|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Thu Apr 17, 2014 12:28 pm
The walk extended farther, to a more winding set of paths to claim but half the distance to Farah's Garden. He predicted so, and chose such a journey on part of exacerbating the blossomed bruises along his body. Dull pain always eased him in a manner that sharp pain could not; with a background ache, he found it easier to focus on his tasks. Often he found it curious that this country bore such an aversion toward pain and suffering, when happiness provided no incentive to change. Perhaps people sought stagnation here, permanent preservation of the way things are now, and for what purpose? To overdose on happiness?
He'd been there once already. That was reason enough for the trip.
In his splint sat a single photograph, stuffed between skin and padding to protect it from the light drizzle accosting the sidewalk. Earlier in the morning, he wrote across its backing in fine ballpoint pen, borrowed from the various art supplies among the blonde's matchbox-sized apartment. Atop it he taped a piece of onion paper, cut to mimc the size of the photograph, and while laid atop the image he mapped out visual appeals and focal points, along with directional flow of the piece. Small samplings of the positives - a compass for those easily lost among ruin.
Wearing a hooded, waterproofed jacket felt bizarre to one who grew up among forests nurtured by such phenomena, and he found it more detestable than beneficial. Getting sick never bothered him. Why submit to rain gear? What a shoddy idea. With a huff, the misanthrope caught the hood in his undamaged hand and jerked it backward to lay limp along his neck.
Better, he thought, as the light drizzle pelted his skin.
Before sliding into Farah's garden, Alois unwrapped a sucker and pursed it between his lips, its candied surface tucked between teeth and cheek to allow for relatively unimpeded speech. He entered the establishment by shouldering the door, using his weight to press past it easily enough.
Behind the counter sat a familiar face - one he did not expect upon embarking on this visit. The ornery youth perched just beyond the desk often regarded him in a revolted, often distrusting glance - one well earned, given Alois' past transgressions. It flattered him, in a way, to watch the boy regard him so acerbically. He offered a smile not wholly unstained by knowing, by the perpetual intent to harm that lingered just outside of his actions. "Is Orah in?" He asked, voice belying an edge.
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Apr 17, 2014 5:55 pm
The young man behind the counter looked bored, despite the two customers who browsed the front of the store. Slouched on a metal stool with his streaked black hair trailing over his shoulder, Matthew thumbed through his phone as he heard the front door open and the small bell above it tinkle brightly. Orah's idea, that... most of the time he wanted to rip it out of the wall and shove it up some irritating customer's a**, but his sister would have fussed at him, making it far more worthy to just leave it. Even if it would have felt rather satisfying. That fussing was legendary in his family, something both he and his father learned to live with and avoid if at all possible. She never quit at it once she started.
The accent was what pulled his green eyes up finally, the syllables of the words tugging up a memory of another rainy day and the glint of a switchblade. A scowl pulled at his features as Matthew straightened up, shoulders stiff under his green t-shirt and various band insignia. Dropping the phone to the counter, he crossed his stripe-sleeved arms over his chest and gave the skinny goth in the shop a glare.
"Not for you." The teenager said, his voice taking on an edge and his pose very clearly saying Alois was not welcome here. Every line of his body said it loud and clear. "Buy something, or get out." He would have added a nice 'the ********' in there, but there were customers present and he had to at least try to be on his best behavior. Again, under threat of Orah fussing.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Apr 20, 2014 8:40 am
"Not for me," he echoed coly. Drawing a breath, Alois looked about the shop as if surveying his surroundings before he settled both elbows on the counter in front of the youth. He smiled mischievously; oh, how these types often brought the most entertainment... "Schade. Tell me, Mattie - are you jealous of her? Did you want me to visit you instead? Oh, but my affections are not easily gained... I doubt you could put out enough to suit my needs." He finished his statement with a derisive harshness attached to his consonants, a sneer spreading across his features. He lingered a moment longer, gold eyes fixated on the youth in cold threat before he turned from the counter to lean against it.
