Remington's Loft

[MJ Spooks]

Dahlia is...spacespacespacespace
CURRENTLY // Looking Crazed at Remington's Loftspace
CURRENTLY // separated from Wesley Edgeworth // 'loving' Remington Nottspaces
CURRENTLY WITH // No onespacesp
CURRENTLY FEELING // Desperatespacespa
CURRENTLY THINKING // 'Oh, dammit, Remington, answer your damned door, I've got nowhere else to go!' spacespac
You belong to me, my snow white queen.
There's nowhere to run, so let's just get it over it.'
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Dahlia saw that she had offended him; it flickered there in his eyes, just for a moment. She regretted it, truly. It was only partially because of that teeny shred of decency in her, of course, but at least that was something. She did care for him, somewhere deep in that cruel, selfish heart of hers. Were she not so distressed with her own problems, she might even attempt to better his mood. Offer comfort to him. Unfortunately, her ability to do so was non-existent in the face of her own crisis. She would make it up to him later; once her own concerns were, if not solved, at least no longer pressing.

Thankfully, rather than act on behalf of his wounded pride, he chose to play his role, as he had in all their previous meetings. That of her lover, who she whispered her secrets to and expected to accept them. Who she went to when she had nothing. Who gave her solace, and sanctuary. She'd scarcely had time to prepare for his anger when he'd brushed it away and offered himself to her. He was throwing her a lifeline, and she'd grasp it with greedy hands. True enough, she'd be just as trapped in whatever hideaway he gave her as she'd been in her former home, but the difference was that his would be welcome company. She was sold when he said he had a place for her to hide; his offering a longer-term solution was more than she'd asked for. She didn't expect him to handle it for her, only to offer somewhere to say while she sorted it out. But, if he were offering, she'd take it. He was likely far more capable than she, after all.

She smiled, her eyes glad, all the haughty superiority they normally held having fled in the wake of her gratitude. She took his hand, clasping it tight, pulling her body in close to his, laying her head on his chest, noting how slight he seemed when compared to before. What on Earth had happened to him? But, if he wouldn't share, she wouldn't ask. Once she was safely tucked away in whatever location he placed her, she'd give herself over to him. It was only right, after all. He was offering her everything she needed; it was only fair that she do the same. If he needed a confidant, she was willing. A bedmate, she'd already been. There was little she wouldn't give him if he asked. She thought, in this moment, that her feelings for him might be the closest she'd ever been to love. She trusted him, was fond of him, enjoyed him... it was unheard of for her to feel any of those things, for anyone. Feeling all three for a single man... was strange. But she was desperate. She needed him. And if he needed her, it was her responsibility to meet that need. "Thank you, Remington. I... I don't know... what I would have done..." She trailed off, unsure of what else there was to say. An apology might be proper, but she wasn't the sort to say she was sorry. She preferred to ignore the usually-empty words, instead working in penance for her guilt. She would do that with him. It would be easy enough; for once, she was truly sorry, after all.


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Soon, I know you'll see you're just like me.'

(( OOC: ))
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Essy ze Ninja

 

[Essy ze Ninja]

𝕮assandra 𝖂arstorm

❄❅❆❄❅❆❄❅❆

”But you’re always busy." Her voice raised in pitch.

”You’ll understand one day, my st—“

”But I don’t want to understand, da’, I want to go to the joke store,” Cassandra pouted her lip, honey gold eyes wide and sparkling.

”Ugh, are you craven? You don’t need jokes—“ Remigton nod had tried to bite back the sardonic roll of his tongue, but she heard.

”Well it’s not like I’m magic like you and mummy! Maybe I’ll just leave like she did!” Cassandra growled, stuck out her tongue and whipped right back around on her heel to her room. The door slammed shut behind her and she plummeted headfirst into her mountain of stuffed animals and dolls. Behind her, she heard the exasperated sigh, the impatience, the disappointment. It was overbearing. She was tired of it! Tired of him tiptoeing around the truth, of him lying to her face! Everything had been lies on top of lies, and she didn’t care anymore.

With pouted lips and a determined scowl, she tightened dark robes around her shoulders and tossed her hood over her head, slipping a velvet coin purse in her pocket that she’d hidden in her sock in her bottom drawer dresser. Short fingers then scrambled to wrench her window free as she wriggled up and slid over the edge of her sill. Her feet touched down on the roof below her window and she eased across the tiles towards the thick gutter wrapped around the building and she shimmied down, touching on the bolts and plates that structured it to the building. When she touched down to the earth, she ran through a puddle and up the cobblestone street to Diagon Alley without a glance back.

She knew she couldn’t run forever, and she’d have to go back soon, but for now, she was going to have fun. She is ten now, she can watch out for herself!

❄ Ten Years Old
❅❆ Home
❄❅❆ Running away to Diagon Alley  

[Essy ze Ninja]

She hadn’ slept a wink that night—today was the big day—and her excitement was dulled down by the anguish and anxiety racking her bones. She had tousled and turned in her sheets until she was tangled, and in a fit, kicked the linen in a fury until it hit the floor. Then she was up, pacing her room while the moon still shone through her window. She crawled under her bed with a few stuffed animals and played, and by the end, the centaur had finally had enough of the dragon’s moot conjectures, the unicorn’s lies, and the teddy bear’s stupid ramblings and killed them all. The stuffing was all stuck in her hair.

"C’mon, owls, please, please." Cassie found herself on her knees with her upper body mushed up against the windowsill, the cold breeze danced through her hair. The dark and deserted alley way beneath her window was a dead end, but if she listened hard enough, she could swear she could hear squeaks like mice scurrying below. It was well past midnight by the time she’d finally passed out, frozen and stiff. But her slumber hadn’t lasted and she was awake again pacing to stay awake.

”Happy birthday little star,” she heard the voice of her father, had heard his footsteps marching up to her door. But by now, the sun was high in the skies and Cassandra was still waiting by the window. ”….Sophie?”

”You lied.” The words were spilling out in a rush. ”I’m not magic, I’m nothing. And you’re just going to get rid of me like grandda’ told you to do from the start!” She was furious.

Remington didn’t know what to do, how to respond, and she could see the desperation on his face. ”What, no! Sophie, no, I’d never. How did you even—Sophie, stop. Stop holding your breath.” But she didn’t. She didn’t care. She wanted to scream. She had a fire burning in her eyes of gold. Cheeks puffed out and lips in a tight line, she was already starting to turn colors while her father just begged her to stop.



