how good he was at sex and add layers of arrogance to his personality. That impression was branded to everyone’s mind. Why, now isn’t that perfect? She was feeding them sugar-coated poison, lies about Caspian giving them a false comfort built by the expected and the usual, which they devoured the gourmet cakes.

A waft of tobacco smoke past under his nose. The men’s room was nearby. It was disgusting how soggy fags clogged the urinals and the cracks of the tiles turning the displaced urine a sooty black at the end of each day. Well, Caspian should use the bathroom before it’s abused for another year. The teachers never knew because they only went to the sanitary teacher’s restroom, and the custodians looked at it as just some more s**t to clean up. The only smoker that would need another by the time he reached the school doors was either some crazy idiot with not two pennies of sense or Gray, most likely the latter. Gray was a bit too old for a junior yet a bit too young for a senior. He was complex with a slightly more mature appearance for his age. It wasn’t just the smokes. There was something about him, something that reflected in those frosty cerulean eyes that made Caspian wonder, peculiar and mundane. And of course, why he was so hated by the clique was a strange thought. The rebellious and hyped up on drugs for a party were fine, but Gray for a reason was detested. The same oddity applied to the other outcasts. Girls swoon over the modern vampire’s pale and perfect complexion, but are disgusted of how Cameron, the girl standing not far away, can’t get a tan. The gossip girls all want to be stick thin, but call that pale girl a walking skeleton. Caspian rinsed the soap off of his fingers and left.

A few steps down the hallway and he found the group slowly reforming with the queen, the duchess, the queen’s bitchy advisor, the wealthy lord, and the joker. He was glad to see them; he really was. Though catty, the group of ten was his best friends throughout the high school years except maybe at the beginning of his freshmen year where he was viewed as typical kid. That all changed when that one girl banged him. Yes, the lady banged the gentleman because she was clearly more experienced. Anyways, today was another normal day. They stood there like kids playing “Duck, Duck, Goose” in a circle chitting. Hopefully today’s the conversation wouldn’t be the boring old gossip sprinkled in with stupid insults like: “GIRRRRRRRRRRRRRRL, yo shoes make you look so raggedy.” Wherever that stupid portion of the script was, it was certainly gone by the time Caspian got there. The subject transitioned to one about a part and then to one about first hour. It seems that Sarah, her sister, and Zane all had math. It seems a different class and room number has been scribed onto Caspian’s schedule, ******** history in room 1200. The first day was lecture on policies, and the first class was a class of pure lecture no matter what. Was it a horrible way to start a day or enduring the worst first?

His teacher was introducing herself, Miss White. She was from a nice and cute area called “Da Hood”. With that afro and snazzy attitude and constant joking about her African American race, this class was going to be a different kind of hell. The one where someone has no idea what the hell is going on at all times. The rules have pretty much stopped and evolved into a story about that one time her brother stole the neighbor’s antique coffee table and sold it at the local pawn shop without getting caught and arrested. This was an interesting twist for such a boring class. Majoring in history would get anyone nowhere but boring and low salary teaching, so this class was just what he needed: something to easily ace and sit through. And goddammit, some people in that class were ninja. Some little Asian girl had passed out the syllabus, which had been there for twenty minutes unnoticed. Most of it made sense through a simple skim, especially the part where Miss White stated she had an annual appointment every April 20, national marijuana day. Having history first hour of the first day was not as much of a pain the a**, though still digging uncomfortably into his a*****e.

Well, apparently all of his friends got into the same class for first hour making Caspian wonder if there was only one Math XII class. He had calculus towards the end of the day, but nobody called him a nerd for that because apparently girls contribute more to social status than education or most people believed the rumor about him paying girls to do his homework by having sex with them. A whore wasn’t always a prostitute. He fished the phone out of his pocket and began to type out a message.

To: My Bitches (group)
From: Caspian
History is ******** up. How’s math?


Time’s race slowed into an annoyingly slow walk. Seconds seemed to change in length, though he knew that a second was always one sixtieth of a minute. A minute was always one sixtieth of an hour, but those precise measurements are always manipulated by the clock. The clock was an evil with a heart. It would make the most thrilling days of life seem so short, but it allows those dull moments of nothingness last an eternity of a minute. Caspian's eyes would lift from the clock, but they always found their way back to it. Every time, he was fooled. Every time he looked the gap of time before each peek had shortened, and its face remained as stoic as ever. A simple object was so troublesome and villainous, enough to defeat the queen bee’s reign in a flick of a hand. There was one thing that seemed to take over Saturn, stronger and stronger as the clock’s colons flash: drowsiness and boredom. The flesh-colored curtains above his eyes began to increase their weight, and the atmosphere around him faded longer whenever they fell. Perhaps waking to the call of his own clock at such an early time with such short notice on his body was taking its effect. A cure for this epidemic floated around the classroom in the form of “hood ghetto qurl” yelling and laughing, which acted like a pill scaring the bored away from him for a few moments. Eventually it would come back, and boredom and slumber will consume even the greatest whore.
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Ladykiller

