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 Posted: Sat Sep 07, 2013 10:45 pm
Sunlight scalded his eyelids long before he woke. It searched the room, peeled away the shadows, and raided every corner with reckless abandon. The cream walls no longer apparent, whitewashed with livid sun now, yielded nothing more than negative spaces. And he understood this long before he opened his eyes -
for he remembered ghosted peripheries of this place. Minute details gained recognition in his mind as his bleary eyes ascertained his surroundings. Everything appeared unfamiliar, yet he retained some semblance of deja vu to skew that sentiment. Had he lingered here before? Did he sprawl across the walls with his stifling presence, or rifle the residence with imposing aggression? Though cognizance nearly escaped him, Alois recognized enough minutia to confirm his suspicions.
And once he shifted from where he lay, stomach to the sheets, he finally grasped the entirety of this situation.
It coursed through him like livewire, versed in volts and vociferous affairs. Like lightning, she was, unconscionably powerful, yet - he managed to sustain her. They rendered thunderstorms in their wake, and now languish among the aftermath like forsaken gods amongst their dated kingdoms.
Would he wear scars akin to fulgurite now?
Alois drew himself up slowly, his tousled hair falling in graceless strips across his face. The slightly stretched black v-neck lingered precariously on his bony shoulder, threatening to fall in its own melodramatic twitch across his skin. With a sigh, he rubbed his eyes and combed his tousled mess into something marginally more manageable.
And then the pain drew to boiling in a matter of seconds.
With a seething hiss, Alois rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. How unfortunate - it wasn't due to the night's latter activities, but the former ones that drove him to this drab domicile. The captain with meek violet hair and an unconscionably calm temperament agreed to his whimsy, and they engaged in a bloody tussle that resulted in something of a loss on the surface, yet... In essence, his scheming managed something of a victory. Or he would consider it such, in regards to the sleeping slopes of skin and hair and undulating breaths next to him.
Xenotime - a ruthless soldier, to be certain. But as for the girl whose bed he shared...
He lacked even a name.
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Posted: Sat Sep 07, 2013 11:14 pm
The owner of the room was by now used to the brightness that streamed through the thin veils that were failing at being curtains. She slept on as sunlight crept in on them and painted the room in it's radiant glow. Dim at first, before brightening until the toss of a light switch wouldn't have made much of a difference in the sparse bedroom. Sleep didn't begin to slip away until the figure beside her began to stir in earnest, and it would have been all to easy to simply roll closer, erase that distance, and let the post-dawn quiet suck her back under, but that quiet was interrupted. She reacted to the hiss on a subconscious level, and pale, sun bleached eyes peeked through still heavy lids towards the source. Tousled black hair. Thin, athletic figure peppered with bruises, large and small, and the undeniable ring of a bite mark on his left bicep. For a bleary second she failed to connect the dots between the young man sitting in her bed with the Captain she had sparred from the night before. Not only fought, but bested, succumbed to, then lead back to her apartment with an exciting game of cat and mouse. The smile that traced over full lips was slow and lazy, and the chuckle that followed was still thick with the drowsiness she hadn't yet managed to emerge from. "You look like hell." It was an eloquent observation. She was, of course, not without her own reminding tokens. There was a gentle throb at the base of her throat, and tell tale sting running up her right hip. Small pains, lovely little reminders. With a yawn she finally did roll from her stomach and onto her side, One pale, tattoo traced arm drifting over his lap so her palm could cup against the warmth of his hip. As she'd done on the roof top she molded against him, long legs sliding up beneath the sheets. The press of her face into his side did wonders to block the light in the room, and if he let her she'd happily fall right back to sleep curled around him. The events of the night before replayed through her mind, delightful little echos.
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Posted: Sun Sep 08, 2013 7:25 pm
Alois groaned softly, lamenting the morning sun. The presence of a new lover mitigated some of the misery, but those viscous undertones caked into his mind nonetheless. Brightness had a way of haunting him, bleaching out his perspective and unveiling the shadows in which he prepared his work.
Yet now, the slightly softened light illuminated the woman next to him as she curled about his lithe form. Warm, gentle, undeniably groggy... Yes, it was difficult for him to believe that she was, indeed, Xenotime from the night prior. Surely she exhibited that same welcoming affection, and it coaxed the nerves from his skin to blossom in a glorious spark of connection, but she did not yet exhibit the same reserved toughness that emanated from the captain. But did she even have too? The morning felt too languid, too serene and soft to warrant such criticism.