[OOC: ]

❄ Eleven Years Old
❅❆ Home, Knockturn Alley
❄❅❆ With Remington

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[Essy ze Ninja]

She had been miserable all season. The autumn leaves, though she could see none from her window above Knockturn Alley, had faded from green to a sickly yellow and burnt orange until they withered and collapsed. She heaved a sigh and kicked her legs at the curtains of the window, twisted her foot in the fabric just right to wrench it down from the ceiling—just because she could. It clattered down around her with a heavy THUD and she smiled and rolled back over on the carpeted floor to her scattered mass of textbooks, all mostly untouched.

”Sophie?” The sound of her father's voice echoed through the halls, his displeasure was as apparent as her lack of enthusiasm in her schoolwork. ”What happened?” His brow was risen, and he tried not to snarl. That stain had besmirched him ever since they'd been kicked from her uncle's home, she didn't even know what had happened, but somehow, it was all her fault too. He easily noticed her nonchalance, the fact that she hardly registered the fallen curtain rod nor the draperies bundled under her window in a messy, dusty pile.

"......I dunno'." Cassandra didn't even look up. ”It fell.” Her attitude lashed out. She brushed her hair off her shoulder and started to scribble her name a thousand times over on the parchment she should have been doing math on.

”Dammit, Sophie, I don't have time for this—“

”Stop calling me that.” She spat.

”You were the one who wanted me to call you Sophie—!”

”And now I want to go home! I don't want to be here! I want Old Knight! And Will! And not you. You ruined everything!” She screamed at the top of her lungs, and for a moment, she could see every ounce of pain that contorted his freshly shaven features into a darkened scowl. ”You chased away mum! You chased away everyone! I hate you!” She rose to her feet, her full height barely reached his chest. Still, she rammed him, hard. Both hands extended out she slammed hard against his belly, trying to push him out her door. If not for the sake of surprise, than it was for her sake alone that he allowed himself to be shoved ruefully from his daughter's bedroom only to have the door slammed shut and locked into place.

Cassandra screamed; incomprehensible,and guttural, she screamed. Her bare feet kicked at the textbooks, and she barely felt the pain when her toe tore into a particularly sharp book cover, then she ripped her stuffed animals from her desk, each one bounced pitifully on to floor as she made her lamp crash into a wall behind her and then she collapsed on the floor. She did the only thing she could think to do now; she cried.

Just on the other side of the door, Remington sat. He stared at the crack at the bottom of the doorway and felt his heart drop with every desperate sob. Maybe if she had known, she would've kept ripping her room apart instead. She knew the next day, everything that didn't matter would be fixed—it'd be perfect, right back where it was yesterday—and all because of magic.




[OOC: ]

❄ Eleven Years Old
❅❆ Home
❄❅❆ Mid-Winter

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[MJ Spooks]

ℂ𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕚𝕕𝕠𝕣𝕒 𝕚𝕤...spacespacespacespace
CURRENTLY // singlespace
CURRENTLY // Looking Provocative at Remington's Loftspaces
CURRENTLY WITH // Remingtonspacesp
CURRENTLY FEELING // Amusedspacespa
CURRENTLY THINKING // 'Oh, won't he be tickled to hear this one...' spacespac
❇ ❇ ❇ 'A ring around the roses; everybody poses
threats and then backs down the second you put clothes on.' ❇ ❇ ❇
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spaceCallidora had, of course, immediately apparated to Remington's doorstep after her talk with Edgar and Lenore. Her mirth was almost tangible, the smirk on her face for once reaching her eyes, making them shine with amusement. This was just too damned good, really. Their perfect son had screwed up, big time, and now she was reaping the benefits. It was completely hilarious, really. She couldn't stop laughing. She was going to get a stitch in her side, and her cheeks already hurt from being pulled into an actual smile, an expression that was most unusual for her to wear. Of course, even her joy couldn't take the cruelty from her eyes, the haughtiness from her stance. She was of noble blood, after all... even if she didn't particularly act like it anymore. After all, she'd spent her entire life living up to those expectations, and what had it gotten her? Not a damned thing to be proud of, that was for sure. But since the change in her situation, she found that she rather liked misbehaving. And now, with most of the consequences for it essentially neutralized... oh, she was going to have a very fun time, indeed. Particularly if things kept going the way they were. After all, Edgar's health hadn't seemed very good of late... the stress he was undergoing after the upheaval to his family had to be devastating for the man. She barely contained the urge to cackle; oh, he was sure to be dead soon. And really, Lenore couldn't be far behind. She liked to pretend to be tough, but Callidora knew she was weak. Frail... Yes, they'd both be dead soon enough. She just had to wait. An imperious hand reached up and knocked on the door to Remington's loft, smirk curving into a smile, eyes growing heated. She wondered what he'd have to say to this. Would he find it as funny as she did? She had to share with someone, after all, and who better than the man who'd made it possible? As much as she hated him sometimes, she did have to thank him... thanks to his little scheme, she was currently far better off than she ever would've been before. Not that she'd ever say so. The man certainly didn't need his ego stroked, after all. No, he did enough of that himself. He didn't need her help. Besides, she had better things to do... which she could get to, after he answered his door and she shared her news. Drinks would certainly be in order, after all, and somehow drinks always led to his bedroom... not that she'd complain. He might not be the only one, but he was certainly the most fun, after all.


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❇ ❇ ❇ 'A ring around the roses; everybody knows it.
I will sing your fears if you sing my neurosis.' ❇ ❇ ❇

(( OOC: ))
...

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[Essy ze Ninja]

Remington Jagger Nott

Slouched shoulders, the cramp in his neck pulsated in his veins. By now, his daughter had long since fallen asleep as indicated by the rustle of snores that echoed. He, on the other hand, sat huddled against the wall opposite her closed bedroom with his legs spread apart and his head hung over. If he never rose, then he never had to admit defeat, or so he supposed. Could he really admit that all he had done, he had done for nothing. All of the lies, all of the preparations—it was all nothing. Only the sound of the grandfather clock echoed mercilessly in the background, it mocked him with each and every second. Stoic, and impassive, he buried himself in its cold embrace. What else could he do? His own flesh and blood despised him, every single one of them.

