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 Posted: Thu Oct 01, 2009 11:18 pm
~Lorentz | Лоренц. Do you know how wide a child's grin can get when they're presented with a piece of candy? How far that smile can stretch across such a tiny little face? That is nothing compared to the expression that Walenty put on at the sound of that piano. Such a smile would have run scott free off of the delicate face had the muscles not been there to prevent it from happening. But, he couldn't help it. The simple strike of a piano key was enough to bring memories of his childhood. He made Adalric constantly play short songs while he studied, ate, and even slept. At age six, he literally commanded the butler to teach him how to play himself. Not to say he was bored of his friend's playing. The blonde just wanted to get more of a thrill from the instrument.
Before he could catch himself, Walenty had closed his eyes and had begun to drift into a pool of memories. The pianist dragged him into his prepubescent years, seated in his favourite mahogany velvet armchair, studying the most current chapter in his Geology book. Adalric was perched upon the walnut piano bench while his gloved fingers danced across the snow white keys. Peaceful atmospheres such as this one were always welcomed by the boy. Especially when trying to study for one of his mum's difficult tests. Thunk! But with siblings, it was always a hard thing to ask for. For example, take a time such as this one. Something that was too hard for him to ignore. Thunk! These times annoyed the ******** out of him. Thunk! "Dimitri, zatrzymać! Stop!"
The eldest of the two glanced over at his busy brother, an eyebrow arched in amusement. A purple rubber ball was held motionless in his hands for only a moment, then was thrown at the wall again. Thunk! Walenty huffed and slammed his book shut. The beautiful music came to its end. Adalric looked over at his young master as he was pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. His brother would only follow him if he moved to another room. What else could h-
"Excuse me for a moment."
The trance of his daydreaming was abruptly broken. Disquisitive green eyes peered up at the standing blonde and watched with curiousity as he suddenly walked out of the theatre. Worriment made him stand as well, prepared to follow the other. There was definitely something wrong. Dimitri had never been the sort of person to leave in the middle of an event. A second thought tugged at him just as he placed his first foot forward. He turned to face his butler and, as expected, found him standing as well, ready for whatever his master was planning to do. The boy told the old man to stay where he was, though. He would return in a matter of moments. Adalric nodded with humble understanding and offered his arm to take the teenager's scarf. Walenty smiled as he handed over what was asked for and proceeded to make his way through the door where his kin had entered only a few seconds before.
He silently followed the trio with hands in his pockets, pondering the entire way. Was he sick? Was he leaving and only came up with 'the little boy's room' as an excuse? .. or maybe he just really had to piss that badly. Whatever the reason, nosey little Walenty was going to find out why. He wasn't letting his nuisance of a brother go missing for two years again! Not if he could help it. But, thinking more about it, he came to the realization that even if the fellow was attempting to leave, he had absolutely no control over what his brother would do. Never in his life had Dimitri ever listened to him.
Walenty stalked after the man and his babysitters to a collection of plush looking couches. So, no pee break then? He really was ly-
But, his brow furrowed as his prideful brother collapsed halfway onto the couch. This was something new. Something he had never seen before. And he could say that he honestly had no idea what to do. His first instinct was to rush over and attempt to help his sibling from the floor. However, one of the other men was already busy with it. So rather than being in the way, he simply stood off to the side and watched the servants scramble about. Going into the bathroom and coming out with wet paper towels. Trying to watch over Dimitri while keeping some personal distance. All the while, it seemed that none of them had even noticed the lad standing by the opposite wall.
By the time Dimitri had regained his senses, the younger one had already counted all of the lights, couches, doors, and hanging pictures in the area, and was working on the specks on the ceiling. It had been a way to pass the time without going crazy since he was able to count. On the two hundred and eighth speck, the two men had meekly disappeared into the men's bathroom and traded in the wet towel with a book. They both had done some awkward pacing while their owner was out. Did the scrawny blonde intimidate them? Geez.
With a brush of his coat, Walenty guessed that the terrible scenario was over with. This in mind, he approached Mr. Scary on the couch and promptly sat on the end of the seat where the man's feet were stretched. Excuse him for interrupting your reading, but this kid wants to know what just happened. Besides that, he wanted to know whether or not Dimitri was back to normal. The ever-so-curious boy prodded the other's leg for answers..В. Киева | W. Kieva~
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Posted: Thu Oct 08, 2009 12:38 pm
Mr. Heresy: Braedin
Okay, now he really wanted to slap either Sonnen or Othello. Or both. Psh, 'out of his hair.' For one thing, Braedin knew that if ANYTHING got in that man's hair, he would glare fiery death upon whomever placed it there. Second, Sonnen didn't pay attention to people he didn't like. It wasn't what people typically did, actually. If Sonnen really had a negative opinion of Othello, he'd ignore him and pretend he didn't exist. The fact that Sonnen showed any signs of life to Othello meant he held some modicum of care for him, though the way Sonnen was always admonishing the boy made it seem more like paternal scolding than anything else. Had it been himself, Sonnen would roll his eyes and do nothing. Because, well, Sonnen genuinely didn't care for Braedin that much, which was fine with him, because it made it fun to pick on him. But he was digressing. Point was, Othello was being deceived. Not that it really mattered, because no one was inclined to believe anything Braedin said, no matter how logical or true it was. Oh well, downfall of being a clown, he guessed.
Braedin immediately recognized the Madam and some guests in the front row, and had thought about calling out to her, but decided against it. Neither the time nor the place, she would say. Instead, he regaled a tale to Othello of a time when Braedin made Sonnen teach him a Russian folk dance to the song 'Kalinka' so he could dance when he made Sonnen play it. There had been much blushing on the older man's part, and lots of amusement for Braedin; he didn't really care about the dance (and didn't retain any of it, anyway), and had only made the request to see Sonnen embarrassed. It really was a silly dance, he'd enthused. Othello seemed to perk up about his other story about Sonnen, so maybe this would would make him even perkier, since he wasn't at his pep quota quite yet. Braedin would not be satisfied until the boy was once again bouncing off the walls.
However, at that point the piano playing started, and he respectfully quieted. And— who the crap was this guy? Small, blond, emaciated, wearing tight clothes and HOLYCRAPKNIVESFREAKINAWESOME. He was immediately enraptured, a stupid smile on his face as he watched those knives as they were flung surely at their target. Kind of near Sonnen, but the man seemed to be so immersed in his piano playing that he didn't notice the manikin was about five feet on the stage from his piano. In fact, he almost wished the blond boy would miss so it would hit the piano so he could see Sonnen's reaction; it would be priceless, he knew.