Besides, it was too early to consider such things.
"Danke dir," came his belated response. He hadn't realized he was holding his breath, but he reminded himself to respire and to keep breathing lest he wanted to die in her arms.
She pressed against him gently - she embedded her face into the folds of his shirt, just above the low line of his briefs. Would he find traces of her afterward? An errant hair, vague ghosts of vanilla and self-assuredness? Or was she studying his smell in short breaths, discerning whether he passed some subconscious test?
Alois smiled softly and shook his head with a low chuckle. How curious - they only met yesterday, with Bischofite running himself ragged in a futile attempt to shirk his demons. And she remained poised at the overpass, lying beneath the waves of endless artificial wind, allowing it to wash over her in a pseudomeditation. She proved his utter antithesis in that moment, but as he realized now, those moments staved off those enduring thoughts. They retreated to their confines for but a cluster of moments, when he received the majority of his bruises. The unfavorable ones.
And for those that he liked, that he treasured with simple aches?
Those reminded him of the drawbacks to transcendence. For as a youma, he would never partake in such acts again. He would forsake all chance of human connection, not that he had any now. Though he understood their act as a roiling storm of pheromones and neurotransmitters, he lacked those basic components as a youma.
And it pained him in a way.
"Alois," he offered without prompt. And as he spoke his name, his fingers found the soft hills of skin composing her leg and traced minute patterns into the unmarred surface. "You'f already dealt wis' earning Bischofite; I sought I would spare you ze tribulation."
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Posted: Sun Sep 08, 2013 8:08 pm
The brush of fabric, soft though it was on it's own, was an unwelcome barrier between herself and the softness of pale skin beneath it. She gave a soft huff, breathing in the scent that clung to the clothing she hadn't known he'd retrieved after she'd fallen asleep. Ceder, heady and deep, and with touches of wood smoke and fresh laundry. It brought a sense of peace and comfort that pulled a content sigh from her lips before she nipped at whatever offending article lay in her way so she could move it aside and press her face instead to his hip. When she answered him it was vaguely muffled, and soft lips moved along his skin in her unwillingness to move. "Bitte shorn," another lingering remnant of her high school german classes. Absently she wished now that she hadn't used those long hours for such trivial things as naps. Alas, hindsight. His offered name had her moving just enough so she could look up at him with one sterling eye, and a smile tugged at her lips at both his touch and the reminder of how she'd 'earned' his name. "You say that as if the experience won't be remembered fondly." It would, the marks would linger for days. "Alois," she attempted, letting the name roll off her tongue, voice loosing that sleepy quality the more they talked. "It's nice." "I'm Porsha," she returned in kind. "Or Po." Short and sweet. The hand on his hip shifted, gliding up until the tips of her fingers danced over the subtle raise of his ribs at the side of his chest, then flattened over the solid pulse of his heart as she attempted to push him back down beside her as she rose up on her elbow. She didn't feel like crawling free of the cocoon of sheets and limbs, not yet. He was here now, and she wasn't at all certain if that would change when they finally did rouse completely. Porsha certainly wouldn't have chased him off. Their meeting had been interesting, exciting and violent. The aftermath had carried the same tones. Now it was time to meet he man behind the uniform. She peered down at the soft gold of his eyes, startling now without the distracting splash of war paint. A bruise marred his cheek, blossoming purple and red, and she offered a soft grimace as an unspoken apology. Not for having given him the mark, but that he had to endure it for however long it lingered. He was going to be one sore puppy over the next week. "How's your shoulder?" She'd twisted his arm pretty tightly, and it wouldn't surprise her if she'd caused some serious joint strain.
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Posted: Sun Sep 08, 2013 8:50 pm
It's been so long.
The crow initially shied away from her touch, feathers ruffling in mock resentment, as though he sought to mask the weakness drawn to the surface by her ministrations.
Alois sighed, the sleep slowly ebbing from his bones, like tides washing off an age-old shore. "Schön," he corrected. "Speak from ze sroat." To illustrate his point, he brushed her throat with his index finger and traced the valleys therein. Though, he acknowledged, he was one to talk when it came to proper pronunciation.
"Don't mistake me just yet," he warned with budding mischief. "All my experiences are remembered fondly, some especially so." He would wear the fading memories of their night together, surely, and they lingered on him like decorated medals to cite his prowess in the battle of life. And even in the Negaverse, those very marks were respected with unspoken authority - the blossoming eggplant across his cheek, the deep rose complete with a half-moon of petals on his bicep. These marks were earned in a mutual method of ownership, of lasting impressions.