Suddenly, a knock rasped at the entryway. The joints and bones popped as he inclined his gaze, glossy eyes caught the reflection of the doorway through the glass clock face. Get a hold of yourself, he reprimanded his position, and get off the bloody floor! The floorboards creaked under his weight. The countenance of his dismal gloom erupted in a gray storm that was sure to antagonize her warm tropical paradise. The hurricane thundered in his vision as he nearly wrenched the door from its hinges, his hard eyes softened considerably. ”Dahlia,” he almost smiled. Her distraction would be a welcome one, and ravenous eyes clearly pursued. His features were almost youthful when shaven so close; his doublet was fastened gently over his dark trousers, and each silver button was embossed with a silhouetted mastiff. He hung off the door frame, nonchalant as a predator with a leg crossed over the other.

A part of him had always truly been enamored with her name, so much so he would never hold the rouse for any longer than necessary. She had no need to hide when she was here—not anymore— because he had seen to that.

Though, once, shortly after the arrangements had been made for her transitions, he had to pondered if it was a mistake. She wouldn't need him, not if she played her cards right. He knew he needed control, to always know he was needed, not just wanted. She could have been done with him as soon as she step foot into her new life, but even then... She came crawling right back and he waited with open arms. She was the one constant in his life, the one thing that had always stayed the same. Eyes sparkled with a kindred of desperation, a thousand moons with the rays of a thousand stolen suns. He had taken a step back to allow her free passage into the opulence he encased his madness within and closed the door behind her. ”You seem...” he paused. Remington couldn't quite place a finger on the word, perhaps if he had been more accustomed to its notions, he would have noticed it for what it truly was: happiness. ”Different.” His eyes narrowed subtly. He didn't know if he liked this—this not knowing—he much preferred the notion of retaining control.

Somehow, he could feel the tides had turned, even if he couldn't quite see it yet. He stiffened his posture, worried the inside of his cheek with the cruelty of his teeth. He couldn't admit his ignorance, it would be just as worse as admitting defeat, so he feigned a bit of humor even if it almost killed him. ”You've done something with your hair, haven't you? I haven't noticed before,” Remington carried on breezily, his hands found her hips in a seize of control as he stepped up close to her, eyed her down the bridge of his nose. If he had ever noticed, he'd surely never commented on her outer appearance after it'd changed. He missed the blonde, though the sable was infinitely better simply because it didn't remind him of a particular someone. He was also curious now, though...Curious of the smile that pricked her cheeks like thorny roses and of the vision she trailed that bled red behind it. ”Indulge me, truly,” glittering eyes transfixed on her lips. ”What's gotten into you?”

It's become clear now, the rumors hadn't yet reached his ears...He had no idea.

╔══════════════╗
43 years old ♛ 6’3” ♛ 172lbs
Home ♛ Office ♛ Island
╚══════════════╝

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Cara MiaKitty

 

[MJ Spooks]

ℂ𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕚𝕕𝕠𝕣𝕒 𝕚𝕤...spacespacespacespace
CURRENTLY // singlespace
CURRENTLY // Looking Provocative at Remington's Loftspaces
CURRENTLY WITH // Remingtonspacesp
CURRENTLY FEELING // Amusedspacespa
CURRENTLY THINKING // 'Oh, won't he be tickled to hear this one...' spacespac
❇ ❇ ❇ 'A ring around the roses; everybody poses
threats and then backs down the second you put clothes on.' ❇ ❇ ❇
═════════════════════════════════════════════════╗

spaceFrom anyone else, the name he uttered would've been foreign to her ears; it'd been so very long since anyone else had called her that, after all. She didn't even refer to herself by that name anymore, even in her own mind. Dahlia wasn't a person she much cared for, in some ways... she'd spent her whole life a slave to her name, her blood, nobility and propriety, and had nothing to show for it. Callidora was a much better person to be, really. The story the Tempests had concocted to cover the sudden disappearance of their middle child, their only daughter, had provided her with an excellent excuse for outlandish behavior. Sent to be tutored by her grandmother to turn her into a proper lady, and yet, she'd never returned... it'd been easy enough to say she'd been travelling the world, sampling from other cultures... and oh, had she sampled, at least as far as the rest of the world knew. And really, it wasn't far from the truth; Wesley had never been the only man in her bed. In reality, the difference between herself and this person she created was a simple one; freedom. And since having tasted it from behind her mask, she craved it. Yes, she preferred Callidora to Dahlia... even if the name had been ripped from a Squib. She was rather annoyed with Lenore for being so put out over having to go alone with the ruse Remington and Edgar had concocted; it served her as well, after all. Hard to imagine that the real Callidora Tempest had been killed by her own parents after being revealed to be a Squib when she was traipsing around London, after all. They should be grateful... eventually someone would've connected the dots, after all.

spaceStill, she had grown to rather dislike her old name... except from him. She wasn't quite sure why that was, but for some reason, it didn't matter that she was still Dahlia to him. So long as he never uttered the name she'd held at death, the surname of her fool of a husband, she was content to be Dahlia... but only with him. "Remington," she purred, eyes falling half-closed as she returned his once-over. She noted that there was something distinctly tired about him... that would have to be taken care of if he were to suit her purposes. Perhaps the good news would perk him up?

spaceHis statement that she seemed different was met with a chuckle and a knowing look. He always did see right through her, after all. She wasn't fooled when he commented on her hair; he saw deeper than that, she knew. Still, she speared him with faux-exasperated eyes, batting her eyelashes. "Have you only just noticed the new color, dear?" she asked mockingly, the endearment sounding both earnest and bitter. It handily summed up their relationship; she craved him, truly cared for him, in a way she had never cared for anyone other than herself... and yet, she resented him. Mostly because she cared about him, though some of it was still her old selfish wish that someone would care more for her than anything else in the world; she had no doubts that he held himself in higher regard than he did her. She actively ignored the fact that his brat also occupied a higher rung on his ladder. Her hands traced down his arms to his own, settled on her hips, and she stepped in closer still, so there was scarce more than a hair's breadth between them, pulling his hands around her waist before sliding her arms up to his shoulders, fingers sliding into his hair. "Oh, but can't you guess? I've never known you to be behind in regards to gossip," she murmured, pressing herself close, lips inches from his. His gaze fell there, and she smiled for a moment, before noticing something distinctly odd about his expression... namely, that he looked truly curious for once. This was... new. Typically, after all, he was merely indulging her when he asked her to regale him with a story of the latest chapter of her life; he'd already heard it somewhere. Occasionally, it was an excuse to gloat, either for him, or her, it didn't really matter. But now... he seemed truly at a loss. Her eyes narrowed. Why didn't he know?