In a quick survey of the room, the customers appeared engrossed in the varying flora displayed about the room. Few, if any, spared the pair a glance. Satisfied, Alois rifled his pocket to produce his battered cell phone, and quickly navigated to Orah's contact information. Texting proved far too difficult with but one working hand, so he simply pressed the call button. Once the first ring began, he set the phone to speaker so the pair could hear each garbled ring as it played in tinny tones. However, he kept the phone firmly in his hand as opposed to lying it atop the counter.
"You can guess who I'm calling," he offered over his shoulder. "If you're so insistent on crawling up my a**, expect for her to hear it firsthand. Additionally, I am a customer in zis shop - continue to mous' off to me and I haf' no problem telling your dad zat you're unfit for customer service, and zat I will discourage ozzers from shopping here until you are eizer fired or repurposed to some grueling, damnable task. Be mindful of who you ******** wis' next time." As he finished, the ringing ceased.
"Orah?" He ventured into the mouthpiece.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Apr 22, 2014 4:20 pm
Green eyes widened and as Alois went on, Matthew's face slowly darkened and took on a red tint. Unlike Orah's embarrassed blush though, this was clearly anger of a high degree, echoed in the flash of his eyes. Honestly, the boy wasn't even sure what he was more mad about... The idea of him putting out for his loser, the implication that he was sleeping with his sister, or the way he called him 'Mattie'. Jerked off the stool in his little fit of rage, Matthew slammed his fists down on the smooth Formica countertop, the sound making the old lady browsing the Easter decorations a few feet away jump and sidle away nervously.
"You b*****d..." The boy hissed as the phone came out, the realization of who he was surely calling making Matthew scowl as he leaned back again. "******** cheater." He growled, listening to the cell sound the rings like a dying rotary phone. When the ringing stopped and Alois ventured to call his sister's name, the teen growled and snatched it out of his hand.
"Come down here and get this a*****e out of my face." Matthew snapped, ignoring the sound of his name said in surprise and reproach as he snapped the phone shut and threw it down on the counter a bit harder than he needed to. It skittered across the smooth surface and threatened to slide right off the edge, but he was disappointed when it stopped centimeters short. When a confused and concerned Orah made it downstairs, she found her brother glaring daggers at a figure in black and somehow she just wasn't surprised. A sigh lifted her bare shoulders as she slipped through the beaded curtain, unsure who she was saving from whom.
In contrast to her brother's punk grunge, she looked breezy and light in a white tank top and a long peasant skirt with a flower print. For once her curls were tamed by a loose braid, the whole outfit hinting at a day of relaxation rather than errand running. Even her feet were bare as she padded over to grab Alois by his sleeve and tug him towards the back room.
His hair was wet, but he was wearing a raincoat this time... She really wondered if he enjoyed discomfort sometimes, because it would have been easy to keep the hood up. After their time together through his withdrawal, she felt like she knew him both more and less than before... But she hadn't come away from the experience with any certainty he cared enough to see her again, so his presence was both surprising and... Sort of uplifting. He probably had some pedestrian reason for being here, but there were other shops he could have chosen.
"Matthew, you need to stop swearing... You're chasing away customers." Orah said as she led Alois through the curtain, getting a glare for her pains.
"So, um... What brings you here? It's not to torment my little brother, is it?" The young woman said over her shoulder, the dark sleeve she held released once they were semi-private. She wandered past the stacks on boxes and tubs of flowers, seeking the workbench to turn and lean back against. Her tools were scattered about its surface, waiting for the next urgent project.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Apr 24, 2014 11:05 am
Alois leveled a dark smile at the youth behind the counter, as if they had played a game and he was winning. Running his nails across the counter, Alois usurped his battered phone and pocketed it without another remark. Sonant unnecessary, he reminded himself. He knows where we stand now. I wonder what wounded pride will wring out of him? "You're too easy, Mattie. I might let you win next time, if you ask nicely."