So when she urged him back against the bed, it warmed him over with a hue of older pains. He winced, though vaguely. "Porsha," he echoed in turn. The r rolled off his tongue in a dialect he grew up with. "Po..." Another devious smile. "'Yet zat terror was not fright - but a tumultuous delight, and a feeling undefined, springing from a darkened mind.' Poe. But I don't suppose you took zat nickname out of fondness for ze autor." He eyed her with curious interest - her features, though feminine and well-kept, from deep violet hair to eyes akin to charred remains, belied a certain understanding of herself that not many attained.
She was wiser than she let on. He liked that immensely.
However, reminding him of his shoulder only sharpened the pain, albeit marginally. "It's still attached; I sink zat will suffice." Everything ached, but it was one he elected to endure. All things born from suffering proved their merit in the end. "How's your face?" He added with thick cords of irony. From the looks of it, she sported only a minor cut. Disappointing, but it served as a marker to indicated how to juxtapose any improvement.
And he would gauge himself constantly, if all efforts led to the same conclusion. He still remembered the breaths tied in tune to one another, a duet spoken in a language universally understood.
There were no barriers here.
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Posted: Sun Sep 08, 2013 9:36 pm
Mmm, that thick and gravel kissed tone. Like honey on her tongue, rich and sweet and melting. She could have lain there and let him ramble on senselessly about nothing at all, and she'd have stayed quite and content as his voice washed over her. Exotic and different, and a reminder that the world was not narrowed down to the city they resided in, that she'd grown up in, but it was vast and wide. Travel had never been a luxury that was never afforded the girl, but it was a dream she held onto. And he'd brush his fingers along her throat and the delicate point of her chin would have lifted to allow their unimpeded progress. Her name on his tongue was a treat for the ear, and she let herself relax against him, cheek pillowed on hands that folded over the solid plain of his sternum. A lazy smile curling her lips as he recited poetry. Eyes half lidded. More alert, but no less relaxed. "Death was in that poison'd wave, and in its gulf a fitting grave. For him who thence could solace bring to his dark imagining." She knew the poem. In adolescence she'd looked him up when the correlation between names had been apparent, and she'd found his work dark and depressing and intriguing in turn. Though despite her lack luster childhood she could not relate to the morbid obsession or sadness. They were pretty words to her, nothing more. If wisdom was a mark of knowledge and experiences collected over many years, then the girl laying half atop him carried it in some way. The smile she wore brightened into a grin, and she turned her head just enough for him to see the thin, half healed cut that marked her cheek. It hadn't been deep and they healed quickly. It would be gone by the following morning.She wouldn't mourn it's lose, but there were other cuts she would miss, cuts that were even now less red and angry. "If it's bothering you I could get you something that'll dull the pain." Consideration had her asking, experience said he'd refuse. He'd been so willing to challenge her, even after she'd warned him of the dangers. He would endure his pains
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Posted: Thu Sep 12, 2013 5:33 pm
Alois smiled, far too tired for a hint of mischief - a rare glimpse of honesty found itself lost within his countenance. Soon iniquity would swallow it whole and that single incidence would remain but a doubted memory. "Sehr gut." She knew the poem well enough to recite it upon prompt, mid-verse no less. One of his favorites, it was, though she may one day earn that lofty position herself.
He yawned, and with it, she sank toward the bed. Still, she rose and fell like churning seas, like tides greeting ships meandering through their wake.
"Suffering is necessary," he declined. "Adverse circumstances force us to change. If pain wasn't a heals'y reminder to avoid a punch to ze face, zen how will I ever learn to dodge a fist? In more abstract circumstances, how would people learn the validity of an ideal, when zere is no martyr to sacrifice zemselfs to spread zat word? Pain, admonishment, anguish... Zey all offer a chance to grow, so zat our roots might intersect wis' anozzer and in zat moment, bestow an inkling of wisdom to someone not yet exposed." He traced the faded cut upon her face - the only visible indication that he left an impression.
Afterward, he laced his fingers through her hair, guiding thick locks back against the shell of her ear. They did not linger at his behest; soon he felt them sprawl across his chest. "Analgesics are for zose who are afraid of change. Zose afraid to move vorwärts." Gingerly he touched the bruise spreading across his cheek, and it acknowledged him in a sudden pulse of pain.
