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 Posted: Sun Oct 13, 2013 12:25 am
Bovary, Bovary. Ruthie flipped through the pages. She read you before, compared herself to the Madame throughout her desperate search for affection, gleaning the tiniest smidgens of acceptance, but now she feared she bested you through her bleeding, her broken arm, the starseed she swallowed. She flipped through the pages. This is the part where Bovary falls for the wrong man. This is the part when he leaves her. This is the part where Ruthie cuts her finger on the edge and whimpers. She gasped and tears stung her eyes and she set the book on the shelf. Leaning against the shelf, clutching her hand, heart racing, she studied the nearby green-haired boy.
Blood red like wine. Maybe even Buddy's eyes. Maybe her cheeks when he kissed her. This was not a good way for Senshi for good Senshi banded together against the dark and called on distant powers of planets and didn't stare at green-haired boys when they could wander the twilight, searching for Youma or Agents or evildoers. Good Senshi held hands and laughed and rarely scarred. They danced through combat. Their signatures gleamed. Little pearls of light. Brilliant stars.
"Ha-ah." The air bit her wound. "Ahh."
She could have used a band-aid. Or a hug. Or a smile. Where did the smiles go?Moonstone Dazzle Hey there! Let me know if this works. ^o^ <333
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Posted: Mon Oct 14, 2013 6:49 pm
Lune had stopped by the book store after classes, hoping to find something to push away the boredom. To break up the monotony. Sure, there were his dalliances with Michael, but those only lasted so long. And he could only say so much before one of them got upset.
A book wouldn’t get upset. A book wouldn’t snark when he tried to help, or b***h at him for his attitude. It was the one companion he could take that could deal with him at any time of the day. If Lune were really honest with himself, it was the one companion he could deal with as well. Sex was nice, yeah. But he would gladly take Lord of the Rings any day.
So… modern literature was out. Something in the classics. His icy gaze stayed trained on the books, even though he felt someone else watching him. Some girl, apparently. Just as he’d turned around to tear her down (because really, who was idiotic enough to just gape at someone?), his eyes flicked down to her cut finger.
“…Are you okay?” It wasn’t the kindest sounding question, no. If the girl read too much into it, it likely sounded like he was questioning her mental state. Which he was, yes, but hey. She didn’t need to know that. Fortunately, Lune would be able to preserve the state of the book from this girl. His own dubious high school career meant he carried things like bandaids and antiseptic on his person at all times.
Digging into his satchel, Lune pulled out one of the basic bandages he had and handed it off to the girl. Without asking, he took Madame Bovary in return, flipping through the pages to check for any damage.
“You should get that on, so it can heal up quicker,” he murmured, very clearly focused on the state of the book.
Really. Some people.
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Posted: Mon Oct 14, 2013 9:58 pm
The boy with flowing hair green as Elven forest gave her a band-aid. A small and fragile wrapping to protect her cut from insects and babies that smelled like moths and cottage cheese and youma, and she wrapped it around her finger and said, "Thank you" because she felt indebted. Maybe the pain would subside and she could stare deeper into his glistening hair and ponder the minutes spent on perfecting that shine. She wanted so desperately to tell him she was not okay--that she suffered painful agony from nightmares and insomnia on top of wondering if she wore dresses too short or mismatched purses and jewelry. She didn't even now if they were meant to match. Sapphire and leather and charcoal and emerald seemed like solid combinations but then...
But then strangers like this boy who lurked the corners of bookstores. Strangers who studied her and wondered if she knew elegance and refinement, and she did! She swore she did, but the boy made her shake and lean against a book case.
His brevity furthered his refinement. Staccato and clear. A stiff arm. Distance.
"I guess I'm okay." She sighed. She pressed her head against the classics, hoping to read by osmosis. "I don't know. It's just been a weird--"
Day. Week. Month.
"--time."
She smiled the charming smile, but she didn't feel charming. She wanted to call her parents and cry. Rubbing her eyes, she faced him. Tired or sad. Tired or sad.
"Are you looking for something?"
Maybe she could help him too.
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Posted: Mon Oct 14, 2013 10:11 pm
A weird time? God, didn’t he know that one well enough. His eyebrows raised a fraction, and he watched with calculation the variety of emotions that seemed to cross the girl’s face. Was this what… caring was like? Did normal people have this terrible cacophony of emotions at all hours of the day? Thank god he didn’t have it. Still, Lune expressed none of these thoughts of doubts on the purple-haired girl’s sanity as he watched her plight.
“…I’ve had a bit of a time myself,” he offered, tone neutral and not dipping particularly either way. Was striking up an unlikely friendship with your former teacher that was making you question your moral alignment considered a time? Lune certainly thought so. Unless he wanted to delve into other taboo relationships (and he’d had his fill of Lolita in high school, thank you kindly), there wasn’t a particularly plentiful supply of books on these sorts of things.