Character: Robert Greene (OC)
688 words, Reply.
This One Time At Band Camp

xxx The last warm breaths of the day were fading into the cool of the evening, the sky’s eyelid fell. All was drawn out by the hundreds of lights around him flecking the night, fire waiting at the end of the treacherous pit. The shallow puffs of atmosphere slowly decreased in temperature as the night passed. The baritone saxophonist’s bicycle, lone and locked as if it were a prisoner, leaned on the metal bars with inertia. His brilliant ice cerulean eye caught a glimpse of Aqua before his departure into the dark of this young evening. She had not been tired much by her quick runs. The girl’s deep coffee tress spilled into the atmosphere with the tranquil touch of a zephyr. She was a ravishing young lady even when shadowed by the darkness looming above. So, the boy nodded and rolled along leaving two loves in the rear. But, they both will never be distant. His dashing damsel awaits him wherever and whenever, genuine concern for the position she has taken. His beautiful, golden siren was locked away in the cage. Her deep, sensuous purrs will not be heard tonight, for she remains silent in her prison. But, like star-crossed lovers they would meet at a set time the next day. After all, they could not depart now after going so far together. And when their lips collide, gravity disappears leaving an enchanting melody as a gratifying toast to previous hardships.

xxx Robert was home at last. His the time after he departed from the school building has been uniform ever since he joined band camp. He would take a frigid shower, for it was better than the other setting of being boiled alive, to wash off the exhaust of day then do as his mind pleases. That is often what Aqua wants, for he does not want her to be an aggravated. Such a dramatic woman could easily make the moment one his mind would like to shut off on to never have the memory recalled. And so, Greene picked up his shushed phone. A message, like expected, appeared onto the screen. Talk? What is this so important that they must engage in? The saxophonist began to gradually type out a message:

To: Aqua
From: Robert
About what? Of course I want to hang out; I’m as bored as ********]

xxx “********” was something that he was not entirely sure was boring, but he is living in such a peculiar and disgusting era. All of the nice little girls with headphones in mouthed the words to an implicit song by Nicki Minaj, what he believed to just another madwoman spitting out a random collection of sexual words. The boys listened to dubstep, basically the sound of construction. Robert was a musician. He knew what to listen to, what cacophony is and what melodious is. He knew that the conversation with his girlfriend would be complete discord.

xxx He settled into a comfortable position on his bed wearing only jeans and boxers, for he had not decided his outfit for the night. Deciding an outfit was walking over to the closet doors and picking the first top that came to view, so that was of little concern as of the moment. The Blue Dream on the nightstand was a succubus. He was drawn to it after this laborious day of camp, but he couldn’t “hang out” with his girlfriend completely stoned. Those succubus were the reason of the torture that one flutist girl, Emily. He was not using his usual, beloved Blue Dream. It was that diabolical Atomic Northern Lights that made him so aroused; that deceiving sweetness led to a bitter ending. There was also that other problem. Em was ******** hot. Those words his father had told him “keep your Greene in your pants” would have been great to remember that night. He could've controlled himself; he had not lost his sanity but decided to follow though on such an idiotic phrase in his mind "nothing would happen; it's only one time". Regrets cannot cure. Apologies cannot cure. Happiness cannot cure. He could not got to the past and tell his immature self. This was a hell that can only be relieved by action. This was a hell that could only be relieved in the present.
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Ladykiller

Character: Christofferson Green (OC)
905 words, reply.
Connection
Evening was eclipsing over the day. Streetlights were slowly set a glow in every corner to illuminate the warm night sky. With the falling of the darkness, the people seemed to glow more. Their plain morning attire was slowly being swept out and replaced by flashy evening garments. From the shadows of an alley emerges a damsel, around Toff’s age. Her bright, open eyes were complimented by the soft slight ginger curls of her face. Under the dim streetlights her pale skin showed such kind tones, but her outfit told more than any other feature. She was a street whore, a prostitute. Her top was pretty much an elaborately printed brassiere, and her pants were nonexistent. A rather large purse was held loosely in her left hand, but it wasn’t a designer one. She was nothing more than a desperate girl looking for a few dollars. Toff wasn’t one that would go for them, mainly because it was much cheaper to get a real girl, but he was alone in the nights of an exotic town. Any street whore would know the geography of the town; it was practically a requirement for their job. Toff approached her without second thought. “Howdy, darlin’, you’d like to go for a meal with me?”