Yes, he would change from this, and he anticipated the results in an eagerness he never knew he possessed.
He considered that, as someone well-versed in the art of assault, she understood the important role that pain played in the lives of many. At least, she ascertained a greater comprehension of it than the majority. And for that, she earned a little more appreciation from the misanthrope pinned beneath her. He relaxed a modicum under her weight; previously taut muscles relaxed into easy slopes and frames along prominent bones.
Even while enthralled with her crisp scent, he hadn't managed to shirk his disdain for his appearance. Still he felt uncomfortable - and he wondered if youmafication may remedy that fault, or exacerbate it further.
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Posted: Thu Sep 12, 2013 8:10 pm
Porsha caught that honest smile, and in turn her own had softened in kind. A mirroring curve of full lips that was open and honest and genuine. Alois might have liked his mask and his games, and that was an intriguing, alluring part of him, but Po didn't share that same love of deceit, not exactly. She could appreciate the game, and certainly she found the appeal in certain situations, but she had been honest with him from the start, in all things, and that wasn't likely to change. His yawn inspired one in return, and she slid her hands apart so her cheek could rest instead on the heavy beat of his heart beneath it's cage of bone and flesh and soft skin that carried that mingled scent of firewood and clean sheets. Like her's had been before last night. His philosophies upon the merits of suffering were ones she agreed with, and she smiled again, that lazy spread of stained lips, as her hand wandered up his chest to rest lightly at the hollow between shoulder and throat. "hurting is important," she simplified in agreement, then turned her cheek into his touch as he stroked the healing cut. It didn't hurt, and she couldn't recall if it ever had. There had been so many more important things to focus on through out the night. A sigh followed the movement of strong fingers slipping through vibrant hair, and she let her eyes fall closed as goosebumps rose along her shoulders. How many different variants of a theme had he managed to pull from her now. Just a sigh, so simple but each and every touch that inspired one had brought with it it's own unique connotations. This time it was comfort, a quick taste, before his hands were folding away. She hand't realized any tension had lingered in his frame, not until it was leaking away as muscles relaxed beneath her. She blinked at him, watching his features for clues or ques, before raising up on hand and knees to crawl towards him. The brush of her lips was a ghosting thing, soft and chaste against his own as she hovered above him. A gentle offering, and it could remain as that, or he could take that invitation and make it more.
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Posted: Thu Sep 12, 2013 9:49 pm
Whether by pure reaction or practiced intent, Alois leaned into her kiss. Her quiet gesture seeped through him, down his throat, across his chest, through his core. It traced the last confines of his extremities, borne from her lips, before he closed his eyes to the encounter. And for a moment he couldn't think, didn't want to, wouldn't try. This was fine, this was good, this was a minor hitch in the sea of misery and treachery.
So he pressed his hand against the nape of her neck, a silent urging, if only to intensify the experience. But as proper judgment returned to his mind, he sank back against the bed in a gentle end to an equally delicate affair. Though inwardly he lamented its finite nature, he understood that prolonging the endeavor would do him no favors.
Alois slipped out from beneath her and sat up once more, checking his shoulder for the source of the soreness pervading it. He found little more than mild pain buried deep within the surface; no amount of meager massaging would coax it out. Idly he wondered if she was holding back during their tussle - he assumed so, for she essentially pranced around him. Certainly she could've broken something, or even shattered bones if she found it necessary. Too bad; he would've liked to experience his first broken bone, though he surmised it was quite a painful trial. Still, if one sought the ideal of hastening the world's descent into entropy, one must familiarize oneself with absolute pain and suffering.
Decay was change actualized, and its serfs were agonies.
When he glanced back at her, the series of scrawling scratches in meticulous script caught his attention. He should've gone deeper; that mark would hardly leave a scar, not on someone like her. Then again, he couldn't hope to make an impression on everyone. And for those with such steadfast resolve, he would simply have to engage in a relentless assault to chip away what stony philosophies retained that constancy.
A carrion crow himself, he knew how to wait. He knew how to lure. He knew how to bide his time for greater measures of iniquity.
Finally Alois slipped out of bed and stretched languidly, though it only served to aggravate the injuries she inflicted earlier. With a gentle sigh, he sought his pants amidst the few articles strewn across the floor. An easy task. But where had the switchblade disappeared to? With his brow furrowed, he glanced about the sparse room. He spotted it on the nightstand; given the events of last night, he was surprised it received even that much consideration, but he retrieved it nonetheless and returned it to his back pocket.