The end saddened him, because he had wished it to continue. He had a bit of fondness for knives himself, along with swords and guns and other weaponry, and was eager to chat the new guy up. As the clapping commenced, Braedin made as much noise as he could. "Whooo, yeah!" he bellowed, his voice echoing across the theater. "That's what I'm talkin' about!" He proceeded to make wolf whistles and cat calls as the two on stage exited, noting Sonnen prominent ********, obviously embarrassed by Braedin's behavior. Oh well, a bonus for him. He was tempted to follow him backstage to pick on him. But that would have to come later, but apparently Othello was running away again—?! Crap! Crap, crap, crap! His eyes widened and he extended his arm to stop him, a halting comment on his lips, when he saw one of the blonds in the front run to the theater's bathroom. This made him reach his other arm towards him as if to grab him (even though he was a good distance away), words breaking on his lips as he tried to stop everyone from running away. Why had no one enjoyed this as much as he had? When the younger blond in the front row left after the other, he sighed and dropped his hands, tilting his head back. Okay, he gave up. Othello first. He turned to follow him, but then had a better idea. This moodiness wasn't about him, Braedin knew, but was about the oblivious Russian musician back stage.
He opened his phone and called Sonnen's headset, since his was at home; he hadn't expected to be called to the Madam so suddenly, after all, and hadn't been at home when he got the call to pick it up. Good thing communication was so advanced nowadays. "Bridge to Captain Kirk," he said in a jokingly-but-actually-serious way. He heard Sonnen sigh on the other line. "Code red, I repeat, code red." Sonnen sighed again, agitated.
"Vhat the hell are you on about?" his voice sounded through the microphone, strangely accented. Huh. That was new. He thought Sonnen got over the whole accent thing. Oh well, not important.
"It's Ensign Othello." He was about to say something truthful and meaningful, damn it, but then a better idea came to mind. It was a lie, but if Braedin's hunch was true, then would have a profound effect on him. "He's running away. He feels inadequate and stuff, so he's quitting Guilty Pleasures."
Well, that got the man's attention.
"VHAT?!" he bellowed, making Brae wince and hold the phone away from his ear at the string of Russian curses that followed. Through that he heard something along the lines of, "********" and answered, assuming he heard correctly.
"Fancy glass hall outside the theater. Hurry, you're our only hope, Captain! Tulaine out." He closed his phone, and was satisfied at the reaction. Any second now Sonnen should be storming this way.
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Posted: Sat Oct 10, 2009 8:59 pm
Voltaire: Sonnen
Sonnen watched with confusion and disappointment when Othello turned around and left abruptly. Was something wrong? Had he not wanted to be there for some reason? Was his performance mediocre? He debated irrational things in his head as he exited the stage, missing the sight of the two blonds fleeing to the bathroom. It would have been awkward to stay on the stage too long after a performance was over, anyway. He felt a deep sense of dissatisfaction after that performance, which was unusual for him. The applause and appreciation usually made him feel high on pride, and he would float off the stage and bask in the glow of his awesome. This time, however, he felt like he fell short and metaphorically fell on his face. The only thing he could think about was Othello's crestfallen little face as he up and left, causing a gnawing in his stomach usually associated with a rough roller coaster ride or spinning around too fast. 'I'm being stupid,' he thought admonishingly. It didn't matter that Othello left. It didn't mean anything profound. Everyone was entitled to their own opinion and all that. Right? He sighed, finally reaching his makeup chair backstage and all but flopping into it, resting his head in his hands.
He glanced over at the new boy, wondering what exactly had happened as he played the piano for him. Sonnen tended to have a problem of zoning out and getting absorbed in his own world of notes and melodies and rhythms when he played that he was completely oblivious to everyone and anything happening around him. He amused himself over the fact that someone could be watching him singing in the shower, and he would be none the wiser. Not that he sang in the shower. Often. Well, it was practice, and therefore important, and lots of people did it so it really wasn't strange or funny, and it didn't matter anyway because he didn't care what people thought and oh ******** he'd given himself a headache again. He hated arguing with himself and losing. But he was getting ahead of himself, something he tended to do when stressing.
He was ready to snap and yell at Braedin when he contacted his headset. Really, he was, but he was just too wrung out to do more than sigh pitifully. Oh god, he was making Star Trek references again. Ever since the man had insisted he sounded like that Russian ensign on the show, he made constant references to it simply to annoy him. Besides, he sounded nothing like that, even before he took two years of English voice lessons. Still, he didn't have the energy to complain about the references and simply asked, "Vhat are you on about?" After all, he was still around the kid that believed this was how he really sounded, so he had to keep up appearances. Oh, good lord, now he was roping Othello into his dumb Trekkie nickname fetish. He suddenly felt sorry for the redhead, even if he was unaware of the interaction. Still, hearing news about Othello instantly sobered and alerted him, making him sit up straighter. Answers, this was good. Unless the answer was 'He thought you looked stupid so he had to make a hasty exit so he could laugh loudly at your abysmal performance.' However, this didn't seem like something Othello would do, even though it was the first thing he thought of. Stupid irrational brain. He'd grown up past that stupid teenage insecurity crap, damnit.
The news, however, made his heart almost explode at the amount of force it must have taken to make it start beating so fast.
"VHAT?!" he yelled with a sudden surge of energy, standing up from his makeup chair, the force of his thighs hitting it and making it fall over. He briefly thought about this morning when Othello did a similar thing and almost smiled, but was too suddenly furious to do anything but curse. "What do you mean he's running away?! I'm going to kill him! What the hell is he thinking!? Where does he think he'll go?! No, first I'm tying him to a chair, then show him some damn sense!" he exclaimed into the receiver of his headset, then realized he'd said all of that in Russian, and yeah, Braedin wasn't exactly bilingual. Crap, get it together. "Vhere the ******** is he?!" he managed in English, falling into old habits because of his stress/anger/surprise. He didn't know why his accent slipped out under stress, but it always had. Probably because he'd never practiced being angry in English. That wasn't exactly something they taught you in voice lessons.