Soon his intended audience arrived, dressed in a manner quite indicative of relaxation. As an aggravating presence himself, Alois never related to it. That was just as well - to know true rest in sobriety was to know the same idleness he fostered on the needle. He never cared for sitting around. "Orah," he greeted coolly. And surely enough, she took to his sleeve, urging him toward the back of the store where the two might not feed off each other in a destructive cycle. What a pity; I was just starting to like him.
"Mattie's going to end up like me someday," he offered in one final glance toward the boy before they passed through the curtain. "Perhaps zat's why tormenting him comes so easily. Even a superficial understanding of myself affords some insight into how he ticks. It's refreshing, in some ways." Like teasing yourself.
"However, zat was not my intention in coming here today. More like... Icing on ze cake." He offered an impish grin as he leaned against the wall, shoulder pressed to sheetrock as he crossed his arms loosely about himself. "Tides are changing, Orah. Even zeir sinusoidal predictability yields some variation. What I mean to say is, my life's taken a bit of a turn. I need to start doing some sings in preparation for it. Zat's why I'm here - transitional needs. It probably doesn't make much sense to you now, it doesn't need to, but eventually everysing will fall into place. In ze mean time..." Trailing off, Alois shrugged off the wet jacket to reveal a favored black turtleneck with one sleeve rolled against a splint.
Reaching inside the brace, Alois tugged out a photo and handed it toward the dusky-skinned girl. "Do you remember when you first came to Alex's house? You asked about some of ze photos I kept, and I had mentioned one of Dresden in 1945. Zis is ze photo." As he turned it over in his hand, the image depicted a black and white aerial view of the city in its sweeping destruction. A slip of tracing paper hung from one edge like a hinged door waiting to close atop the desolation. "After zat day, I tried to find zis damned sing. After I found it, I realized it might be useful for you - and I'll explain why.
"If you flip zat piece of tracing paper over ze top, I'f mapped out some lines of ze aes'setics in ze photo; you see, wis'out color as a distraction, it's far easier to look at ze linearity of an image. And zat is one of ze many sings zat attracted me to ze city in zis state - natural lines, not carved or tended to by man in a domineering manner. Accidental beauty in ze wake of destruction. But zat isn't all of it - I wrote a bit on ze back to gif' more of an idea why ze rubble of Dresden in particular is fascinating. Maybe it's a mistake to gif' you such a sing, but I won't haf' to regret it for long."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Apr 24, 2014 12:10 pm
The comment earned Alois a raised finger as the youth pulled out his phone and settled on his stool with it, having decided now that Orah was here further antagonizing of the goth boy was more effort than it was worth. That didn't mean he liked it and the scowl on his face hinted to his thoughts as he set to furiously texting someone. The battle went to Alois today, but there would be other skirmishes... and ******** if he would ask to win.Another sigh broke from Orah as she reached up to slide her braid over her shoulder, running her fingers through the tail of it and tracing the curl it made.
"I don't know why you find it so amusing..." She said tiredly, more or less resigned to the pair not getting along and more events like this appearing if Alois continued to come around. "You probably know better than anyone that an attitude like that will only make things harder for him, not easier... but he refuses to listen to me any more, so its not like I can convince him. I just wish he'd try a little harder when he's working the shop."
The grin she got as the dark haired man mentioned his reason for coming perked her interest, though she couldn't help feeling wary. Things that amused Alois were... different. And not always as amusing as he seemed to think. Orah watched as he pulled his coat off, concern pulling her brows together as she saw the splint. What on earth had he been doing?
As the photo was offered, she straightened up to take it, tugging her shirt down as it threatened to peek brown skin above her waistband. From there, the young woman turned to click the desk light on over the workbench and brown eyes studied the photo, marveling a little at the destruction of the city and how wide spread it was. There was an ache of desolation to it, of dreams shattered... but it was not the first time she had felt that squeeze around her heart, the sadness of a place that once teemed with life being so barren. When he mentioned the paper, she flipped it over the top and traced the lines he had drawn across it with her eyes.