At least now that damned scar was hidden, and he hadn't chanced losing his knife again.
Funny how such paltry items retained a vivid sense of sentimentality.
"Do you want to mark me before I leaf' or will zis suffice?" He asked, gesturing to the bruise on his face. Should she agree, it might lend to a better alteration for the scar risen on his inner thigh.
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Posted: Thu Sep 12, 2013 10:33 pm
Porsha kissed him as if she'd drink him down in small, savoring sips. Not the ferocity of exchanges made the night prior, but a softer exchange, even after he'd cupped the back of her head and she'd obeyed his silent urging. When they parted she felt him still like a tingling presence against her lips, and she mourned that lose small divide, those precious few inches that separated him. She blinked down at him, a question in those gunmetal eyes, before disappointment overwhelmed it as he moved out from beneath her and forced her back on folded knees. For a brief, hopeful moment she wondered if perhaps he'd sat up for something different. An echo of a more fevered exchange. She watched him as he glanced back her way, and she found , in that moment, it was difficult to read him. The kiss had been nice, and certainly the conversation leading up to it had been without strain. She'd seen that honest smile. So why now did he seem so.. Dejected. "Alois?" He slipped out of her bed and her fingers curled into the sheets as something sharp and acute seized her. Every move he made, from the reclaiming of his pants to the safe tuck of the switchblade felt like another small lose. Sand circling the void in an hour glass. She didn't want him to go. Sliding to the edge of the bed she lifted a hand to reach for him, but it stopped short at his question, fingers curling loosely in midair between them. Hesitating for a handful of seconds before she finally completed the gesture and took hold of his wrist. "Why are you leaving?" She bypassed the question, not to ignore it, but to settle something different. "You don't have to." She tugged, light and gentle, a silent request to stay."
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Posted: Sun Sep 15, 2013 11:26 am
He didn't expect her to deny his right to leave. It was a curious departure from the dance he'd come to know so well - of indulging in one another, only to part moments after and regard what transpired as a sudden and violent act - as a tribute to the animalistic tendencies that still lurked therein. But she sought to change that - not with pomp and circumstance, not with violence, not with power or assertion or inescapable wit. And perhaps that's what worked so well.
It was such a quiet endeavor, and that's what invoked his creeping grin. He couldn't hide it. Couldn't stifle a small chuckle. How curious, that of all the dominance he retained, all that steeled exterior and carefully crafted wit, something as simple as a tug of the wrist would convince him to shirk his previous resolution.
Then again, perhaps it was no resolution after all.
"If you want me to stay, zen zere's somesing I want to tell you." He sat beside her, and in the shift of the bed, it urged her toward him. He sighed; it smelled like still-sweet vanilla mixed with the vague scent of metal. "It's a strange sing to discuss, but it's wors' mentioning, if you want me to stay." In a moment of boldness, he coiled his arms about her lithe waist and pulled her closer. Smelled her hair. Breathed softly against the nape of her neck. He smiled; whether it was due to simple closeness or the inevitable corruption of the moment, he didn't chance finding out.
Sometimes he liked not knowing.
And he didn't deign to prime her for the coming revelation, either. "One day, I will become a youma. Zis is somesing I haf' decided for myself, and nossing will sway me from zat notion. I already know how it will happen - I will convince someone of ze merits for distorting me into zeir youma, and zough zey will endure ze consequences of zat action, I will haf' obtained zat which I seek.
"It's a different brand of freedom, one outside ze kind I haf' so familiarized myself wis', and I suspect you haf' a similar understanding of it. It's ze kind zat enables you to murder wis'out falter, to pursue your ideals unchained by notions of morals or virtues or expectations set upon you by zose who haf' yet to even know your name. I explored it greatly in ze past few Monaten, and zough I came to enjoy it greatly, I seek a different brand of freedom now.
"Freedom from being human."
Alois exhaled against her back; he could almost feel the fine hairs waver in protest. He liked that about her - so expressive, so responsive. She wasn't dead inside.
Not yet.