She signified that she was puzzled by a curious blink of her sage eyes, “Erm, uh, sure.” She was clearly new to her job, which Toff found hilarious. The ginger prostitute blushed, “Huh? What’s so funny!?” Toff responded bluntly to that straightforward question, “Ya’ suck at being a hooker. Now, where do ya’ want to eat?” The girl composed herself and replied, “There’s a diner not far from here, follow me.” She wobbled in them high heels and walked like a timid kitten, not the sly alley cat she portrayed herself as just a moment ago. The two were getting the occasional suspicious look, mainly girls from around here labeling Toff as hopeless and not worth a penny. Cowboy and the tramp stood outside of the diner which was either ancient or meant to look like something from a couple decades ago, but Toff didn’t go in without one last requirement. “Hey, girl, would mind buttoning up and putting on some pants?” The harlot’s soft white fingers quickly closed the gap between the two sides of her turquoise jacket and pulled on a simple denim skirt from the inside of her bag. Toff invited her in with him, and they sat down at a table against the wall.

The inside of the diner was a cluttered eyesore. The general furnishings were red and white, which would have done well alone. However, the imbecile that ran the place decided to tape fake records all over the walls and gave all of the food companies bought from free advertising. The TV’s were mute, but they played scenes from a stupid reality show that nobody paid attention to. Then there was the threesome that got there a few moments before Christofferson and the whore did. There was a male who seemed to have dyed his hair black to make him look “bad a**”, a b***h with too much makeup on, and a normal looking guy. Nobody of interest is in the diner, so Toff spoke to the girl he brought in, “I’m Christofferson, but I’d be fine with Toff.” “Hi, I’m Ketchup.” There was a moment of awkward quiet. What kind of prostitute names herself “Ketchup”? She has red hair, but damn, that girl had no creativity. “I ain’t sure if ya’ realized, but I ain’t going for sex tonight. Introduce like a lass, not a whore.” Something about that made Ketchup smile, but at the same time disappointed her. She was treated like an actual lady by him and not a sex toy, but she hadn’t gotten a client since she started in the secretive business. She thought she was lucky today, and in a way she was. In the new light, he was a southern gentleman. Hopefully, he’d pay for her dinner. So she replied with confidence as if he was just another friend, “I’m Winona. Call me Winnie.”

Winnie was an interesting and joyous addition to his first day. She was good-humored and laughed a lot at the littlest quirks of Toff’s southern accent. They ordered food and carried out conversations like old drinking partners after a few moments. They discussed her job, his job, and about hot they both sucked for the most stupid of reasons. She couldn’t get men to ******** her because she had small tits and no tan, and Toff hated being silent. Asking a call girl to dinner wasn’t as horrible as Toff’s friends down south told him, like lassoing home a tube of semen, it was actually a wonderful opportunity to make a partner. The conversation evolved into rooming. They both lived in apartments alone, but in different neighborhoods. “Well, that ain’t real far. I saw the place walking up to you. If you can’t pay rent just come over. Just try to warn me ‘fore you bring a man home if ya’ live with me.” Toff partially wanted someone nice to split the bills with and a friend, but the girl seemed a bit unsure about living with a cowboy she met on the street. She was doing alright, for now, anyways. “I’ll find you when the time comes.” “I’m in twelve if ya’ need anything, darlin’”.
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Ladykiller

Character: Peta (MAR: Marchen Awakens Romance)
1088 words, intro.
Swords, Steam, and Sorcery
Pillars, each of which held a moon at the top, encircled a man in a large and barren room. There was plain furniture in the far aphotic corners, untouched by both light and man. The figure in the center of illumination was not one most would find intimidating. With soft muddy blond tresses ending at the lower back, inky olive irises, and a rather slim figure by description he would look feminine and elegant. However, he cast the impression of a devil. His skin was an anomalous pale shade amplified to look more demonic under the radiant rays of moonlight. Under the concealing long sleeves were scarlet talons sharpened and lengthy. This monster was set ablaze by the moons that orbited him. The luminous beams dug deeper into his skin encasing him in a more sinister aura by the second. He did not move, nor did the thought to pass his mind. He had other significant topics to ponder about. He accepted the somber and secretive world within the abyss of nothingness. The sound of footsteps drew nearer to the creature’s dungeon, and eventually a silhouette of a shorter female. “Peta, your next broadcast is the recent brawl involving Redgrave and some bandits on the street of Victoria’s old district. This is only local news,” her voiced echoed giving him and his anteroom a minuscule bell of life.