Oddly... she saw something of what he did, when he looked at it. She had an artist's eye, she had to for the work she did, and when she got past the destruction, looked at it as simply what it was now... there was an attraction there, a desire to mentally wander those streets choked with rubble that changed their lines, made new pathways where none had been before.
"Thank you, Alois... This is a beautiful photograph..." She said softly, thinking how the choice of a gift one gave another spoke something about the person giving it. But... the young woman wasn't entirely sure as to why he had chosen to give it to her. Not that she was going to refuse! But it made her wonder. He hadn't seemed to hold her in that high of a regard, as much as she had hoped for more.
"Are you... leaving?" She said softly, slanting a glance over at him as she flipped the photo over, turning her eyes back to sweep over the writing. "You didn't say anything about it before. Did something come up, some opportunity out of town?" She knew he had family, but they'd never talked much about them. She didn't even know if he had a job or anything like that, though she had assumed he didn't, with all the time he had just spent at home, kicking his habit.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Apr 26, 2014 8:49 am
Alois furrowed his brow with a harsh respiration; by posture alone, it was readily apparent that he detested talking about it. A myriad of lies surfaced to his mind ,all equally plausible in their telling and his uncanny ability to provide contrived detail on the spot. However, nothing quite matched the gravity of the truth - not for her, not for him. "I'm going to die," he offered in neutral tones.
You'll likely make a big stink about it, call me a liar, tell me that I'm blowing things out of proportion. Maybe I'll let you, this time. It's too personal to explain it to a detail in which you'll understand my reasoning. But... That's why we're always dancing on the edge of acquaintances, Orah. We'll never quite understand each other, and I've made my last attempt toward that. You hold the cipher to my mind as we speak, and with so little experience in using it, would you even try to comprehend this? I suspect you might, you've never lacked in effort before, but what could possibly come of it? You'd best let this one lie, Orah. Accept it and move on.
I was never good for you, you know.
"I suspected you would'f considered it tragic before." Hands wormed their way into pockets, where he locked his arms out of habit. "It is, in fact, ze ruin of a city. Anyone can see zat, beyond the blind. But as ze writing on ze back states, a ruin is ze mark of a blank canvas - ze opportunity to progress in a ples'ora of pas' zat produce zeir own branches of potential. And zat is what happened to Dresden - while it previously stood as a beautiful and historical city, all zat time of standing as a cluster of established buildings reduced its potential pas to zero. Little more could come of ze city, and in being a finished product it achieved stagnation. Completed beauty is more damning than rubble.
"But in zat photograph, it reached a state of infinite potential. Everysing is a cycle zese days." His gaze darted between the several tools laid out for potting plants, beyond the painted ceramic and the terra cotta, the bags of soil stacked atop a pallet in the corner. Orah looked both completely unlike a gardener and very much of one. Idly he wondered if it was her chosen attire.
Maybe she's just in transition.
"We all face zis cycle many times during our lives. Parts of us die, and from zeir ashes comes somesing new. When your mom died, I suspect a part of you did too. And from it came a greater understanding and appreciation for zose still part of ze living. Zen again, I could be heinously wrong." He chuckled, a crooked smile breaking his neutral countenance. "You really do haf' nossing to hide, Orah. Sometimes I'm too shocked to belief' it."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Apr 27, 2014 7:44 pm
The last thing she had honestly expected was for him to tell her he was going to die. As he went on about the photograph, she just stared at him wide-eyed, her mind cycling through a lot of thoughts.
Her first thoughts made her heart squeeze in her chest, the thought of loosing him a gut reaction towards fear and desperation. She had already watched someone she cared about die, lived with the threat of it every day... but that feeling flared and died quickly to something more wary. He'd already lied to her once about something like this, and it tainted her normal reactions... it would be unthinkable for him to be telling the truth and have her scoff at it. But at the same time, he liked to toy with her, and when he did, it hurt...