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Posted: Sun Sep 15, 2013 8:08 pm
He grinned, slow and creeping, and it eased the unexpected and examined tightness that had settled at her core. As alarming as it was foreign, but it was fading now, on the cusp of that chuckle, and in the weight of his tall frame sinking back onto the bed beside her. It restored that soft, lazy smile she'd worn throughout the whole of the morning, and it chased away whatever strain threatened the the intimate quiet of the bedroom. Later, maybe, when she was on her own, she would have a deeper look at what had caused that dramatic twinge, but not now. Instead she allowed physics to spill her against his side as he settled, and she lay a hand on his leg, thumb working over the seam on the side of his thigh. He sighed, and the corners of her lips twitched, not exactly a smile, but some hint of satisfaction. It grew as his arms curled around her and pulled her closer, and she was content to lean into his side, to listen to the low rumble of his voice as he teased at her curiosity. And his breath eased warm at the back of her neck, tickling along fine hairs and making her shiver before a rush of goosebumps spread over every inch of exposed skin. She couldn't have said what she'd been expecting him to say. Honestly, she didn't know him well enough to even hazard a guess. Certainly within some spectrum of normalcy, even if that spectrum involved such things as magical warriors and a war for supremacy. Through rumors and warnings she'd heard of Bazzite's fate, and to a lesser extent, Benitonite's. Rumors and whispers, speculations. Though one thing had remained steadily unchanged throughout countless retelling. Benitonite had tried to prompt his friend and subordinate to an equal standing, and he had failed. Porsha went very still in Alois's arms. Not stiff or tense, simply quiet as she let his ambition sink in. The gravity of the desire itself, the implications, and finally the logic behind it. Freedom from being human. Movement returned in the twitch of her fingers against his thigh before before they slid along the fabric, so much harsher then the softness of his skin. She didn't say anything at first, but she didn't draw away from him either. And in fact he'd pull another shiver from the girl in his arms as he exhaled along her bare back. She sighed in turn, and the hand currently not trailing mindless circles against his leg came up to rest on his arm. She couldn't understand the need to be free of being human, but she understood resolve, and desire, and freewill over one's own existence. She was, if nothing else, open minded and accepting. "Nothing will sway you?" It wasn't so much a question, as a reiteration.
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Posted: Mon Sep 16, 2013 10:16 pm
Aois smiled against the bare skin of her back. Small sentiments pressed against that skin, taut yet soft, and they, needling in their absolute nature. He needn't confirm it through vocalizations.
Sonant unnecessary.
If nothing else, he trusted her to extrapolate his steeled resolve, his unconscionably strict adherence to his own decisions. She felt it, if only within the fabric of his pants, slightly concealed from her, though she still registered its warmth. If she held the wisdom to discern it, she might come to understand that such warmth may consume her one day, and within the strength of those ideals, she would burn to ash. And from that ash, something stronger may rise - something born of smoke and sickly ichor, of those few remaining pieces that refused to wither into char and carbon crust. She exhibited some semblance of that stubbornness.
But did she harbor the intent to temper it, the knowledge to steel it for greater purposes?
Even if she didn't, he might seize that opportunity for himself. To dismantle someone to their very core, only to melt down those components and arrange his own interpretation of the perfect soldier... A task warranting flawless execution and devoted puppeteering, to be certain. A thrilling task, at the least - one in which he may learn to play, to explore, to discover all new paths within the human mind. Ones he didn't have the wherewithal to venture on his own.
But he didn't fault himself for such weakness - those thoughts could only be attributed to his folly of being human. And soon that would change, wouldn't it? Like he explained to her before, his tenure of humanity must come to an end.
Or what?
Perhaps he enjoyed the fact he didn't know.
"Who is ze woman outside of ze uniform?" He asked with incorrect stresses on his final word. While he awaited her answer, he withdrew an arm from her side and traced every ridge and rise of her spine, protruding angrily from her back. "All I know is her name - Porsha. And naturally, where she lives. And her body..." He smirked, and soon gently indicated each piece of which he spoke through gentle touch. "Her eyes. Ze contour of her nose. Her lips. Her angular chin. Her sroat... And you know ze rest."
Through her, he expect to learn a plethora of revelations. This was her fate - one he penned for her himself.
And Alois penned few things.
