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 Posted: Mon Sep 20, 2010 11:42 am
Lately it seemed that nigh on ninety percent of Arius' time had been consumed by activities, pastimes, hobbies and other nefarious goings-on, that really could not be talked about at home. It wasn't the sorts of things that you could chatter on about in a circle at the dinner table with your loved ones, or really in any polite company of any sort. It really was a shame in some places, but...like an additive, it was just far too much damn fun to relinquish. Part of the nature of people, he supposed, which was why a shop, which specialized outwardly in perfectly innocent wares, actually made its real money in the things that it did not ( and couldn't) advertise in the shop window.
Arius had only been after a single article, and really, it was just a novelty. But one of the ladies who worked with him at the club had told him a few rather...ah...stimulating stories, and so he'd actually gone and done it. He'd picked up a pair of fuzzy handcuffs (they were red and white striped, bringing forth a bit of nostalgia) for himself. Honestly, he didn't really see what the appeal was, but apparently girls that wouldn't dare stick their dainty wrists in regular binds, would consider fluffy-fied handcuffs an acceptable and seemingly harmless alternative. In all truth Arius had been wanting to test his own theory...if it worked the same on cute little males in addition to foxy ladies. Ah well didn't that bring certain...engaging scenarios to mind. "Boy were you beyond irresponsible when you came into your powers..." He muttered to himself, running a hand over his face.
Ah feck. He was going to be late for dinner. Shoving the naughty trinket in his pocket, his fingers looped through one of the rings, playing with them as they open and shut. This pair actually had keys, wee little things that he'd shoved in his pockets as well. There was enough room in this jacket to hide a small child, if he had the mind (that and the jacket looked damn good with these jeans), as he was well-accustomed to sneaking things by Farlest and especially Ka'hmesh. He could never quite shove away that feeling that the delicious bit of tanned flesh that was his guardian's lover was watching him. And not in the good way, but in the way that promised vengeance if Arius stepped so much as a hair out of line within the confines of that house.
Ah well. He was too good to be caught at these games. Tapping out a merry tempo on the pavement with his boots, the Mad Love scent headed homewards, already mapping out possibilities as to where he might stash these where Rhiloss couldn't find them. All in all, the teen was...occupied, and possessed of a certain obliviousness to his current surroundings.
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Posted: Tue Sep 21, 2010 2:27 pm
Cooking had not been something Amahté would have ever paid any mind to had he not been left to his own devices when Mary had taken ill. In fact, as picky as he claimed to be, Amahté would eat sawdust if you convinced him it was anything but a pile of wood-chips (and even then it wouldn't take much convincing if he was really hungry). The boy liked to eat. Cooking was a convenience he could get used to. After all, he'd know what was going into the dish and didn't have to worry about uncleanliness since he was the one preparing it. Unfortunately, it had prompted a sudden wariness of restaurants.
In his childish idealism, bakeries were excluded from this chain of logic. Who would ever interfere with the making of a delicious beignet? Crumbs and powdered sugar clung to Amahté's over-sized sweater (sensitive to the pre-Autumn chill much?) as he demolished the pastry in his hand without tact. He was telling himself that his visit to the bakery was because he wanted to learn how to make the sweets behind the glass (and he had a cookbook in his hand for just that!), since one couldn't learn without doing, but really? He was placating his long-ignored inner fat-kid. And it felt good.
The street wasn't particularly empty, but because it was nearing dinner time, there was considerably less meandering amongst the bystanders and more hurry in their step. The boy-king didn't understand the inherent need to rush just to be with family. It wasn't like they were going anywhere. He stuffed the rest of the flaky beignet into his mouth with a finger, and struggled to turn the page of his cookbook one-handed.
He felt the encroaching presence before he saw it -- or, in retrospect, smelt it. The young boy didn't even look up from his book to watch where he was going. After all, there was enough sidewalk. The person could very well move out of his way. But what a person could do wasn't the same as what they did do, and Amahté bumped into the stranger's legs, book flipping out of his hands (and a fair bit of sugar no doubt clinging to the poor interloper's pants).
It wasn't a hard crash, and Amahté regained his footing after a momentary vertigo. And it definitely wasn't just how inconsiderate this person had been of his personal space (and his SIDEWALK!) that made him look up, but the scent.
Amahté cut his eyes up, all ready with a glare and smarmy word when the face, familiar as it was foreign, registered with the subsequent scent -- an amalgamation of raspberries and a hodge-podging of fruits. Suddenly the boy was very much on edge, eyes narrowing instantaneously.
"Did you not see me walking here?" he demanded. He looked at his book, then back up, expectantly. Pick it up, it said. The boy stretched his lips into a frown of displeasure.
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