When he got his answer, he didn't think twice about running through the wings of the stage and down the stairs into the audience seating, running along the back edge of the theater. He didn't think about the Madam disapproving or looking back in front of Clients because damnit, he wasn't going to let Othello throw this opportunity away because of 'feeling inadequate and stuff.' That was a load of crap. No one inadequate was accepted to Guilty Pleasures. The company boasted the finest performers and entertainers, and nothing less than exceptional was accepted. He didn't even understand why he was angry. His untruthful, cold-hearted, stoic side of him would say 'Why should I care if he leaves? I didn't care about him, no skin off my back.' But as with that side of him, it was untrue. He tended to listen to that side of himself too often to keep a veil of aloofness about him so no one tried to get too close — or so he didn't get too close to anyone else. And, if the a*****e side of him was dishonest to himself, then the opposite had to be true, logically speaking. If his distancing side said he didn't care, then the truth had to be that he did care, and that confused him. It wasn't something he'd done consciously; it was almost as if he grew attached to the other not of his own doing, but of... convenience? That wasn't the right word. His headache intensified.
Logic wasn't helping him now. This stress was all thanks to emotions, and he would only be able to work through it by thinking about 'how he felt,' which he hated doing. Hate, hate, hate. There, that was an emotion. Stupid, pesky things. When he tried to think about why he cared if Othello left, his mind flitted through all of their interactions in the past couple of months, including the one this morning. He'd be there during most meal times, making enthusiastic conversation with anyone who would listen, and Sonnen would have a cynical comment that made Othello pout or huff. He'd straighten Othello's collar tell him to fix something about his clothes. He'd admonish him for small things like a mother might. All of these things made him realize that, while he was trying to knock Othello down a notch, what he really ended up doing was subconsciously try to protect him, or help him improve; however, this was probably done the wrong way, but Sonnen wasn't exactly a professional empath or something, but the instinct always came out. As Othello said, he needed to be nicer, which was probably true, and a kinder approach to criticism might get a better response from Othello than his brash, no-nonsense approach. Crap. What had he done? He'd gone and made the boy feel inadequate, the complete opposite effect he was going for.
All these things flew through his mind at a surprising speed, seeing as running from backstage and into the glass hallway took about thirty seconds, but it was enough time for his anger to fizzle some and another emotion fill that fizzled-away space. He dared not try to put a name to it. The wooden doors to the Globe slammed behind him as his eyes zeroed in on Othello with... a cigarette? Othello smoked? This was something he hadn't known. Crap, getting away from the point. He'd expected to find the boy walking away, since Braedin had said 'He's running away.'; he hadn't expected to see him chilling in the hallway, as if waiting for something. Still, even as he saw and took all of this in, from the time he opened the doors to the hallway up to now, nonsensical things started spewing from his mouth like Russian word vomit. "What the hell are you doing?! Running away, what are you thinking? Well, that's too bad, sorry! You're not leaving under some delusion of inadequacy! You're throwing all this away for nothing!" Somewhere in the middle of all this, he'd approached the boy and gripped his upper arms firmly, but not painfully, just enough so that even though Othello didn't understand him, he'd hopefully get the meaning by the proverbial blazing fire in his eyes. Then he realized he'd basically been yelling gobbledygook in Othello's face, who was probably terrified now. He sighed and tried again.
"Vhy are you running?" he asked in a slightly less abrasive tone, but still obviously filled with umph. He found his once-prominent gung-ho plan had poofed into smoke when he locked eyes with Othello, which was a bit of a peeve. How could he keep a good head of steam going if one look from the younger boy could pull his plug and cause all his steam to vanish completely? Then the escaped steam would make his eyes water and his hair frizzy and his face sweaty and wow, he'd taken a metaphor and just ran with it, didn't he? Stupid, stupid nonsense thoughts. This was why he hated stress. His normal composure turned into frantic babbling in .2 seconds. "Vhat vere you thinking?" Damnit, he needed to get a hold of his voice and remember his w's. Russian didn't have the 'w' sound, so it was always the first thing to go when he got the tiniest bit upset. Stupid accent. He could add that to the list of things that were stupid, which up to this point included emotions, his mind, and now his stress-accent. His voice coach would cry in shame if she saw him now. What Sonnen couldn't say was 'I don't want you to leave.' He couldn't put a finger on why, but he knew that imagining Othello gone would make his days seem emptier. No one to fuss over, that bright head of red hair fluffing about as he got into one of his over-excited spazz phases. It would go back to a relatively unexciting, bland existence at the mansion. No, Sonnen couldn't pin point why he didn't want Othello to leave, only that if he did, Sonnen would be most upset. (( Hey wiccan_chick, could I ask you to make a description of your character? I don't know why I don't already have one. xD ))
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Posted: Sun Oct 11, 2009 8:48 am
**Theodore**Tel** Tel bowed once more before crossing the stage to retrieve his knives from the mannequin. Six sharp tugs freed the implements and they were swiftly stowed away in their velvet pouch. Tel took a last glance at the audience only to realize that a good half had disappeared! What did that mean? The young man ducked behind the curtain to the back stage area where Sonnen was already sprawled in a chair. He was about to thank the man and compliment his playing when the other abruptly started shouting in Russian. Tel almost jumped, Sonnen's voice startled him so. Confused for a moment before he remembered the earpieces, Tel watched the tall pianist rage on. Suddenly, Sonnen ran out through the wings leaving Tel standing there without a word.
Tel blinked slowly as he let his body sag. Just for a moment, and only because he was briefly alone. He let the tension he had been carrying with him ever since he ran away from the strip club, and Henry, leach out of his small body. What remained was the concern that his performance had been displeasing and he would be turned away. Tel really didn't know what he would do then. He couldn't even let himself wonder about the other companions and whether he would fit in until he knew for certain he was accepted under the Madam's employ. The thought of returning to what once was, and Henry, left a knot somewhere between his gut and his heart, and a buzzing in his brain.
Tel steeled himself once more as he put his quiet moment aside. Once again, he was left without a clue as to where he should be going, or staying for that matter. He doubted the Madam would come back stage to see him right now, she had guests after all. The young man supposed he should return to "his" room to change out of his leotard and await the Madam's judgement. He was reasonably sure he could return to the room by going back the same way the house staff had brought him here. He pushed through the door and back out into the garden. Since he wasn't sure he was expected to be anywhere at the moment, Tel let himself take a slow pace. He admired his surroundings, they were of course exceedingly beautiful, and after all, if the Madam didn't like him this would be his only chance to see them. Tel inhaled deeply of the myriad scents wafting around on the light autumn breeze as he made his long walk through the gardens.