spaceA finger traced his jawline and went to his lips, and she smiled again. This was... new. She was torn between annoyed that he hadn't been paying attention to her (because obviously if he had, he would have known) and excited that she'd honestly get to share the news with him. Not just of her impending wealth, but of everything. Oh, it was too lovely! Today was turning out so wonderfully for her... and now that she was with him, it could only get better, right? Provided his brat stayed tucked away and out of her sight, that is. The nail against his lips traced them, the point at the end barely sharp, and then she kissed him. Her lips curled into a smirk as she pulled away. "You truly haven't heard? Where have you been, Remington?" she asked, voice coy, but with a hint of concern. After all, the last time he hadn't had time to bother with her affairs... not that she'd ever let him know she cared, not really, but she could at least pretend that she was pretending to care, right?

spaceShe clicked her tongue a moment, arching her back to press her body closer against his, the fingers in his hair scratching gently, her eyes almost thoughtful. "Hm... where to begin? Have you even heard about Antony? It started with him, of course. Spotted by several people cavorting about on dates... with a muggle. A man," she hissed conspiratorially, nose wrinkling in amusement. For all the scandal Lenore complained she'd brought to their home, she'd barely even scratched the surface, and it was their timid, quiet grandson who'd truly been shameful. It was almost poetic. "Lysandar found out and... well, I've told you about Lysandar," she said, rolling her eyes a bit. The man had tried, rather unsuccessfully, on several occasions, to hurt her... she'd proven herself far too adept a duelist to suffer overmuch from his attacks. It'd been amusing to see him try, though. "He stalked the man, hunted him down, went to the bar he worked in (and can you believe, not only was the fool dating a muggle, but a waiter? so plebeian, really), and... snapped! Murdered every single person there, and wasn't subtle about it. Then he shows up a week later at the Estate, and he tries to murder the Squib, but of course the Squib's parents won't have it, they have to save their dear son," a snort here, and a look of marked distaste in her eyes, "and Lysandar killed them both! Antony had followed behind them, grabbed the Squib up, went for his daughter and took them all away. The whole lot of them's been disowned... isn't it lovely?" she asked, eyes mirthful and laughing. He'd catch on, she knew. He wasn't stupid, after all, and it didn't take a genius to figure it out. With Nikolas dead, and the others disowned... well, Edgar didn't really have much of a choice, right? It would all be hers... The Tempest family was far wealthier than her own had been, and still a good deal wealthier than the Edgeworths. She would finally have it all... and no one to screw it up. She just had to wait for the old bats to die. And really, how long could that take?


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❇ ❇ ❇ 'A ring around the roses; everybody knows it.
I will sing your fears if you sing my neurosis.' ❇ ❇ ❇

(( OOC: ))
...

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Essy ze Ninja

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[Essy ze Ninja]

Remington Jagger Nott

The fatigue had settled into his countenance, though the flesh was bare the shadows had coarsened his features with a black plague, the jutted bones and sunken skin were indisputable. Therein, however, marked the man that encompassed the beast—it made him human—this world had consumed him. It flayed him raw. The stoicism on hardened features seemed everlasting; opposed the tide, against harsh winds, faced salt and smoke and fire but there was a profound ardor harbored at the golden shores of his iris and it lurked just beneath the surface (and could almost be mistaken for devotion of a sadistic array.) Truly, it had been far too long since he'd dallied underneath the fringe of her silken skirts. Far too long, indeed. After all, Remington had never been the most patient of men, (arguably more beast than man, or so it fell from the grape vine.) But he felt that was no longer the case. He was not ignorant to Dahlia's escapades; he always had eyes on her, whether man, or raven, or spider, they were there. But Remington hadn't.

He hadn't had another woman since...

Since the night Dahlia had made it quite clear that she would never be 'wrongfully accused of anything.'

And what a night that had been.

Hypnotic, she had ensnared him with one single word, that charm that enraptured him every single time. It spurred the p***k of a smile to the corner of his lips just to hear her say his name. His power over her was all he had left, it seemed. He meant to keep it... His vision drowned soaking her in, the bounce of ravenous hair and the sultry smile painted a luscious red. He had been more than obliging to surrender himself to her, to be led in closer to the drawl of her lacquered nails, and now entangled around her waist while the graze of his fingertips trailed the small of her back. ”Mayhaps,” the husky groan tickled her ear as he leaned in close to whisper. A deep breath caught her intoxicating scent, he relished with closed eyes. His lips teased the nape of her neck while the song of her voice teased his ears. ”You know I hate to guess,” he murmured, his patience wore thin. He lifted his chin to harden his gaze, to square that look of expectant curiosity, but even so, it melted like molten gold. Flesh on flesh, her finger left a trail that stole his thoughts right out from under him.

”Mmm,” he half contemplated, half moaned. ”I've been... busy.” Gold eyes flashed. He'd rather not dwell. Not when the past twenty years of his life had all been for naught, how every effort and precaution that he'd ever taken had blown up in his face in these last few weeks. How he'd been barred from the estate and lost access to the family vaults in Gringotts. He was a wealthy man in and of itself, but he had an opulent taste and an accustomed lifestyle—as did Dahlia—his nefarious deals and underground marketing would not be enough.

The arch of her back had aroused the depths of him, and for that moment, he had freed himself of those treacherous thoughts and allowed the flow of blood to rush to attention else where than in his brain. He was almost certain she'd feel it, too. ”No.” He stated simply—he had known nothing of Antony. ”He—?“ He tried to intervene, to cut her off and demand the interrogation follow the premeditated path he'd aligned for it. But his attempt sizzled under her hiss. Gay? Hnn, his own scoff was mental. The fact that anyone could resist the curves of a woman made him wonder if he even wanted to live in a world like this; though one hand wandered south and seized something plump just to remind himself why.

”You should have let me taken care of him,” he murmured darkly. (Not that it would have mattered, if she had.) Better she be taken down a peg or two, learn her place, and all the better that it should not come from him, but someone else. And all the while, he could arm himself in cold steel and make to be the knight in shining armor. ”He did what?” He almost couldn't dare to believe her; it had to be some clever ruse to distract him, it had to. What else could make sense? But those persistent letters had piled up in his office, unopened, no doubt, that was what the contents had entailed but... He paused, his reaction slowed and dulled. The confusion fogged his eyes for the moment it took until the clarity beamed in a brilliance of bejeweled rays.

”I don't think I've ever seen you smile like this before,” he half mumbled, half chuckled under his breath. The spider began to weave its web. The Tempest's were a prosperous and affluent family, perhaps not so much so as his own but he could certainly work his magic, cultivate it and watch it flourish. He could... But then that would mean... His gaze flickered up then down. It could all be cemented with a child... if he dared to let himself deliberate. It wasn't unheard of for a woman her age, he supposed. But would she dare ever consent? Did he really need her to, though?