Normally a simple brawl on the streets would never make local news, but in Victoria everyone treated his public image as if it were holy. A man could beat his wife and children within the privacy of his home, but out on the river walk he’d wave and greet others like a true gentleman. It was different from Peta’s homeland Wyrm where crime and violence tainted every stone. Adapting to the new country wasn't very difficult. However, Peta would always trust his old hood roots more. Everything, everyone in Victoria appeared to be wearing a costume for the stringent police force. In Wyrm, all embraced their true selves and let it run wild. Peta’s vampiric blood was hated, and nobody around made an effort to hide their faces creasing into the looks of disgust back there. And, the blond made no attempt to hide he was feeding off of them. Peta hated and avoided the self-proclaimed model citizens of Victoria. They lied with polite waves and smiles. Wyrm was more honorable; despite the vampire loathing that country almost as much. There was no true enforcement. There was nothing to hide. There was nothing to lose. With that, the devious criminals of Wyrm were the most honest upon the land.

Blood Syringe. A ghastly purple glow joined the moons for a second. The orb soon multiplied into six bubbles with a needle. The floated over and penetrated the lady and began to fill with her murky blood. The woman tried to old back her tears from the pain; she knew this was one of the consequences of informing the broadcaster. She tried to embrace it all, tried to think of the money she’d earn. Her vision began blur, and soon she lay motionless on the cold ebony tiles like the stereotypical over dramatic woman after seeing something hellish. The blond called back his syringes and stared into their reflections. “Show this to every local broadcasting screen, the recent Redgrave brawl.” The bloody reflections shone for a moment then the light died down to that of the surrounding moonbeams once more. Peta could not see anything happen from within the seclusion of his work chamber, which was what he wanted because he didn't give a cent about a silly quarrel, but outside the reflective broadcast screens all began to show the short fight starring the infamous Redgrave. With his job finished, the vampire stepped over to a table in the corner and picked up a skull adorned goblet and released the blood he collected from the informant in as if a man was simply pouring milk from the pitcher.

Peta held one of the most controversial jobs in the land. Nobody but his coworkers knew his methods of broadcasting. There was always gossip whispered ear to ear about what he was. Some believed he was an ultimate seer capable of seeing all that happens, and that agitated that common people. However, most of the time he doesn't see what he chooses to broadcast. The only way he knows about most of the happenings are from reports other workers collect. Of course, this information would never be released into the public. He was not allowed to show his face, either. Whenever Peta had to broadcast himself anchoring, he had to wear a mask. That only led to more rumors. In the useless women’s magazines one week would have segment about the broadcaster being a pervert using his “all-seeing eyes” to look at females changing, the next it would describe him as a handsome exotic man, and another would falsely accuse other people with long dirty blond hair as being the broadcaster as a joke. The media was targeting one of its own members, nothing new, but it was absolutely annoying when he received personal mail. It was never fan mail like all of the pretty little idols received; it was always criticism on his inhumane actions.

The signature heavy steps of unnecessarily high heels resonated around his anteroom. This time, a young intern stepped through the door. “Peta,” she began with an attempt to conceal the fear in her voice, “Your job is done for now; you’re allowed to leave.” The vampire drained the remaining bland-tasting blood of the other woman from his goblet, and he disappeared behind the door and down the winding stairs. Outside, the scenery was many shades brighter than within the building. The sun was high in the sky, and merchants lazily floated in their canoes down the river. The water was once a warm crystalline cerulean, but now has faded into an opaque grey-blue and became frigid due to the debris people carelessly throw in and lack of direct sunlight. The weather was still warm despite the shadows from the looming buildings glaring down at the citizens on the ground. At the ground level, every uniform cell-like opening in the architecture was a different shop selling mostly insignificant merchandise from snacks to toys that would end in the river before they reached home. Homes and business crowded the wall-like structures of Victoria’s old district, a perfect example of oblivious people viewing the country as the ideal place to live.
Radiochemistry's avatar

Ladykiller

Character: Peta (MAR: Marchen Awakens Romance)
846 words, reply.
Steam, Swords, and Sorcery
As Peta walked down the street it became denser with people. He was nearing the old district’s unofficial town square where commerce ruled over a kingdom of the diverse Victorian civilians. This “town square” was nothing more than a wide alleyway perpendicular to the murky river. Both sides of the alley were lined with shops and stalls. Vociferous sellers yelled annoying, unnecessary advertisements from their stands and most shops were cheaply decorated. The place had an odor of rotting food that was only made worse by the scent of dying marine life floating up from the river. It was here where most shopped for goods and crimes went unseen by the watchful eyes of the media. At the end of the market street was a large ancient building, obviously built before crowding appeared in Victoria. The edifice was once a large mansion built to some large wealthy family that has now migrated or fallen to extinction. Now it had become an indoor shopping center with items of much better quality than those decaying in the sun outdoors. Another voice swept over the clutter of greedy citizens, nothing abnormal, yet oddly the sound Peta heard resembled that of a wailing child.