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Posted: Sun Oct 11, 2009 12:27 pm
lauren Malone ††Emerald††
Lauren saw that half of the audience had left, but paid no heed. After a moment, he turned to madame Usagi. "If you'll excuse me for a moment, madame, I would like to give my compliments to the boy." he said, bowing politely before heading backstage. His blue eyes searched the room before seeing his desired target. Being 6'4'', he was tall compared to the boy, and his black hair a stunning contrast to his peach-colored skin. He never went outside much unless he was examining the harvested emeralds. Of course, Lauren's most obvious physical quality was his broad-shouldered, toned body, though not too muscled that he was bulk. As the boy went outside, he caught up to him, tapping his shoulder. "Hello, I simply came to let you know that your performance was very intriguing. You are very talented."
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Posted: Sun Oct 11, 2009 1:16 pm
(( Yay, a description~~~~~~~. ))
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Posted: Sun Oct 11, 2009 1:28 pm
I will not bow, I will not break.
. . .
(( xD It seems like some characters are trying to have a tallness contest. 6'1'', 5'10'', 5'11'', 6'4''. Yeah, I made my character to be everything I want to be. Tall, Russian, sexy. ))
. . .
I am not proud, cold-blooded, fake.
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Posted: Sun Oct 11, 2009 3:46 pm
**Theodore**Tel** Tel turned at the touch to his shoulder and found himself, as per usual, looking up, up, up into the eyes of one of the men from the audience. He absorbed the compliment without allowing himself to think of the implications. No, he wouldn't allow himself to even think of saying Please relate your appreciation to the Madam so I may secure a position here. That wouldn't do at all. But at the same time, while he didn't want to imply that he was asking for this man to vouch for him, he also didn't want to lead the fellow on into believing that he may ever see one of his performances again. How could he tell him that that dance was his "try-outs"? Maybe it would be best to avoid it altogether. Tel firmly decided not to bring up his insecure status in this household at all if it could possibly be avoided.
All this flashed through his mind in only a moment, so there was no awkward silence before he said, "Thank you very much sir. I hope to be able to show more of my talents over time." Intriguing eh? Well, combining ballet with contortionism wasn't exactly common. And he did love the juxtaposition of those graceful forms when set against the abrupt violence of his knives and guns. Of course, he had brought no firearms with him here; Tel had been deathly afraid of even walking in with the knives. But, he had not been arrested as he had feared. Perhaps another consequence of his own contradiction. No one expected such a little waif to be packing deadly heat. Besides, he had to risk it with the knives; they were his father's.
Tel almost desperately wanted to ask this man if he had noticed whether his fellow audience members had been just as impressed as he seemed to be. Of course he would never allow himself to do such a thing. Like all performers he knew how to keep his facial expressions and body language carefully controlled at all times. He knew that all the man before him would see was a slight youth, poised yet relaxed, with calm but not blank expression. Tel let the warmth of his voice rather than a smile express his appreciation for the man's compliment.
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Posted: Sun Oct 11, 2009 4:18 pm
lauren Malone ††Emerald††
Lauren noticed how the boy was acting, having done it himself. He was a blank slate, generic, or at least trying to be. He noticed his choice wording in response to his compliment, as if he wasn't quite sure how to answer. 'Interesting.' He thought as he looked the boy over again.
He seemed so harmless, and like he had no strength, though that was very quickly proven wrong by the knives the boy had thrown. He was like an actor of the highest degree: his very physical appearance made him out to be something other than a formidable opponent. It didn't take words or a facial expression, but just his small and thin stature. The boy had also managed to word his response in a way that was both a thank you, and make sure that nothing was promised or set in stone about it. he was a clever one. Perfect. "Well, I'm sure that I must be keeping you, I hope to see you perform again." He told him, bowing as he walked back to the globe.
He found madame Usagi, bowing again before speaking. "I am sorry for leaving, but I simply had to give my congratulations. What was that boy's name? The blonde with the knives?" He asked, wanting a name to go with the face, though he knew it would only be an alias.
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Posted: Sun Oct 11, 2009 4:58 pm
**Theodore**Tel** Tel watched the man retreat back into the Globe. With a silent sigh that expressed everything inaudibly he turned back onto the path that would lead him back into the manse. He was pleased that someone had valued his performance enough to come after him just to say so. Tel briefly wondered if he had expressed it enough. After his parents had died he had become very blank and was often criticized by his peers for it. Depending on the feeling, Tel was either trying to subdue it or was trying very hard to let it be expressed at all. It would have been easy enough in England to retreat into that sector of society which regarded the blank slate look as the epitome of class, but Tel enjoyed others' expressiveness too much to do that. The circus folk he had grown up with were always a lively bunch, and so much fun to be around. In his quiet way, Tel fed off of that energy now. Though still on the outside, on the inside he did feel so much.
Once back inside the mansion, Tel walked the grand hallways towards "his" room. Crossing the foyer he gave a nod to the staff he had spoken to earlier. This time they didn't seem as surprised to see him, or as on guard. The quick familiarity was comforting. It wasn't that same kind of instant, but false, sense of knowing that so many of the strip club's patrons had taken for granted with the boys. This set him at ease instead of on edge, a grateful change from the modus operandi he had acquired and lived in as a stripper.
Tel ascended the stairs to the hall of suites and reached "his" room. Once inside he gently shut the door behind him and lay the pouch of knives on the grand bed. He stripped out of his leotard and dropped it. Out of the suitcase he retrieved clean blue jeans and a dark green t-shirt. After dressing he regarded the leotard lying on the floor. Pack it back up just in case he wouldn't be staying? Put it in the laundry basket as if he was? He was loath to put the dirtied garment in with his clean clothes, but anything else seemed too presumptuous. Tel shook his head, this was a ridiculous thing to be spending so much mental energy on. He needed to quiet his mind. With that thought he went into the bathroom and changed out his red contacts for his dark purple ones. Amethyst opens the third eye he remembered the fortune teller from the circus saying long ago. Tel returned to the bed, folded the leotard neatly and laid it on the clothes he had been wearing earlier, then sat cross legged on top of the thick comforter. He let his wrists drape across his knees and closed his eyes. Tel began counting his breathing and slowly his mind and body relaxed.