His mind was spinning.

It wasn't as though his daughter would be a viable option; the two despised each other. Moreover, she was a squib, a female, and she was slipping out from between his fingers. He couldn't control her anymore. But he was getting a head of himself, wasn't he? And then it struck him—this was the first moment in years that she didn't need him—that his life, his presence, his very existence no longer held her fate. She didn't ******** need him anymore, and nothing bothered him more than that.

”What do you plan to do now?” He was almost afraid to ask, but more fearful of never knowing the answer.

╔══════════════╗
43 years old ♛ 6’3” ♛ 172lbs
Home ♛ Office ♛ Island
╚══════════════╝

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Cara MiaKitty

 

[MJ Spooks]

ℂ𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕚𝕕𝕠𝕣𝕒 𝕚𝕤...spacespacespacespace
CURRENTLY // singlespace
CURRENTLY // Looking Provocative at Remington's Loftspaces
CURRENTLY WITH // Remingtonspacesp
CURRENTLY FEELING // Amusedspacespa
CURRENTLY THINKING // 'Oh, won't he be tickled to hear this one...' spacespac
❇ ❇ ❇ 'A ring around the roses; everybody poses
threats and then backs down the second you put clothes on.' ❇ ❇ ❇
═════════════════════════════════════════════════╗

spaceCallidora chose, as she often did, not to press when he decided he didn't care to share what he'd been up to. Not out of respect for his secrets; no, she simply didn't want to ruin her good mood. It was so rare that she was every truly in a good mood, after all. Besides, if she tried to pry it from him, it would seem as though it mattered to her. Asking once was polite; practically required by the social convention. She felt she'd injected a sufficient amount of concern into her voice when she'd asked before to go above and beyond the expectation, and now she would leave it alone. If he wanted to tell her later, he could. For now, she didn't want to hear it. Her mirth was too rare to be doused by his misery. Besides, if he didn't care to dwell... well, she could think of a very good way to make him forget.

spaceIt seemed, she noted, that he had the same thing in mind; the change in his stance was noticeable, his body all-too familiar against hers. As she told her tale, his hand ventured down from her lower back; when it stopped, she pressed herself closer before he had the chance to do it himself. His apparent disbelief at Antony's choice seemed genuine; he really and truly hadn't heard, then. Even he couldn't fake it that well, particularly not with her. She knew him far too well. She scoffed at his repeated threat to Lysandar, rolling her eyes lightly, a small smirk playing on her lips. "It hardly would've been necessary, Remington. Just because I let you nearly strangle me doesn't mean I'm inclined to allow others do the same," she told him, voice growing a degree colder at the mention of his loss of temper that day; the last day she'd known him as Dahlia Edgeworth. She had to admit, when he'd stepped into Flourish and Blotts those many months later, many months ago, she'd still been rather angry over that. Had tried to pay him back for the indignity. Oh, she'd gone along with his scheme all the same, had adopted the identity he'd provided her, but only because it got her away from him. She'd kept the last name Tempest from him that day, had offered a bastardization of her middle name in an attempt to hid her identity. She'd wanted to seduce him and then laugh as she rejected him... but she'd just so happened to be wearing his jewels that day. He'd known it was her... at the time, she'd been furious. But, then, it seemed that her fury only served to get her into his bed faster. She'd abstained for a few more weeks... though only from him, of course. Still, the lovers she'd taken hadn't satisfied her. That was what had led her back to his door, to his bed. "As if I'd have let him touch me," she said, purring at this, eyes narrowing seductively, hand drifting downwards... the double meaning was obvious even without this particular method of punctuation. Not that Lysandar hadn't tried, but she'd set him straight, and even told his father. Edgar had, of course, put an end to it, because wouldn't that just be the most awful thing for anyone to suspect? She wondered, belatedly, if that had been the cause for how very much he'd seemed to hate her... It would make sense. Ah, well. It wasn't a concern any longer; she had no need to think of him. And why should she, here with Remington?

spaceAgain, Remington seemed somewhat taken aback... he apparently hadn't believed Lysandar were capable of such? Honestly, she hadn't either; the man had been unhinged, clearly, but he seemed so very in control of it. Then again, people who were always in control tended to go big when they lost it. Remington himself was proof of that. It was why she didn't particularly care for him to have control over her, the reason she'd continued to take other men to her bed even once she'd returned to his. She didn't want anyone else, but she'd be damned if she needed Remington. Their relationship was dangerous... which was part of what she liked about it, to be honest, but she wasn't suicidal. His acknowledgement of her joy made her smile. "Have I ever had cause to? Think of it Remington; they'll die soon, and it will all be mine, without my having to lift a single finger. I've dragged their name through the mud and I'm still getting everything. They're furious, but they have no choice... It's beautiful," she said, actually laughing with her last words, a real, genuine laugh. She couldn't get over how damned funny it all was. She'd been trying to think of a way to regain control of her life, to get out from under Edgar's bootheel, to get rid of Lysandar and Antony and all of them, and they'd taken care of it for her. With one stupid decision, Antony had essentially given her everything. If he didn't disgust her, she'd consider thanking him.

spaceRemington's question made her pause; there was something odd in his tone, something strange in his eyes. Whatever his most recent ordeal had been, it had him uncommonly melancholy... she didn't particularly care for him to be so put out. It didn't serve her anything, after all. Things were much better when he was happy... or angry, or frustrated, or anything but whatever he was now. With that in mind, the hand she'd trailed down his front moved ever so slightly, the other sliding back behind his head to pull his lips less than an inch from his. "I thought, first, that we'd celebrate... and haven't planned much beyond that, I'm afraid. I came straight here to share the news, after all; haven't given myself a moment to think. I'm far to excited to focus... perhaps you could help get my mind back on track and we can figure it out?" she murmured, lips lightly brushing against his as she spoke, and then she kissed him, finger hooking through fabric as she did so to drag him towards his bedroom. Provided she hadn't angered him with the reference to his almost-murder, she was certain he'd be more than happy to oblige. If she had angered him... well, he'd yell for a minute, and drag her to the bed all the same. It was win-win, really.


╚═════════════════════════════════════════════════
❇ ❇ ❇ 'A ring around the roses; everybody knows it.
I will sing your fears if you sing my neurosis.' ❇ ❇ ❇

(( OOC: ))
...