The vampire’s shopping destination was neither through the gothic doors of the olden mansion or to a cheap stand. He moved towards the location of a humble soap store. Within the soap store, a dizzying aroma of countless of mixed scents bombarded Peta. Yet somehow, the storeowner was able to identify the smell that lingered to Peta. “You smell of blood, sir, have you recently been injured?” she inquired. This was the norm of this peculiar store. The owner seemed to be the only employee ever around, most likely out of greed. The woman had an oriental look about her with raven hair and a petite figure. Her clothing was different from that of native Victorians. The owner was a woman from the neutral state of Sagwa; a land which has claimed Victoria’s title as a tranquil refuge. The vampire had heard of those who have reached an odd enlightenment upon bathing in a pond; was it possible this woman had gained it in her nose? Peta gazed at the many choices of scents that lined the walls. He did not care and barely acknowledged most even anomalies such as burning mushroom and whiskey; he was looking for a specific scent. His scarlet nails picked up a set of two pastel purple bottles, one shampoo and the other conditioner. He exchanged no words with the owner as he bought the soaps.

White hair on a brawny man caught Peta’s attention. The look was familiar, but the blond had yet to see it anywhere aside from broadcasts and newspapers. This was the infamous Tony Redgrave who recently started a fight, and now was carelessly leaving a restaurant as if it were his lunch break. Redgrave was not an ugly man by Peta’s standards, but he was certainly not sexually appealing. Yet, the vampire’s eyes followed the man. Redgrave had a strange look on him even for the diversity of Victoria, but Peta found that sort of appearance recognizable. If anything, there seemed to be something Wyrm-like about the man. Perhaps it was the dark aura of being so quarrelsome around town, for what would someone from Wyrm be doing here? Peta had his reasons for being in Victoria, but someone like Redgrave would fit much better in the atmosphere of the swampy lands of Wyrm. But perhaps, it was just a little false intuition. Trouble and crime could forge this sort of intimidating feel to a person; it was nothing to worry about. It was just another kink in the variety of personality, and Peta dismissed it as him simply analyzing subjects too much. Perhaps being an uneducated simpleton was the most blissful path of life.

Peta came into contact with something not usually seen around Victoria: a live plant. It was a collection of various colors of blossoms emitting vivid colors in the dull corner it lay in near the restaurant Tony Redgrave left. The vampire required no common food of other beings, and thrived mainly on the blood of humans. There were some other tastes he enjoyed like that of fine wine, but many were repulsive to him no matter how much other people praised the flavor. Peta never visited a restaurant other than for reasons unrelated to consuming food such as a meeting. He had tried many suggestions, and most did not satisfy in taste. Though the flavor of certain sweets were appealing, none were as filling and delicious as fresh blood of beings. Peta understood others' need for food as nutrition the same way he needed blood. But, their choices of taste were a bit questionable to him even when they consumed blood. They often cooked it up to have a jelly texture, and the blood would lose its original strong and alluring taste of fresh blood. This was a subject Peta would never know in his life being born into his species.
Radiochemistry's avatar

Ladykiller

Character: Hadley Hamish Hamilton (OC)
1116 words, reply.
Risky Businesss
Amorphous smoke curled heavenward from the ignited pink f*****t’s f*****t. An ominous ghost of combustion settled over the bus like fog. The young man knew this lethal habit was a monster decaying his organs from the inside, and as stubborn as he was, the nicotine was always more refractory. The blonde had been able to stop visiting the monster as often as before which was typically when he had another guest to be occupied with. This monster, Nicotine, was a huge a** b***h. She’d always go knocking on his mind just when he was too busy, and she took the drummer’s money as a trade for a short moment of pleasure. She would’ve been good, like Mary Jane, if Hadley could use her once and kick her out of bed. Mary was hot and sent Hadley’s mind through cerebral sex, but Nicotine was a ******** siren. That seductress would come around and allure the drummer to a make out session at least seven times a day and slyly leeching off of his wallet. She tried to disguise herself as a naïve little bonny with the soft floral lipstick, but beneath that he could taste a peculiar sweetness: the sickly sugar of poison.

With the help of Blue’s muscle, Oli was upright now. The bluenette’s vigor was always something suspicious about her. The roadie was diffident and rarely spoke unless it was a necessity. She could hardly maintain constant eye contact with the drummer when Hamilton ordered her around. In this band, Hadley was the one the girl avoided most. He never knew why, but he assumed it as the essence of the other three. The Stoughs were girls, and naturally girls were friends with other girls, and Olive was sweet enough that anyone could indulge on him. That left only Hamilton to intimidate her like an archetypical girl in the vicinity of a celebrity. To be honest, Hamilton liked a certain type of attention. This bashful girl wasn’t giving him the right kind; he didn’t want to give the impression of an arrogant d**k to her. Lux was a comely lady, but she wasn’t exactly the type he wanted to bang. Not that he’d refused the sex if she wanted it. However, the glare the bluenette was giving Hadley was caustic. There was something swirling deep behind her glasses, which were embarrassingly less thick than his, and dark sclera. That girl was like the ocean: blue and too deep to ever reach the bottom of.