"It... is tragic..." She finally managed, swallowing to clear her throat. Orah glanced down at the photo in her hand, then back up again, a small line between her brows. "Part of its beauty is its tragedy... Romeo and Juliet is considered one of the greatest romances of all time, because it ends with their deaths. Hope makes it beautiful too, those infinite possibilities, but in a different way."
Reaching up, Orah rubbed her hand across her eyes and sighed softly. It was true... she was one of a few in a position to truly appreciate the value of life. And it was true also that she had lost something precious when she had lost her mother, something that had shaped the person she was... but she would have gladly traded who she was now for the missing piece.
"Why are you going to die, Alois?" She said finally as she dropped her hand, her brown eyes wide with both worry and wariness. She tried to keep her voice neutral as she said it, both to hopefully move him to share with her, and to hide her own surge of feelings on the matter.
She had never considered herself one who was well versed in deceit, and yet she had done her job well enough even this man, who searched with a jaded eye for her secrets, thought she had none... Orah wondered, in the back of her mind, what he would think if he knew the things she hid so well.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri May 02, 2014 1:39 pm
"It's... Not somesing I like to discuss." How could I explain the slow death awaiting me? Would you understand regardless? You've always sunk yourself into the literal, Orah. How far into the depths of the dead sea could you peer before your eyes strain into blackness? Breathing a sigh, Alois departed from his prior perch and busied himself with Orah's tools - a hand trowel, some gloves, a cup soiled with dirt. "It's not terribly simple, but... I lif' wis' someone else now, someone who suits me better zan Alex. And zis change is welcome, as I'f grown tired of springing trite pranks on him. While nice, he offers little to offset my boredom. Not long ago, I moved in wis' his ex, Quenton."
Inwardly he smiled, knowing his involvement between both parties entailed harsh fallout. "But zat doesn't explain why I'm going to die." Finally he placed the cup atop the counter, running a single index finger along its rim to dislodge the excess smudges of soil. "Someone's been after me for quite some time. While alarming, it never affected me terribly - everysing dies, and should I die by his hand, so be it. However, ze true guarantee zat I will die came after I spent ze night at Quenton's: he has a peculiar project zat he contracted me for, one zat entails extensif' behavioral conditioning, and my level of dedication to zat task spells ze certainty of deas.
"You see, Orah, I intend to gif' everysing to see zis project to fruition - to see him change into somesing a little beyond human, as we know it. Zat is wors' life, to me." Maybe such a certainty is asinine to you, a silly fancy of some gothic wasteland of a boy who you babysat for a week. But you've seen a lot from me, Orah - from tears and groveling to scathing anger in an attempt to banish you from my presence. Should this really come as a surprise now?
Would you chastise me for thinking in such a manner? Possibly, but I'm not the one living through the days as a peddler of flowers and well-wishes. Will you grow up sometime, Orah? Will I?
He fixed his gaze upon the wall. "Strange sings happen to strange people, I suppose. I was reluctant to come down here, at first. Tragedy is an acquired taste, you see, and I suspected you'd not appreciate its taint in your own life whenever possible.
"Americans seem to despise suffering, Orah."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat May 03, 2014 6:44 pm
Orah frowned as she listened to Alois go into why he felt he was going to die. By the end of it, she wasn't even sure why he would die from it, but it was pretty obvious that for once, he was being truthful with her. There seemed like there was a lot more to this story than he was telling her, but... he had told her something, and as he'd readily admitted, he could have easily decided not to come here. What did it say, that he had?
She felt... oddly warm as she wondered, but also a little sad. There was something there, some strange connection between the two of them, but it whatever it was... there was so much disconnect too. So many small things that kept them at arm's length. They were too different, despite whatever attraction she had to admit she felt for him.