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Posted: Sun Oct 11, 2009 5:32 pm
H i k a r u - G a l i a n d e r-O t h e l l o Inhaling deeply Othello finished the last few drags of the cigarette and was just about to flick it into the trash when he heard the doors flash open and his eyes turned swiftly towards them. Yelling a startled profanity he leaped backwards slightly. He looked rather confused as Sonnen started yelling at him in Russian. When the man came towards him and gripped his shoulders Othello looked confused beyond imagination. Sure he was miserable and wanted to stab himself in the face but at the same time he didn't have anywhere else to go. Unless he wanted to sell his body and become a prostitute. Sex....Ew. Othello tensed as he held the finished cigarette in his fingers and dropped it once the flame started nipping at his finger tips. He looked up at Sonnen with large blue eyes trembling almost as he watched the man seem to rip his face off in a language he didn't really understand. He didn't mean to offend the man with leaving. He inhaled slightly as he stumbled back slightly and leaned back against the wall. He balanced himself as he took the vocal vomit in full force. Not really sure what to do he just looked like he was about to pee his pants up at Sonnen.
"I didn't mean to offend you Sonnen....Don't hit me." Othello said softly as he placed his hand's up to guard himself slightly. Maybe he did something that offended his Russian culture, he didn't mean to he just didn't want to keep watching and feeling like he would never measure up. He tensed bracing himself, he noticed the flame in the man's eyes and he tense grip made him even more nervous. Was he going to get thrown out a window? He looked towards the glass behind him and his eyes widened slightly as he noticed the man sigh and start speaking again. Running...I am not running anywhere.. Now he was seriously confused. "I-I am not running anywhere..." the man said his voice laced with a deep fear of the man Russian man before him. Last time the Russian's got mad they threatened to nuclear bomb America.
Othello seriously had no idea what he was talking about. Inhaling he tried to stop himself from trembling like a crazy person. He heard the next question, "I-I am...thinking I am going to need a new pair of pants...." he mumbled as he felt himself smirk slightly. He looked at Sonnen and calmed himself down slightly. He had a feeling he knew what Sonnen was really asking him. "The Madam doesn't need me...She has you and this new kid who place my act to shame...Compared to you Sonnen I am a mere card trick. I don't want to take up room that could be given to someone who deserves it..." He confessed as he looked up at the man.
Now Othello was seriously confused. Why was the man freaking out on him? If he wasn't mad that Othello left the theater why did he take the time to rush out here? He looked up at Sonnen his chest pounding as he placed his hand's lightly on the man's on his shoulders and gave a gentle squeeze. He felt his face turn away as he found himself looking at Sonnen's lips. He had never been this close to the man before and seeing up close and personal what the man used to produce such music made Othello weak in the knees slightly. If there was a word for how Othello saw the other host it was an idol or sometimes even a god for the boy. Now he was up close and person, of Sonnen's own demand. This was probably something that would never happen again. Licking his lips slightly his face still pale and nervous as he looked up at the man waiting to see how he responded.
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Posted: Mon Oct 12, 2009 11:40 am
Voltaire: Sonnen
At first Sonnen thought the boy was being either deliberately daft or completely oblivious, both of which made his brow twitch. Wasn't that the whole point of Sonnen making a dramatic deal of this to valiantly stop the boy before he could run out the door? What did he mean he wasn't running? What the hell else could he be doing? After all, Braedin— Braedin. Steely grey eyes darted to the theater door, where he knew the Client was standing and probably trying to listen in. b*****d. He'd been tricked. And now Sonnen looked like the crazy one in this equation. "B`lyad'," he muttered under his breath, which was an understatement for how he felt at that moment. Of course he was tricked; he was an idiot to think Braedin would ever be truthful with something as serious as this. He probably did it for a laugh, to see Sonnen fumble and screw up. Well, screw him. He wouldn't show his mistake, and would prove he could fix this, even if it meant doing something altruistic. His grip on Othello's shoulders loosened with his deflation, his drive gone now he realized he'd been fooled. Whatever, he'd still do what he came here to do, and Othello would probably hate him for it but, well, Othello already disliked him, so it wasn't like it mattered.
When he made the remark about needing new pants, Sonnen was confused temporarily, not connecting how the situation was in any related correlated to the age of his trousers. So, naturally, he furrowed his brow and stood back a bit to study Othello's pants to see what he meant. Well, they looked to be in fine condition to him, so— ********. The joke set in, and the man felt even more foolish than he had previously. For one, the joke was apparently a pretty obvious thing, and Sonnen didn't fancy himself a slow person. And two, he'd just taken a considerably lengthy gander at Othello's crotch, which he probably didn't appreciate very much. Okay, now he felt awkward. Sonnen cleared his throat and released the boy's shoulders, glancing off to the side as he tried in vain to keep his face from flaming, even though he could feel the heat radiating from his ears already. He kind of wanted to chuckle at the joke, but restrained himself in favor of his composure and... oh, ******** it. His composure went out the window the second he got the call from Braedin; there was no point in pretending he had any left. When he turned his face back to Othello, it was obviously the boy was now terrified. That... wasn't his goal. Crap, crap, crap. Why did Sonnen seem to be able to mess just about anything up that he set his mind to fix? He always ended up making it worse. Stupid, stupid, stupid stupid.
Well, at least a part of Braedin's 'red alert' call had been relevant. Othello did have some sense of self-deprecation, something Sonnen could understand and identify with. He was sure many Companions had felt similarly when they first were accepted. It was very rare that one would be 'adopted' on their first performance. Sonnen sure as hell wasn't. Usually a Companion would be so anxious when on stage for Clients the first time that it would reflect in their performance, giving off an unpleasant vibe. It took getting used to. Sonnen soon learned that he was constantly rejected and turned down by so many Clients over the course of six months because of his disposition. Instead of getting stuttery and messing up when he was nervous, he turned to ice. Not literally, of course, but the Madam had once compared him to a sign that said '******** OFF,' and that was basically the message he was sending out when he performed for Clients. He'd forgo all his performing training and stick to 'play, do it correctly, get the hell out.' Frills were what people liked to watch, not stone-faced composers. So, once he found that a more engaging performance was accepted, he got his first real Client after trying and failing for six months. Of course he couldn't be sure if this was in fact Othello's problem, but it might be something along those lines.