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Essy ze Ninja

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[Essy ze Ninja]

Remington Jagger Nott

”Let me?” Remington had been amused, if for the moment. Memories flashed like a lightning storm in his eyes, the static burst in plumes of gold. He did not laugh, but the tainted humor hung in between each word. The superiority reigned; his fingers dug deep through flesh and fabric. But he needed her, this much had become impossible to deny. His selfish, wanton greed was cast aside and his breath fought deeper and deeper. But it was hard to even focus; she arched into him, responded to his every touch, body inched ever so closer. Her cool, passive tone provoked the strings of heart, and for once, he almost felt inclined to apologize. It had never been in his intention, he... Suppose it doesn't matter, does it? His throat tightened. Jewels, it dawned him, that ought to do. If in the least, to clear his conscious, and if at best, to use her. She purred, he stole her lips in a fierce kiss, deepened with a ravenous tongue, he stiffened under a groped hand.

His eyes slid to a close, breaths slow and his thoughts unbridled.


~~*~~*~~


”You are neither golden nor stone. You slither in the trenches alongside your fellow rats. They are your food, but they are your companions. All for one, and one for all.” The mockery rang true now just as it had years, and years ago. The day had been dark; black clouds and gray skies marred the lush of spring, the dirt cool against his bare back. Her hair red as fire. ”Isn't that right Remington?”

He didn't answer. He was silent. The justifications seeped like poison in his veins, the disease spread quickly. ”You murdered Martha, didn't you?” No! But his lips wouldn't part to speak. ”Cora killed herself because of you, or was that an accident, too? And the children, your children, you wouldn't even see them.”

But he did! He had. He'd done it all for them! He left his business in the careless hands of men he didn't trust just to grope at the frayed strings of his past, to help Chase and Hildegard as much as he was ever allowed. ”But it didn't matter, did it? Marcus never knew about her, did he? Never knew little Hildy was yours....But she did.

“Oh, and who could forget Emilia?!" Her laugh was sharp and galled. "She died because of you. Or did you kill her too?”

No! No! He should have been there! ”Murdered that little boy of yours too, I presume? How many innocent lives will have to die at your expense, Remington? Because of your dreams. It's too bad that Abigail had gotten away, and too bad she left you with that infant; is it not dead yet? How many more will you lose, Remington? How many more impurities will you unleash unto this world?” She drove it deep, her nail in his throat sunk in, gave way to the beat of his heart with every passing second until a dribble of blood pierced through the flesh. ”Shhhhhh,” she whispered sweetly in his ears. ”We all do what we have to.”

~~*~~*~~



”...It's beautiful.” Her laughter had been what spurned him from his memories. In that instance, he had gone pale as the moon, as if the sun could no longer afford to cast its reflected shine any longer. Again, his fingers tightened around her. The cheer of laughter hadn't reached his eyes, but the tune sung melodiously all the same. Her hair tousled and he gently tucked the loose strays behind her ear, forced a smile to his face.

”You deserve a celebration—anywhere you want to go—starting tomorrow.” His lips twisted, coy and knowing. He was starved. Possessed with the panic to hide from his past, he needed to get away. He had to. ”Because first,” he insisted, with that debonair smile and cocked brow. Heavy arms reached around fully to support her, swept her off her feet like he's done so many times before. ”....” He didn't even finish his sentence; he didn't even remember he was talking. He didn't remember anything except the path that lead through his doorway and into the extravagance of his bedroom. He never realized just how much he needed her, how she could ease the pain with something sweet and sinful.

And he isn't going to lose it, either. No; he'll sink his fangs in deep before he'll let her get away from him like all the rest of them did.

He'll make sure of it.


[OOC: Hrm, so, time skip? O3ob ]

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43 years old ♛ 6’3” ♛ 172lbs
Home ♛ Office ♛ Island
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Cara MiaKitty

 

[The Forgotten Weasley]

A small, aggressive owl swooped in the window of a girl's room, left a letter, and then swooped back out again, with only a sharp hoot announcing its brief presence.

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[Essy ze Ninja]

Everywhere I look around I see how everyone aught to be

Every time I see myself I see there's always something wrong with me

𝑹𝒆𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒕𝒐𝒏 𝑱𝒂𝒈𝒈𝒆𝒓 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒕

𝑂 𝑐 𝑐 𝑙 𝑢 𝑚 𝑒 𝑛 𝑠

”I hope you're amused.” His voice rose to the height of his loft, meanwhile, his footsteps still thudded against the stairwell. His shadow manifested first, then that fanged snarl. She made him seem weak, petty, and foolish, he had no doubt that she enjoyed every second of it. His mistake had been hardly worth noting, especially in the face of youth like Luthiel; he doubted very highly that she would have ever concerned herself with the gossip of old socialites. He stood at the foot of the stairway. With just one push, he realized, she could leave him with a broken neck. Paranoid now, long legs strode deeper across the dark Egyptian rug. Remington poised with each arm crossed haphazardly against his chest, it was so typical of him when he was angry. ”You just made me look the fool.” He seethed, accused her of the obvious even against his better judgment.

It had only been a brief moment—several minutes, if that—between her arrival and his inside of the den. The house was silent, as it usually was, which always begged the question of where, and if, his daughter was. He had caught on to her disappearances and had always reprimanded her for it, but would be no doubt grateful if she was on one of her little excursions right now. ”And you don't even care.” He lied, exaggerated the roll of his eye and the scoff under his breath. She, if anyone, had every reason to care. Remington wasn't the one who had an innocent life buried under his tombstone, after all. But that was only a fraction of it. It was because she had seemingly bested him, because it was in the sight of another stranger, further to prove herself and her status, and only better that it was in front of another woman, his employee. The cruel irony left a bitter taste on his tongue.

He tried not to let all of this show, but she knew better. She knew where the cracks in his armor were and she knew where to strike and which nerve to p***k. It was almost humiliating. Thin lips wrestled into a pursed frown, his tongue lapped circles around his teeth. Remington ripped himself away and stormed across the room, his footsteps light against the rug and then thudded deep against wooden floors. He paused once he reached the liquor cabinet. His fingers pulled the iron bars and sifted delicately along the long necked bottles, dust being disturbed in the process. He pried free a dark, husky bottle of scotch, cast a quick freezing charm until the glass was froth with ice and poured himself a short glass, and then one for her. Remy knocked back the first half of his glass, turned around on his heel and ushered a bit of a hissing sigh from the icy burn that trickled down his throat. He fixated a golden stare on Callidora before extending a hand to offer to a square crystal glass of her own. ”Damn you woman,” his tone was much lighter now, almost humorous. ”Come,” he ordered. ”Drink with me.”