"Maybe, but there is nothing wrong with wanting a life free of suffering, Alois." She said finally as she watched him play with one of the plant cups. It made Orah want to grab his hand to still the nervous shifting, make him look at her... "You're the only person I've ever met who seems to actively seek suffering to wallow in... I don't think I've ever seen you... happy. Or trying to be happy."
Impatient, the young woman shifted into his personal space, a lot closer than she'd probably ever been before, and reached a bare, tan arm into his vision to grab the cup he played with. She angled her head to try to catch his eyes, her own serious and mixed with a lot of different emotions she couldn't parse out any more. She was tired of being pulled around on a string by him, tugged back and forth emotionally...
"Why did you come here, Alois?" Orah said as she leaned on the bench, a hair's breadth from brushing his sleeve. She could hear her heart beating in her ears, her skin prickling. "Why did you bring me that photo and tell me you're dying? Why me, and not this new man you're living with? Or Alex? Or someone else? I don't even think you like me all that much, but you keep dropping into my life, forcing me to change... What is it you see that makes you want to... bleed your suffering into it?"
Suddenly, Orah blinked, looking surprised at the thought that passed behind her eyes.
"Or... or is it the other way around?" She murmured, almost more to herself than to him. "Are you the one changing, Alois?"
What a strange idea.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri May 09, 2014 3:54 pm
"I'f noticed zat a life free of suffering is a very American want - I suspect zat most don't understand ze intrinsic qualities of suffering from a more positif' light. Ach, zat is neizer here or zere." When she seized the pot, Alois shifted his gaze toward her frail hand before following the length of her slender arm toward her eyes. She looked worried, somehow. "Can you imagine an inability to be happy wis'out suffering?" He anticipated a negatory reply; Orah spent far too long sheltered within one highly specific philosophy of life to fully consider the merits of such a foreign concept. Yet, conflicts like these kept the world out of stagnation.
Her questions met with a sigh as he averted his gaze toward a bag of potting soil propped against a wall, half-open with a fine collection of dirt along its folds. For a time, he was silent in contemplation for explaining his actions. He never truly voiced his inclinations before, not for occasions like this. "Orah, I can't imagine living ze life zat you lead here. It's too... comfortable. Too protected. In a word, it's stagnant. I knew I could do you ze favor of changing zat." Finally he looked toward her once more, knuckles resting loosely on the table.
"Ze best example I can sink of is... a regrettably personal one. My life was once mundane and predictable, zough I sought I had some idea of how ze world operated - how different people lived zeir lifes far differently zan mine. It was only after I got kicked out not once, not twice, but several times did I finally realize my hubris in assuming so. You see, it takes adversity to truly garner change. Maybe I wanted to show you zat. In trus' I don't know why I keep coming here. Asinine, isn't it? Following instinct like a sheep..." He laughed lowly.
"I'm always changing, Orah. Quenton knows it, but he wouldn't benefit from it like you would. And Alex..." He shrugged flippantly. "I wonder if he truly listens half ze time. Will you catch up someday, Orah? Or will you forever remain ze same?"
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri May 09, 2014 5:12 pm
Turning away from him, Orah braced her lower back against the work bench, the plant cup she'd taken from him between her hands and fiddled with back and forth. Dirt smudged her slender fingers, but she was used to that, didn't mind the feel of it...
Was it so bad, to not change? Logically, she knew everything changed. It was a law of the universe, something inescapable. But... did that mean you had to prompt change, force it? It would happen on its own, wouldn't it? And while you were chasing change, didn't you run the risk of missing what you were at that moment, reaching instead for the next phase of your life?
"I have changed more in the last year than you could possibly know." She said finally, impatiently tightening her grip on the cup as she lifted her head and stared around the room. It was so familiar, and once would have been comforting... it had barely changed in the time since her father had opened the shop. The bench, if anything, was the newest part of the place... but then only because she had taken it over from a storage spot and assembled it into her own workspace. "And what does it matter, if I keep up with you or not? Do you... do you dislike me the way I am so much, you feel like you have to push me to become something else? What's wrong with staying the same for a while? Sometimes its good to know what will happen tomorrow. To know that things are where you left them, that you can count on someone to do what you expect of them..."