However, Sonnen had no idea how to express this to try and help him. The only method that came to mind was a full-out sympathy fest, which was sort of humiliating for him, since Sonnen wasn't the type to pour his feelings out to reach out to someone. It simply wasn't done. But Othello was completely wrong, and needed to realize this, or else he'd be screwing his chances of ever becoming someone in the company. But saying 'you just shouldn't go' would obviously be ineffective. The squeeze on his shoulder, however, made him feel a little less stupid. Maybe he could do this. Hopefully. It was either this, or lose Othello, possibly forever. That simply wasn't an option. He sighed in preparation for his pride-destroying speech. Life's a b***h and then you die. "Do you really think the Madam makes a habit of hiring people she doesn't need? There isn't one useless person in this whole mansion, even the butlers and servants and gardeners. Everyone is here because they deserve to be here. If they weren't, then the Madam wouldn't have let them set a foot past the front door. Seriously, I've seen it. I've watched some truly depressingly abysmal acts from people she's tried out, and let me tell you, they didn't stay long. Maybe a few hours. But I'm digressing.
"Point is, you're delusional. I-I mean, no, not like, as an insult, but you're mistaken. I mean— derr'mo!" he cursed, mentally slapping himself over and over. He was consciously trying to show compassion without being an a*****e about it, but seemed incapable. 'You aren't very nice to me, hun...You should try and be nicer.' Othello's words rang in his head from earlier. Right, nicer, nicer. Calling people delusional probably wasn't in the realm of 'nice.' He sighed roughly, which sounded almost like a growl. "You - just - can't think like that." There, that was better, right? "It becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy." Yes, this seemed to be okay. "Like... if you tell yourself that you're useless and lesser and undeserving, then it reflects in your work, and keeps you from reaching your potential. It's stupid, as most psychology is, and it sucks, but it's got some truth to it. On the flipped side, telling yourself you're amazing at something won't make you any better, but the opposite works against you. <********, I'm not making any sense," he muttered the last part in Russian. He was even confusing himself, which meant Othello was probably just looking at him like he was an idiot. Well, he felt like an idiot, so it wouldn't be uncalled for.
"I know... I know that it's hard," he started again, his voice softer. Here's where that empathy thing that he despised so much came in. He couldn't even meet the redhead's eyes as he steeled himself. "I had the same problem you have. I was here for ages, and nobody wanted me — and it sucks, right? I mean, you can't imagine what you're doing wrong, and trying your hardest to look good for a Client, and yet no one seems to care! What the hell more could you possibly do? Did they want to see blood or something?" Okay, now he was getting a little carried away. He cleared his throat and tried again. "You just have to find some way to, as the Madam says, 'fake it till you make it.' I ended up writing a song to deal with it, since that 'positive reinforcement' crap was ridiculous and unhelpful; but, well, I can see how that method might not work for you. It just has to be something to keep your spirits up until the moment comes. I wish I had something more profound to tell you, or maybe a Cliff's notes version..." He wasn't sure how to wrap this little speech up in a not-cliche way. Maybe he could just let it hang there, and Othello would understand.
"You can't give up; you've barely started. Besides, giving up is for failures and quitters. It's weakness, something you and I don't possess. Unless, of course, I was wrong about you." Okay, this might be a little mean, but maybe it was enough of a spur to convince Othello to stay. "In which case, go ahead." Sonnen curved one side of his mouth slightly in an almost-smirk, a challenge. Men had a hard time backing away from challenges, and hopefully Othello wouldn't be an exception. If all else failed, then Sonnen was not averse to flinging the boy over his shoulder and marching him into a chair to which he would be then tied down to until rationality returned to him. But hopefully it wouldn't come to that, seeing as Sonnen refused to admit, 'I don't want you to go.'
(( *B`lyad' = ******** = s**t ))
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Posted: Tue Oct 13, 2009 11:46 pm
(( Lol, tallness contest. e.e; Too bad Dimitri's only 5'8." I modeled him to be most of the crap that I am not. XD And don't really want to be, unless it's for fun. << Though my brother's friend did call me a 'demon,' once. And yet, I've no idea why he'd think that. ))SoleraSo far pages 11, 24, and 67 were his favorite. The characters in the manga weren't the most original, but they were all very likable and had this sense of depth. It almost felt as if they could be real if it weren't for the hilarious antics and a few impossible feats. Like the shrinking ordeal and super strength. Not so original again, but pulled off the right way, produced a great read. And how was Dimitri all the way on page 75 when Teddy had just given him the book not five minutes ago? Long story short, he'd learn to speed read. But he'd always had a knack for quickly absorbing information anyway. The downside to this was learning from his mistakes far too quickly for his overall health. Mental and otherwise.
Then in the peripheral of his vision a very familiar outfit moved closer. His hazel eyes narrowed slightly. This was going to be... not fun. The man kept his vision fixed on the task at hand, going through pages of uncensored and well drawn figures doing what they did best. Unfortunately the... thing had to keep getting nearer, and nearer. Until finally, it was at his feet.
At this moment, the man nearly exploded with an unreasonable shaking rage. A strong urge to flee arose just as suddenly. To run away and keep on going, never looking back. He would have done just this if not for one reason. Dimitri never ever considered himself a coward. Nope, not once in his warped lifetime. As he turned to page 80, the poke came. His body naturally tensed at the unwanted touch. At page 82, a single black boot was thrusted into the air stopping just a few inches before the annoyance's little face. "Can't you see I'm reading?" the older blonde questioned his brother with a clearly irritated tone of voice. Narrowed eyes appeared over the graphic novel's edge as he moved his booted foot a fraction of an inch closer. As if wanting to tap the tip of the heavy footwear on the boy's pointed nose. Walenty always seemed to follow him everywhere, one way or another. Slowly, he retracted the boot six inches, only to slam it past his brother's head and striking it onto the fluffy carpeting. He sighed ever so dramatically as if it was such a hard thing to do; avoiding your only little bro's head and all.
The book was closed in his lap. For a few seconds the man shut those piercing eyes of his. And for those few seconds he almost looked defenseless. If a defenseless Dimitri was possible anymore. Once they opened again, he silently flipped through the last 20 pages or so. As soon as he finished, he tossed it at the bespectacled boy's face. "Here, maybe you'll learn something." The ending of the short yaoi manga was surprisingly insightful. Love was hardly ever easy, nor was it the hyped up crap that the media portrayed. It was something that ran deeper. Something that could be as elusive as it was binding. Very fitting for something with a remarkably heavy bondage theme. Not that a man such as he was likely to apply such thoughts to any real circumstance. For what would Dimitri be without that heavy artillery around his blackened heart?