[OOC: ]

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44 years old ♛ 6’3” ♛ 172lbs
Home ♛ Office ♛ Island
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Cara MiaKitty

 

[MJ Spooks]

ℂ𝕌ℝℝ𝔼ℕ𝕋𝕃𝕐
╔═══════════════════════════════╗
Single... Sort of
Looking Scandalous at the Loft with Remington
xxxFEELINGxxx
Amused
xxxTHINKINGxxx
❝ Oh, as if I'm to blame... ❞
╚═══════════════════════════════╝


A ring around the roses; ❇ ❇ ❇xxx
Everybody poses ❇ ❇ ❇xxxxxx
Threats and then backs down ❇ ❇ ❇xxxxxxxxx
The second you put clothes on. ❇ ❇ ❇xxxxxxxxxxxx
═════════════════════════════════════════════════╗



spaceHis words as he entered drew a smile to her lips, a mocking chuckle pulled from them. She rolled her eyes at him from her seat, legs crossed in such a way that the slit of her skirt showed off most of her leg. She'd kicked her heels off at the door, of course, after all, this place was as close to a home as she had, at least until the Tempests died. She was certainly more comfortable between Remington's sheets than her own... once those two were gone, she'd delight in taking that stuffy old manor apart piece by piece and remaking it. She'd have more than enough wealth to pull it off, after all. Probably wouldn't even make a dent in their fortune... the idea was intoxicating. His accusation made her purse her lips, an attempt to hold the laughter at bay, but of course it failed, because it was just too funny. For once, he was wrong; she hadn't done a damn thing, except take control of a situation after he'd made a foolish mistake. "Oh, don't even try to blame me, Remington; you're the one who can't keep your mistresses straight," she told him playfully, sliding one leg over the other, an attempt to redirect the fire in his eyes to other pursuits. It would work, she knew; he was lashing out because of his wounded pride, after all. And what better way to make a man sure of himself? It had always done well enough in the past.

spaceAnother roll of her eyes. She didn't care? Hah! If she didn't care, she'd have ignored it. But, he knew that. It was all an act, one she was far too familiar with to acknowledge with a response. He was moping, she knew. Annoyed that she'd gotten a leg up on him (or, that she had managed to do so in a way other than the usual), and lashing out to soothe his own wounded pride. It was nothing new. She watched him pour the glasses, head tilted to the side, eyes wandering across his form as she waited for his invitation. He never drank alone when she was around... the day he did, she thought he might actually be angry enough to kill her. But, he wasn't even angry today, not really. He could pretend he was, but they both knew better.

spaceShe rose to meet him and take the glass, lips curving into a grin at the change in his tone. Damn her, indeed. Damn him as well, because if she was going to hell, she was certainly dragging him down with her. But, then, she was fairly certain they both knew the were headed that way eventually. Callidora downed the drink and held the empty glass out, arching a brow as she slid closer to him, pressed herself against his side. "It's a very nice scotch, darling... but I didn't stop by for drinks," she purred. Really, it wasn't as though he had to get her drunk. And besides, there would be plenty of time for drinks after the fact, when they were both too tired to be bothered with anything else. A hand trailed across his shoulder, red lips turned upward in a devilish grin. A glance at his neck revealed that she'd left a bit of a mark when she'd nipped it before... ah, well. He'd been quite adamant that she was his, after all. She should be allowed to do the same. Even if it was a lie.



╚═════════════════════════════════════════════════
xxx❇ ❇ ❇ A ring around the roses;
xxxxxx❇ ❇ ❇ Everybody knows it.
xxxxxxxxx❇ ❇ ❇ I will sing your fears
xxxxxxxxxxxx❇ ❇ ❇ If you sing my neurosis.




(( OOC: ))
...



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Essy ze Ninja


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[Essy ze Ninja]

Everywhere I look around I see how everyone aught to be

Every time I see myself I see there's always something wrong with me

𝑹𝒆𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒕𝒐𝒏 𝑱𝒂𝒈𝒈𝒆𝒓 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒕

𝑂 𝑐 𝑐 𝑙 𝑢 𝑚 𝑒 𝑛 𝑠

His vision tore through her up and down, trailed the edges of her skirt and then down long legs. He had barely so much as risen his gaze to meet hers before it was cast back aside at the mention of his mistresses. Once upon a time, it had been true. But now...? The jesting taunt struck deeper chords than he was willing to admit. His words would betray him, he knew. It would expose him. Insufferable silence was the only real choice. It was against his every notion, however, but the other alternatives were arguably worse. Riddles were his forte, it was true, an omnipresence he could manipulate whether he knew the truth or not—but it would require more foresight and patience than he was willing to partake. Lying about nothing, in a sense, sounded absurd, but to tell the truth would surely lead to trouble. It always did. He swirled the amber contents of his glass, shattered that reflection of himself for now, but it always came back, even as she sauntered closer, and closer. Black eyes in gold liquor sat on the surface until it was drowned with one fell swoop, kicked to the back of his throat with ease. He pivoted, redirected his back toward her and refilled his glass despite it being only a simple incantation away.

He could feel her now, she was so close. Callidora's hot breath trickled against his skin. It made the breastplate armor that much more unbearable, sticky with the sweat of apprehension for what was to come. He bristled, rose his head a little higher even if he could feel every soft curve against his side. The flutter of his gaze barely caught her eyes, titillating with something sinful, something sweet. He sighed almost defeatedly, as if her underlying intentions were just asking too much of him. He slid to face her as he inched himself closer, any space between them vanished. His hand ever vigilant, slid down her waist, against the bone of her hip with curious fingers skimming over the fabric against her belly. It wasn't usual of him to be so enamored, fixated, even, on just that: her stomach. But it was occuring more and more as of late. ”No, not tonight,” he murmured, flickered his gaze away and indulged himself with a humble sip of his drink. In all honesty, he wasn't in the mood (not completely.) He wouldn't argue against it again, he never had to be told twice. But all the same, it wasn't what he wanted right now. Which honestly, it was a stupid decision to make. He'd be left all hot and bothered, if she took offense, and she'd find the next bloody mummer to approach her—while he'd still be sitting here, furious. ”At least not yet,” he reiterated quickly enough. It was clear he couldn't decide.