The vocalist took a step and landed onto the drummer; Oli was fragile and clumsy in his intoxication. For just a millisecond, Hadley’s became rubicund with the lust and passion tortuously running through his veins to the heart and gladly not his p***s; an erection here and now would’ve been the worst timing possible. Olive’s warm body was struggling around on Hadley’s chest for a few long seconds dragged out by the pleasure that was hidden behind Hadley’s passive expression. He wanted to embrace the vocalist in a sensual, intimate style but was stopped by his mentality and sanity. Oli was heterosexual, was he not? Hadley’s auntie always told him that any love towards one of the same gender was sin. Monroe would certainly kick the drummer to the side of the road like a useless and nuisance puppy. The tight heart strings that bound their friendships would be cut in an instant leaving Hadley sanguinary and mortally wounded. Hamilton made no action; he did absolutely nothing at the fear of any subtly gay gesture and let Oli stumble off into a cacophonous series of falls. Hamilton was paralyzed for a moment and let his friend his ideal bed partner go get a thousand bumps that will sting like needles when the sun rises the next morning.

Hamilton tailed Monroe to Airline 44’s assigned room when he regained most of his sense. It didn’t take Hadley much time to catch up with Oli limping his way there. Blue, a few feet to Hadley’s side, suggested Oliver get some ice and an ankle brace. That’s when he noticed the vocalist’s ankle was changing colors like a mood ring. That ain’t good. She proceeded to ask the band if they needed anything from the corner store. Their venue tonight was at a high class hotel where snobby rich kids wasted their parents’ money, so Hadley was betting that he would probably need a condom. He didn’t want to tell any girl his size because if she thought it was small, his ego would be cut. If she thought it was big, she’d think Hadley was plain arrogant. “Oli darling, I can carry you on stage if you’re okay with that.” In his mind the blonde was thinking about saying “no homo” to reassure Oliver, but it would’ve been stupid and immature to say that. Hadley wasn’t an eight year old that went to church school. “Hey girl,” Hadley voiced to Blue, “would it be too much to get a large pack of water bottles? I’ll pay you back.”

Playing with the band was always euphoria, if they were doing well that is. There was always a harmony no matter how harsh the song was. Airline 44 was the post-hardcore band that was envied by the rest in the label, and it was running up to the high players in the scene like Dance Gavin Dance or Sleeping with Sirens. The songs were beautiful in both poetic lyric and sound, and most of the time Hadley was jealous of the songs the Stoughs produced. They were the original members of the band, so their style was the most recognizable. Whenever Hadley wrote a song, the fans thought Airline 44 was trying to be something it’s not. That’s why he didn’t write songs often, and if he did, he rarely exposed them to the band. He once wrote a song called “Saturnine” that had lyrics that seemed to be about a pimp who lost all of his money and life because his hoes were dying of some graphic and disgusting flesh eating disease, which he admits, may be a bit stupid because he wrote it while watching A Pimp Named Slickback talk about b***h dependency. It was a song about how Hadley couldn’t ******** Oli, but most of the audience thought it was about AIDS. It had a hip hop vibe throughout the whole song to accent the fact it was in the point of view of a pimp, and the fans were all pissed thinking Airline 44 was converting to a different genre despite most of the song was the white and vanilla post-hardcore they expected. A multi-cultural dash of spice was apparently venom.
Radiochemistry's avatar

Ladykiller

This is not really a sample of length or quality, as I wrote it in like twenty minutes. It is of dialogue and character, especially that one line "One night stand, huh? If you want to ******** Oli, go ahead. I'll give him head when you're done".
Character: Hadley Hamish Hamilton (OC)
840 words, reply post.
Risky Businesss
The haze of tobacco smoke had set over the balcony by the time Hadley got back to Oliver. That boy should not be neglected; he chain smokes in boredom. It was a disturbing thought that the vocalist was drowning himself in a lethargic, pathetic suicide with countless of tragic outcomes. The drummer shared that same repulsive habit, but the two musicians had different sizes of dosage. One was slipping in, the other tripping in. Though a commander at times, Hadley couldn't simply tell his friend to cut the addiction. This wasn't a situation where "if you can't change it, embrace it" applied, but for sociality he succumbed. The blonde chose a bright pink f**. How could something so feminine and small be so devastating? Vapor wiped away all of his worries, and soon a f*****t was ablaze between his lips. Oliver was fine with adding the roadie to the hot tub but wasn't going to get into any clothing. "It shouldn't matter. She's already seen enough of a guy's body to blackout for yours. And I ain't saying you're not sexy, but she's did real well coping with me nude like that." Inhale then exhale the heavily tainted atmosphere. Keep calm, don't faint, there's too much that can't be missed.