Suppressing a yawn, he stretched his arms up towards the ceiling, flashing just the obsidian edge of that crude tattoo. Why had he chosen such a strange design? Honestly, he hadn't really thought it out. Part of it was from the kidnappers carving their initials into his flesh and Dimitri deciding to take the horrid ordeal and make something positive out of it. So 'BARRAGE,' it became. The rest was a sketch he'd done during therapy depicting how he'd felt soon after 'the incident,' as his parents preferred to call it. The small boy had only been ...6 years old then? And as much as he'd tried to talk it out in those endless sessions, he never seemed to truly get over the shock of terrible people existing. The kind that did all those things for the sake of satiating their greedy little hearts. Oh and what other reason had it been? It was for the ******** of it. Yes, for the ******** of it. Yet, on his deepest level, this was not the real reason for his 'barbaric, crude, and immoral' behavior as some of his ex-fiances have called it. Well that was the polite variation.
Just as he was about to step into the bathroom to see what was taking so long, both Gervas and Teddy walked out. Dimitri's brows shot up at the strange atmosphere between them and the contrast in their demeanors. Gervas was as composed and upbeat as ever. while Teddy... He eyed the man from head to foot and couldn't think of what was the matter with him. His chauffeur appeared to be as skittish as a country mare in the big city for the first time. What the hell exactly happened in the men's room? It took a short moment before he simply decided he didn't want to know. So long as they were healthy and not too bothered, Dimitri was pretty happy.
"Alright time to go," the 'Master,' ordered. He turned to his brother as he took a step towards the door. "Stop following me. For a boy your age it's unhealthy." There was something else on that maze of a mind. But like always, when showing concern over things, Dimitri hesitated. Sayings this was somehow harder than making his terribly agonizing journey to this very spot. "I'm a terrible role model. And I don't need someone hovering over me, telling me what's right and wrong. Or to worry about me. Instead, worry about yourself and... grow up a little more," although his voice held a soft and uncommonly gentle tone, it seemed to resonate throughout the entire room. Maybe Dimitri was actually having a serious conversation with his brother for once? If he hadn't been here himself, he'd be doubting it's possibility as well. Oh well, enough with that. The blonde strode to the door, awkward entourage in tow. Before he walked out, he added something that had been not quite inaudible. "Maybe then we can..." Oh God. Just say it. No harm done. "...become real friends." Something in him wanted to die on the spot. But he'd come to the mansion with the full of intent of calling on change as he always did with most places and people. If not, he could always have a little twisted fun at just about everyone else's expense. Huzzuh.
Back in the actual theatre, Dimitri walked by the stage in his usual lazy fashion. He took the moment to absorb every little detail along with the fact that the performers seemed to have fled the stage once more. How was he supposed to pick a Companion when he couldn't see them? Oh well. More time with the lovely Madam Usagi was always enjoyable. He refused to call this time 'waiting,' or he'd be tempted to begin strangling the nearest person to his being. And at the moment, it was Gervas. D. A. Kieva
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Posted: Fri Oct 16, 2009 8:34 pm
H i k a r u - G a l i a n d e r-O t h e l l o Feeling the grip of doom loosen Othello felt a wave of relief wash over his body. He knew where the man had held him was going to bruise over. He tensed as he looked down at the floor of the hallway. Breathing in slightly as he let out a smooth breaths through his teeth making a smooth whistle seep from his lips. He seriously had no idea what he did nor what Sonnen was mumbling under his breathing. He watched the man's eyes and tensed as he noticed he was looking looked up and down. He looked down at himself feeling a small tingle in his stomach as he watched the man's eyes linger at his pants. He felt himself blush as he inhaled slightly, he was guessing that Sonnen didn't get what he was trying to say. He sighed as he felt his heart fluttering in his chest. He inhaled as he tried to calm himself. He felt like his chest was going to explode as he held Sonnen's hand neatly in the his own. He shivered slightly as he felt the aura of anger seeping off the man and away almost.
As the man's lips parted and he started talking, Othello looked from the ground and his pants, to Sonnen's pretty face. He felt his heart wrenching as the man spoke to him about the places of the companions as well as the servants. He felt his eyes turn away again, he didn't have the strength to listen to the man but he knew he could leave. He was pinned to the wall. He winced when he heard he was disillusion. He couldn't help how he felt. He heard Sonnen stutter and a small weak smile came to his pale lips. He was glad that Sonnen was trying to cheer him up bu he didn't know what he needed to do to reach the level that Sonnen and the new performer where at. He tensed as he heard the man continue. He chuckled slightly as the man tried his best o explain what he was working his hardest to say. Hearing the man mumble in Russian he knew that he was cursing again. He didn't know that Sonnen was capable of containing such emotion. Othello frowned as he felt like a dib s**t, he didn't mean to cause Othello this stress. He inhaled as he felt his heartbeat increase again.
Then something really shocked the man. When Sonnen's voice grew soft he felt his heart flutter, the man's voice made him weak in the knees. He couldn't believe how different the man could be. He heard the stories about the first time Sonnen came to Guilty Pleasures from Mr. Hersey but he never expected Sonnen to open up as much as he had right then and there. He heard the passion in his voice, and he knew that he belong here no matter how hard he needed to work. He wanted to show everyone what he was able to do. He knew he couldn't do that if he left. Of course he wasn't going to be Mr. Confident out of no where but he would get there. At least that is what he hoped for. As the speech ended he felt his mind start running a mile a minute. He smiled as he rested his head against he wall for a minute. He tensed once the man started talking again. He winced at the comment and his small level of confidence died right there in Sonnen's hands. He looked up at the man preparing to be scolded. When he noticed the smirk he felt his eyes glow as his heart fluttered slightly. Sonnen was smirking at him...He felt like a fan girl who was going to a concert for the first time. He felt his heart flutter and his cheeks heated up again.