He spoke finally after a long pause. ”....How many other men do you see?” The question, itself, was discussed so offhandedly, as typical as the state of weather, that it would be hard to know if he was earnest or simply mocking her. But the jealousy was there—it always was— in the way he couldn't look her in eye, couldn't ignore or make himself forget. It had never been an issue before, it shouldn't have mattered now, but it did. Even if he already knew the answer.

[OOC: ]

╔══════════════╗
44 years old ♛ 6’3” ♛ 172lbs
Home ♛ Office ♛ Island
╚══════════════╝

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Cara MiaKitty

 

[MJ Spooks]

ℂ𝕌ℝℝ𝔼ℕ𝕋𝕃𝕐
╔═══════════════════════════════╗
Single... Sort of
Looking Scandalous at the Loft with Remington
xxxFEELINGxxx
Amused
xxxTHINKINGxxx
❝ Oh, as if I'm to blame... ❞
╚═══════════════════════════════╝


A ring around the roses; ❇ ❇ ❇xxx
Everybody poses ❇ ❇ ❇xxxxxx
Threats and then backs down ❇ ❇ ❇xxxxxxxxx
The second you put clothes on. ❇ ❇ ❇xxxxxxxxxxxx
═════════════════════════════════════════════════╗



spaceCallidora frowned at the way he turned his back to her, the almost exhausted air coming off of him in waves. He'd been so angry just moments before, then amused... where had it gone? Her eyes narrowed; he had no reason to be so tired, as far as she knew. Of course, just because he wasn't sleeping with the chit downstairs didn't mean that he hadn't had someone else in his bed earlier... those eyes turned cold, spearing him with a glare. And still, even with his apparent lack of interest, he couldn't be bothered to keep his hands to himself. She wasn't surprised when his hand trailed to her belly, but the woman had to wonder why he'd gotten so obsessed with trailing his hand over her there lately. She'd not really noticed it at first, it'd mainly been when they were wrapped up in each other and she couldn't be bothered to worry where he put his hands, of all things. But, he'd started doing it outside of the bedroom as well, and she had to wonder why. She supposed he could be comparing it to some other woman's form, though the idea that he might do it continually, as if sizing her up against this woman, ate at her. The only thing keeping her from growing truly angry with him was that she had convinced herself that she must be the clear winner. He would hardly find such an excuse to lay his hand on her if it were less than desirable.

spaceEven with his tiredness, she could see the faintest hint of interest in his eyes. It might have placated her, but she was all too convinced he'd been with someone else, and she had never known the man to be entirely unwilling. Frankly, it would probably take nothing less than death to keep him from rising to the occasion. As such, that faint spark was of little comfort to her. He should count himself lucky that the name that'd slipped from his tongue had been hers; had it been any other's, she'd had left him there. Whatever other women he saw, she didn't want to know (or that was what she told herself), and the moment he confronted her with evidence... well, she hadn't been faithful, either. And she knew that he knew that, because he knew everything, but then, he was the one who couldn't keep his nose out of her business. He chose to know about her dalliances; it wasn't her fault if he didn't like what he heard. And after all, everyone knew what they said about eavesdroppers...

spaceHis rejection stung, though the evidence that she was even remotely affected lay only in her eyes, and was gone as quickly as it had appeared. He was barely even looking at her... she doubted he'd notice. But, now the question was, what sodding tramp had satisfied him so well that he didn't have time for her? His correction to the statement, that indecisiveness, irked her. He was toying with her, he was always toying with her... most of the time, she liked it. But, this particular game? Not so much. She rolled her eyes and pulled away from him, going to pour herself another glass, because hell, if he was going to be an arse, she could at least drink his good scotch. Not that he had any scotch that wasn't good, of course. An idea sparked as she poured the glass, and she turned back to him, eyes cruel "Mm, well, if you're not up to is... Long day, I take it? Feeling your age?" She'd seen so easily how Luthiel calling him old had bothered him. If he was going to be unkind, she could do the same. Eventually, one of them would start yelling... it was always at least fun to see who would break first. She did wonder what had happened to her, though, that she'd decided bantering with him until one of them broke down in fury was fun.

spaceShe froze at his question, eyeing him with a mixture of annoyance and curiosity. Below the surface, anger simmered; how dare he ask about that? As if he had the right... it was bad enough he spied on her (and she knew he did, which just made the whole thing more annoying, because really, they both knew that he knew), but now he couldn't even be bothered to leave her be? It wasn't as though she'd ever asked him to be loyal. Mostly because she knew it would be a pointless request, of course, but damn, was he really so bloody controlling that she couldn't be allowed the same? ... Of course he was. She exhaled sharply, noting the way he refused to look at her. What was... was he jealous? She barely contained the urge to snort, or to throw her drink in his face. The first she tamped down because really, if he were... well, that could actually work in her favor. The second, because really, why should she be bothered to waste the drink? She returned to the chair she'd perched in upon his arrival, striking much the same pose, though this time she rested the glass against her cheek, eyeing him. "Hm... well, really, I wouldn't say I see them... couldn't tell you what a single one of them looked like, actually. Once they give their name and I know they're suitable, I don't really care about much else, so long as they're reasonably attractive," she told him, wondering how he would react to the fact that she was actually answering his question. Hey, he'd asked, right? She pursed her lips. "None of them more than once, of course, or if I have had them more than once, I don't recall. It's possible I suppose... but then, you know all this, I'm sure. Actually, I'm quite sure that you could probably tell me whether or not I've been with the same man twice... but, surely you're not bothered by this?" The question was innocent, utterly betrayed by the look in her eyes. "I don't recall ever promising you otherwise... nor do I recall being granted the same. For the record, I don't want to know about yours. I'm not plagued by the same insufferable curiosity you are. So. If you don't mind, I'd really rather change the subject... or, if you're not inclined to properly entertain me, I can leave," she said, eyes narrowed, tone growing cold. He'd assume she'd find another lover to take, more likely than not. In truth, she couldn't be bothered. She had left out one particular point... her liaisons had been growing less frequent of late. She just... didn't care as much. Tonight, she was too annoyed to care enough to try. Perhaps tomorrow, once that had passed and she was angry instead. He would, in all likelihood, turn her away now, she knew. Fine. The man shouldn't ask questions he didn't want to know the answer to.



╚═════════════════════════════════════════════════
xxx❇ ❇ ❇ A ring around the roses;
xxxxxx❇ ❇ ❇ Everybody knows it.
xxxxxxxxx❇ ❇ ❇ I will sing your fears
xxxxxxxxxxxx❇ ❇ ❇ If you sing my neurosis.




(( OOC: ))
...



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Essy ze Ninja


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