As insecure as Blue was, she stripped her bottoms right there outside. Her skin was ivory: pale, pure, perfect. The stockings appeared as simplistic and sheer from the distance Hadley was at without his spectacles to magnify the view, but they still molded around the blurry lines of her legs beautifully. Her dainty feet created speckles of footprints among the tiles of the pristine balcony, a blemish that made the scene more picturesque. Hadley smirked at the girl's choice of undergarments, how risqué and naughty. Blue wasn't a bad girl; she was drawn that way. The drummer saw through her efforts. She did try for a provocative look, but it was not only the filigree and revealing clothing that shaped her image. She was an angel with wings being clipped as if she were a pet parakeet. She flew for the fad, the archetypical appearance, but her sheer being delineated sexiness into a different shine. Hadley was a larger, more obnoxious and noticeable star than she. However, she was the one who shed light for love and life. Hadley was Sirius; she was the sun. Blue stepped away from her shed attire, much to the blonde's disappointment, with a shirt on. No matter, the sun's radiance was reflected in the moon when shadowed.

The moment the bonny entered the scalding aqua, words poured off her tongue. She started with the most obvious statement. It was apparent that she was feeling at least a tad sensual; why else would any little darling bring out a one night stand so abruptly? At first Hadley's hopes perked at her libido levels, but he then realized she probably wanted the vocalist. He's seen the way Blue admired his friend. There was a gentle tenderness that couldn't be detected whenever she spoke to Oliver. If she had the intent of ******** Oliver tonight, Hadley was shredded away from his two dear angels. Inhale, exhale, blow, don't get too agitated. He brushed the thought to the side. Neither of the people he was swimming with was very sexual. "One night stand, huh? If you want to ******** Oli, go ahead. I'll give him head when you're done," he sure did speak his mind that time. There was no time to think; Hadley was regressing down to Blue's level of conversation. Say all, and if both parties smacked him it was worth the hurt. The drummer expected the consequence because for every action there was an equal and opposite reaction, Newton's third law at its truest.

So her name was Lux. That was a significant announcement; no more broad pronouns were needed to get her whenever he saw her. Interestingly, the girl was partially deaf. Combine her and Hadley and the chemical reaction would spew out half of Helen Keller. Though she admitted to her hearing, Hadley didn't want to tell her about his visual issues yet. It made him seem inferior and weak, like the beta male. When she questioned about Olive's ankle, the drummer knew for certain she was here for the vocalist. Or it could be some genuine concern now that she was here, but at the moment of the question she sparked up with an epiphany. Lux was a few words away from removing all doubt that she was magnetized by Oli. The blonde didn't want the bluenette to be too distracted by the other male. There was not much to be said that wouldn't cause some sort of rude intervention between the pause of thought. His white fingers formed around another cancerous pink cylinder. "Hey Lux, y'want a smoke?" Yes, he had definitely toppled down to her level blabbing without a stop for sense. Calm down, it's a ******** Jacuzzi illuminated by the flickering city lights, how could that be so difficult?
Radiochemistry's avatar

Ladykiller

Character: Hadley Hamish Hamilton (OC)
1259 words, reply.
Risky Businesss
The pink lady snapped into an entirely different person, no longer attempting to be a cutesy imbecile. Despite being whipped by her tongue, Hamilton preferred her in this form. He smiled at that. How this day was so full of idiosyncrasies. Hadley was accustomed to the pissed b***h, and to an extent he enjoyed one. It was better to curse him out, tell him all about his faults, than to sit in a rage disguised by sass. The girl's got sense. She saw that he loathed her, and damn right he didn't. Make it quick and answer with veracity and a sanguinary cut to aggravate the interviewee. If she published that he was a d**k, he'd live with that in pleasure. The casus belli was minuscule, but the war of words would be pugnacious. "Alright, b***h, you're just a skank. I don't want to waste my time talking about my sex life when I have no interest in ******** you," he responded. It was truth. Dollie was becoming both an eye and ear sore. The makeup caking up the girl's face looked fake and cluttering, and her personality was disgusting. Let's make it quick. A war against a belligerent biddy always ended in a crash of emotions.