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Posted: Tue Sep 17, 2013 8:21 am
In answer he smiled. She could feel it where his mouth still rested against her back, and her breath eased out, not in a sigh, but in acceptance of his desires and plans for himself. It was his life, his body, his future at stake. So what right did she have to try to dissuade him away from it? None. No right. She was a relative stranger. A chance encounter in the middle of the night that had led to a series of interesting exchanges. Surprising points of connection. This was his life, and she was a bystander. Porsha lifted her head as he asked his question, and she watched the movement of his arm out the corner of her eye as it withdrew from her side. Losing it before the warmth of his fingers slide over her back, along her spine, and she smiled, voice catching in a soft sound of amusement at the simplicity of the question and the inevitable complexity of an answer. She licked her lips, turning into the light touches that followed the contours of her face. If he wanted to know her then she would be all to happy to enlighten him. There was no shame in her past, no stone too heavy or painful to turn over. "You know I'm a professional fighter," she reminded him softly, shifting to withdraw long legs from beneath her so they could drape of the edge of the bed as she leaned into him. "I've been training since I was 10. Martial arts, boxing, schoolyard brawls." She smirked, recalling fond memories of scraped knuckles and bloody noses. "I even work at a gym who's focus is boxing and mixed martial arts." Her hand on his leg slid along the inside of his thigh and swept down until she could curl her fingers against the back of his knee. "Most days I go to work, I train, myself or others. Three days a week I run." Grey eyes dropped to his lap, to his thighs and the way they filled out the pants he'd pulled on over them. He ran, too. She would have bet money on it. "I also know how to dance," she continued, drifting away from fitness and battle capabilities. She was a soldier, but she was so much more then that. "And love music." Thin fingers trailed over his arm until she could trace the ridges of his knuckles that followed them, and she molded her hand against his where it rested on her side. "I grew up in a shitty suburban carcass that I have to imagine might have been a nice neighborhood at one point, but is little more then a breeding ground now for white trash and potential problems." There was no bitterness in her voice, no sadness. Her childhood had not been idle, but that didn't mean she hadn't grown up happy. "A single mother, working over-time to provide for a troubled little girl that picked fights and got kicked out of school multiple schools. She did her best." Possessions were few and far between, but Porsha had never gone hungry. There had been no threat of loosing their house, no sleepless nights in the cold. Her back-to-school clothes had always been new. If not name-brand, then cute at the very least. She'd been enrolled in her classes, dancing and fighting alike. "What else would you like to know?" There was more. So much more, but she didn't want to simply ramble on, not unless he asked it of her. If there was something specific he was fishing for, some curious tidbit he wanted to know above other more trivial things, then she would provide it. He only had to give her some hint.
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Posted: Sat Sep 28, 2013 8:49 pm
While she spoke, his gaze drifted about the room, falling to various items that lined the sparse interior. Walls cream, unmarred, hardly decorated. Despite her personality, her capabilities, it was as if she never expected to live in this place. Did she intend to move, or simply die at some point soon? Few items of worth remained out in the open, which was to say that very little remained visible. Mostly her, her bed, the windows, the walls, the door. A few trinkets. Yet she spoke of her life in terms of experiences, which led him to believe she lived primarily within the moment, rather than draw on materialism to supply her with her memories. Agreeable, he figured.
"To know someone is to know zeir beliefs, zeir values, zeir virtues. Your experiences build zose virtues, but zey are no more you zan ze scars on your body. History does not breaz'e ze soul of ze country, so to speak." He popped his fingers against her hip, rested his chin more heavily against her shoulder. Maybe he should explain a little further. "Considering your experiences, you must haf' a very interesting set of beliefs. I can't imagine anysing atrociously normal stemming from a life like zat." Though, curiously, his remained largely normal - save for the past six months.
He sighed, relinquished his hold on her, straightened up and away. Looked toward the sun. Too bright; it whitewashed all in its path - not even bleach could keep up with its caustic siege. While he watched the too-bright scenery radiating inward, his fingers curled into the sheets, pulling them taut in pitched nerves. "It would be easiest to start wis' ze Negaverse, would it not? What are your beliefs towards ze war, towards ze senshi? Once you start zere, you can mof'e to more general statements. Somesing a little more... at your core."
Somehow, asking ruined a moment of their peace. Maybe it was simply asking her to peel away a few layers of skin for him, flay herself for him. Allow him to examine the pieces under microscope without fight, without precious earnings.
"And lastly... Tell me how you sink of youma." Perhaps that was the most important question for the time being, as it determined just how long they could last in each other's company. She already knew of the relevance of that question, so it was only a matter of time before she answered it for herself. He wondered if he should've left when he initially stood; at least, had he done so, he would've maintained the vibrant lull that they woke up to, as well as her good graces. But by pursuing this path, he ran the risk of alienating her.
But that wasn't always such a bad thing.
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