Leaning forwards Othello gained balls for the first time in his life time. He moved his hand from his shoulder and placed it lightly on Sonnen's face. He paused for a minute as he closed his eyes and leaned forwards. Their lips met as he inhaled slightly and lightly placed his hand on Sonnen's cheek. He held the kiss for what seemed like a life time but in the reality of things it was only a minute. He pulled back with a small bit of hesitation as he looked up at Sonnen and licked his lips. His cute little Othello smile slipped onto his lips. He felt like a bashful little monkey. He blushed as he looked away and smiled, "Thanks Sonnen. I know this type of stuff isn't your major....It means a lot to me that you took the time to run out here" He whispered as that cute little Othello look remained on his face. He leaned back against the wall and looked towards Sonnen once more.
Bracing himself Othello leaned in and kissed Sonnen's lips once more. He stepped back after a minute as he moved away from Sonnen before he was ripped into tiny pieces. He paled after a minute though, he finally realized what he had done. He glanced over his shoulder at Sonnen and gulped slightly preparing to sprint down the hallway before the other man killed him and did terrible things to his body. He looked like he had come face to face with the devil. He stepped back and nearly took off running like a bat out of hell.
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Posted: Mon Oct 19, 2009 10:38 pm
~Lorentz | Лоренц. He should have seen the boot to the face coming. Afterall, there was always some sort of related response from Dimitri as a result of unwanted touches. But, honestly, he was caught off guard this time, focusing more on what was bothering his sibling, not the sudden riposte of the foot. As soon as he saw it twitch up, his head jerked back slightly, only as far as the arm of that couch would allow him, which wasn't that far. The sole was close enough to his face to where the boy could inspect every slight bit of dirt and grit hidden within those tiny rubber crevices. Not to say it was a filthy underside, but the sight of this small disarray made his eye twitch.
'Well, of course I can see you reading, dolt. That's why I'm trying to get your attention.' Obviously, this was not stated out loud, otherwise that shoe might have been moved to the inside of his mouth. The tone of his brother's voice was plainly irritated. But, this was a mood that Walenty was all too familiar with. It hardly fazed him anymore.
Grime, on the other hand, was a whole different story. He'd never been able to cope with it his entire life, so when that damned boot drew closer, the smaller blonde was a mere twitch away from smacking it to the side with his sleeved arm. The limb never arose though, as the foot, in fact, did not touch him, but rather flew past his head and suddenly slammed on the carpeted floor below him. The boy released a very audible sigh of relief. The only thing worse than that was the fact that his brother really would have hit him in the face with it. It has happened before.
This was going wonderfully. Dimitri obviously didn't have any intentions on talking about what had gone on in here. The irked expression and continued reading only emphasized this point. It was almost scary to provoke this man when he wasn't in the mood to converse. That doesn't mean it's stopped his younger brother in the past, though. Oh, no. He tugged at the hem of his own jacket and thought more about pestering the older one until he got some answers. Should he, really? ********, it was going to bother him until he got some sort of explanation. With determination pulsing through his blood now, he turned his head to Dimitri and-
HOLY s**t.
Walenty flailed in a slight frenzy before he brought his arms up in front of his face to deflect the flying book, making it fall into his lap with a muffled thump. That was seriously uncalled for. See what he meant about his brother hitting him in the face? He'd bet that it was something on Dimitri's 'favourite things to do' list. His brother's maniacal actions aside, the teenager focused his attention to the front of the book. There was a pair of handsome men sitting atop of a high building, both facing the reader. The background was covered in red and gold hues of a beautifully coloured sunset. A large metropolitan city sat below the magnificent sight. This appeared to be what the two were really looking at. Their hands were sitting close enough so that the fingertips were almost touching. A pair of silver cuffs bound the two men in the middle. Were these two escaped convicts? Is that what this story was about?
"Maybe you'll learn something." Like what? 'How not to go to jail,' he thought. In all honesty, the younger one was a little confused. Why would his brother think he would end up going to jail?
The time to ask that would have to come later, it seemed. As well as every other thought that Walenty had been thinking about since arriving in that room. At that moment, Dimitri had decided to take a stretch and then rise from the couch, announcing to his returned followers that it was now time to go. Walenty was startled at the sudden reappearance of the two men. He never heard them leave the restroom. He arched an eyebrow at the taller brunette's nervousness. This was definitely different from his demeanor from earlier. The other appeared to be simply fine, unaware of the other man's edginess. These guys were such an odd pair...
"What?" Dimitri's first statement kind of caught the boy off guard. Following..? Health? He was worried, damn it! And, he planned to look this man straight in the face and tell him that. However, this was cut short. His golden eyes were serious. He'd seen them so many times while growing up and becoming who he was today. In the end, he became used to seeing those eyes everyday of his life. Whether it was a troubled day or a blissful one, Walenty always found solice in his brother's eyes. Like a slight peace resided in there. And after all those years of seeing them, this was the first time that he'd ever had to avert his gaze from them. Dimitri was right. It sort of was unhealthy.
"I'm a terrible role model." Well, s**t. This boy could have told you that. But, truly, he was the only person Walenty had to look up to. There was never anybody else. Never. And all he'd ever learned to worry about was his brother. He never bothered to worry about himself because he was mostly always fine. Nothing was ever wrong with him. Well. That's what he thought, anyway. "And... grow up a little more."
Did he.. leave that hanging in the air like that on purpose? Whether it was or not, just the advice gave the younger one goosebumps. This was one thing that was never expected of Dimitri. Pink lips parted in an effort to speak, but were stopped by another statement. ".. become real friends."
Was this guy pulling his leg?! Did he hit his head on something in the way in here? And why did he sound so sincere? The boy watched as Dimitri walked back into the Globe, strange people and all behind him. Maybe he really was being serious about his last remark. He really did sound like it. Walenty wouldn't let this opportunity be passed up. If his brother thought that it was time for him to do some more growing up, then, damn it, that's what he'll do! ... but, the younger one had always thought that he was already pretty mature for his age. He'll just have to work harder from now on.
And, of course, he'd start as soon as possible! Starting with this book! With the most enthusiastic smile he could muster, Walenty curiously flipped through a few of the pages before stopping at a random one.
...
Wait. Was this..? "WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!" Shocked, the book ended up being thrown across the hall, slamming into the window sill that he was standing beside a few moments ago. "Where they-?! No...! How is that possi- Ugggh." The now defiled boy stood and marched his way back into the theatre, hands covering his smooth pale face that was now a blossoming red shade. If that's something that's required for his 'growing up', then he thought that he could probably afford to put that aside for quite some time.(( Boot to the head reference~~~~. )).В. Киева | W. Kieva~
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