Inquiries began to pour from Pinkie rubicund lips. The first question came out almost like a genuine greeting, but nobody cared about what some nearly unknown drummer was feeling for the day. He responded with the answer everyone gave when someone was asked about his daily life: good. Hamilton's response was no lie. It was the second morning of the tour, and after skinny dipping and sleeping with a nymph he was quite satisfied. Well, he was until Dollie arrived. Her irritating existence was bootless, and living would be easier without a stupid paparazzi trailing. At least the girls he ******** at home had some depth to them. No matter how slutty each was, they'd have a dynamic quirk. So far, this hoe has nothing. The only good about her was she kept the promise not to anything ask idiotic, contrary to the other interviewees that were only interested in gossip to blow up magazines for giggly and guillible lasses. Dollie remained with the main idea: music and touring. The blonde was grinning within. This b***h wasn't going to stack up much money with dull replies. Hopefully, she won't be able to afford the gas to trail Risky Business. It would be a relief without her.

Dollie followed with some thinkers. Downfalls. Hamilton doesn't really have these. His emotional problems were solved by sex, and his bad eyesight wasn't an interference in songs whatsoever. All he ever wrote about were hyperboles of petty situations. His song "Saturnine" had lyrics explaining how a pimp's fortune falls as his hoes died of a flesh eating disease. The lethal syndrome was supposed to express how Hadley's male subject of infatuation. The killing represented it overtaking his thoughts. Writing it straight up was only going to have controversy encase the band. The other tune the drummer scripted and was released was about marijuana named "Monomania". To not ruffle any anti-drug fans, it was about the joy of whore mutilation. It was so full of vivid sanguinary descriptions and it was relaxing to make disturbing art of the bodies. It was a compromise between the dangers of substances and that smoking weed was real euphoria. The words were undeniably deep especially about the illegal hobby being an escape from droll reality. Hamilton loved getting stone, but he wasn't sure about darling D'Arques's respond to it. Considering her, silent negativity. Life was brimming with troubles, and they were resolved with pleasure. Tranquility gave the drummer a perspicuous brain to think, and an epiphany would strike that'd give the blonde the best reaction. ********. Smoke. Resolution.

In his mental soliloquy, he told himself he'd tell no fib. His songs for Airline 44 had mixed reception. The older fans, the ones that claimed to like the band more before he came, hated the hip hop vibes he incorporated. The newer followers caused by the explosion after his joining enjoyed the song and called them unique and fresh compared to their other music. Slurs weren't received well, so he generally left it up to the original creators to write: the Stoughs. Hamilton's songs mainly contained the element of either mutilation or whores, so a lot of the females don't embrace the lyrics as well as if it were about some cliché heartbreak. He nearly laughed when she said "vocalist". All the singing he did was stay in tune with the vocalist and fit within the singer's voice for a more sonorous sound. Either that or a speaking intervention of the piece. He had enough matching band experience for that. Hadley's vocalizing was not euphony at all, and that was not insecurity. He'd sing for tuning, and damn was he s**t. He could match the pitch, but the tone quality was horrid. It was beneficial to choir if he shut up and lip synched and looked sexy.

Inhale. Exhale. Speak the mind. The boy responded to the interviewee with veracity. "I never had a major downfall. It's been small problems here and there, easily resolved with a little thought. My only chronic trouble was my vision, and I adapted to that," he stayed dull and boring in his responses. He wished her some diatribes from her employers after this interview. Maledictions were mentally cast upon the pinknette during the entire time. "The songs I've written? Airline has only officially performed two of them 'Saturnine' and 'Monomania', the bad hip hop s**t as the fans say. They're about everyday things, even though they may seem to be about somethin' more. I have typical issues and write song about them, so there's not a damn thing I'm runnin' from." He stopped there. Hadley wanted the girl to think he was some deranged madman. And if she was stupid enough to believe he enjoyed mutilating, then that's be hysterical. Je ne regrette rien. Whatever invective or disgust Dollie had, Hamilton was going to laugh at it. He'd probably lose a follower, but she was a b***h. ******** this, ******** her. This will end in the drummer's favor, the jubilee of having his d**k moment.

D'Arques was drowning in the frigid downpour of a conversation between him and Dollie. The boy noticed the preponderance of irritation welling in the beaut. Hadley didn't offer her an umbrella during the drizzle, but only casted more lightning from his tongue to shock the pinknette. He finally shielded Lux when the bitchy cloud floated away. Hamilton ingested a bit more of his black coffee, warmth to melt his emotions hardened for vixen protection, "Was that b***h an annoyance? 'Cause she was pissing me off," That sentence ended in a rather saturnine tone, "Once you're finished, y'want to go anywhere? There ain't much time until we depart from San Diego, so do the shopping now if y'need it." Hamilton never made offers to go shop with a girl. Dating a shopaholic was a complete waste of his weekends. They'd drag him into stores with exorbitant prices for clothing they could've gotten cheaper with the same quality and appeal. Apparently, girls judged each other on which boutique their outfits came from when all the clothes was sewed by underpayed workers in Asia. That explained why wore overpriced shirts simply embossed with the name of the brand. He had the intuition the blue-haired damsel wasn't a shopper, and he prayed he was correct.

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