At the question of whether or not he was looking for anything, Lune’s brow furrowed by just a fraction. It was a minute crease- you would have to be looking to really notice it, beneath the waves of his hair. And in an instant, it was gone, replaced with the calculated indifference he’d practiced so well. Lune gave her a noncommittal shrug, turning his gaze to focus on the shelves.
Certainly not trash like Madame Bovary, he kept from snipping. The drivel on the tragedy of extramarital affairs and lives unlead was the sort of thing lonely women occupied their time with, when the nights were long and the bed was lonely.
Twilight, he also kept from adding, had tragic love interests in both moral directions, if that was the sort of swill she occupied her time with.
…He really was a judgmental p***k, wasn’t he? Maybe Michael was right.
“…Nothing in particular, no.” He offered simply, trying to fight off the moral dilemma he currently felt coming. Indifference was good. Chasing people off was good. Giving a s**t about some moronic girl who couldn’t read a book without hurting herself was not.
Maybe he could just… be civil, and end this.
“Besides Madame Bovary, do you… have any suggestions?”
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Posted: Mon Oct 14, 2013 10:35 pm
"Hmm." She narrowed her eyes. Interesting. Interesting. How...? "Interesting...Interesting like--" She pulled Ethan Frome. "--terrorists attacking the city interesting?" Receipts slid out of cash registers. Plush monkeys and giraffes smiled at nothingness. Children squealed aisles away. "Interesting like demons haunting the roads? Interesting like magic?" She wanted so badly to discuss it--to bring someone innocent into this mess, new insight, someone untouched by war. Ulysses. Moby d**k. Invisible Man. "Or normal interesting like homework?" The Girl. The cashier rang up an umbrella--polka-dotted, green and yellow. "Like dating? Something simple. I like simple."
She felt crazy.
She was crazy. She ranted. She prattled. This wasn't even about the stranger. "My name is Ruthie." This was about her, talking to the stranger, bringing him in, not caring, wondering what he thought so she could self-reflect. That didn't make any sense. He probably picked up on the facade. No. She didn't want to lose him so easily. She had to smile. She smiled. She hoped that would help. It probably didn't help. He probably hated her for trying. God, she shouldn't have tried. Losers tried. Beggars tried. Flatterers. The insecure. The desperate.
And yet, she belonged with all of them. It was embarrassing.
Don't smile, Ruthie. Don't smile. But she couldn't wipe off the grin. Sad and shy and full of longing. Children's squeals turned to cries. Parents dragged them out of the store, hushing them with promises of Disney and Fruit Loops.
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Posted: Fri Oct 25, 2013 11:14 pm
Terrorists…?! The copy of Madame Bovary almost slipped through Lune’s fingers, and he fumbled with the book for a moment as he openly gaped at the girl in front of him. There were so many strange emotions passing over her features, feigning some semblance of human normalcy, that Lune almost wondered if there wasn’t something wrong with her. She seemed coherent enough, with enough lucidity, but…
“What the hell is wrong with you?” He asked, unable to stop the comment before it slipped out. Seriously, had she injured her head in addition to her arm? Clearing his throat at the realization that he had let that one be spoken aloud, Lune glanced away from the girl This was definitely not within his comfort zone.
But oh god, social convention. Decency required him to give his name in return, and once more Lune turned to address the bizarre girl.
“…Lune. Lune Dracnir. But seriously, are… are you alright?” It wasn’t the most genuinely sincere question, and in fact, the concern seemed to be more for his own well-being than for hers. But he had at least managed some sense of decorum, and thus felt no guilt for not giving any shits about the girl before him. He could very easily make an excuse, duck out and say he’d forgotten the time…
…But god damn it, he still didn’t have a book. Which was the whole bloody reason he’d made this trip to the book store today.
He had no idea what sort of inner turmoil raced beneath the purple hair and golden eyes, and nor did he have any desire to learn. Instead, he side-stepped the girl, moving to put Bovary back in its rightful (disgusting) place and move on with his selection. He could do Paradise Lost again, but revisiting something he’d read seemed incredibly dull.
Maybe dull was what he needed, after this weird afternoon.
Lune tried to keep his attention focused on the shelves, but his gaze kept darting back to Ruthie. God, she wasn’t going to break down in the store, was she…? Maybe he could… get her to call someone she knew. Someone to get her the hell out of here before he actually got invested and started caring.
…Books. Books, right. Those were a good distraction. Hell, he could always pick up a sixth copy of The Silmarillion, see if anyone had left any interesting insights in a used copy…
Oak PhD I AM SORRY HE'S SUCH A s**t BUT I AM MORE SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG. GOMEN.
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