The young woman straightened up as she set the cup down on the bench with a firm rap of plastic to wood. Her bare arms crossed below her chest, hands holding her elbows. From here, she could hear Matthew speaking to someone up front, but couldn't make out the words.
"I have changed though, and I suppose a small portion of that can be attributed to you. I've decided to go to school this fall, after I graduate. I'm going to become a nurse. There is no end of change in my immediate future."
Ah, and it was scary, to think about... She'd been the same for so long, the uncertainty of the future wasn't something she was used to. She was realizing she was probably never going to understand this strange desire of his to seek change. She'd just have to accept it.
"Maybe you should try living the way I do for a while... might be a nice change for you." Orah said finally, unable to hold back a twitch of her lips towards a smile. She didn't want to smile at him... she wanted to stay frustrated.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun May 11, 2014 6:22 am
Though he did not immediately recognize why, Alois started to laugh. The sound bubbled from the depths of his throat, threatening to grow as Orah progressed through her mildly chiding speech. Despite his attempts to stifle it, his small stint of chuckles grew to laughter quickly enough. Finally Alois covered his mouth to put a stop to any further disruptions. Looks like Bischofite's mirth is contagious.
"Did you ever, for one moment, consider zat I might be trying to help you, Orah? Not everysing about me involves distaste; while I 'like' to suffer, as you see it, I haf' to experience positif' times to glean ze full benefit of ze aforementioned suffering." His lidded gaze slid back toward her, taking note of the arms crossed over her chest. She doesn't trust me. Rightfully so - I wouldn't trust myself in her position. Trust is almost... A hindrance now. I wonder if I could attribute more reasons to distrust me. More than likely.
I could stab her. "A nurse," he repeated with only mild recognition. His mind was elsewhere now, as was his focus. "So you're going into ze medical field. Perhaps zat's a better change to milling about in your dad's business-effigy." I could yell at her, but I've done so before. Pleadings followed. What a humiliating time... "But I wonder if you know how to cope wis' change, Orah." Oh, I know what I could do.
This should be fun.
Mind drawn back to the conversation, Alois flashed a smirk at the small slight delivered by orchid's lips. I wonder if you recognize how similar you are to your brother right now. He's easy enough to ******** with. Are you? Let's find out; your consent isn't wholly required.
Surely Quenton will recognize such a stunt as an experiment. But he shouldn't complain, regardless; he already holds my life in his hands. I've nothing more in my possession to give. Nothing more? Nothing greater.
Finally he leaned down, pale fingers brushed against the underside of her chin - fingernails traced to map out a suppleness that he sought only half-consciously as a taxidermist: an evaluation. Following came his lips to touch hers - a curiously non-threatening gesture, though he did not linger long. Drawing back, he cast her a cool glance. "Anger suits you."
Time to watch the fireworks.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun May 11, 2014 7:41 pm
Orah's smile had faded as she noticed him trying to stifle a laugh, suddenly feeling embarrassed and hurt that he would laugh at her.
"I considered it." She said, her tone a little petulant. "But I suppose I find it hard to believe... " He hadn't, thus far, seemed all that concerned with her well being. Why should that have changed? If anything, he enjoyed seeing her uncomfortable, off balance... or was that supposed to be part of the prompting for her to change?
"I cope just fine with change..." Orah managed before he distracted her with a touch to her chin. Whatever she had been planning to say flew right out of her head as her eyes widened, the slide of nails against the delicate skin under her jaw sending a jolt of awareness straight through her. She was frozen as he leaned closer, suddenly very sure what he was about to do and unable to process it properly, only feel as he kissed her lightly.
It was only when he pulled back from the fleeting gesture that she was able to move again, sucking in a sharp breath as too many emotions swirled through her mind, reflected in her eyes. What...? why...? Her jaw worked, but no sound made it out for a long moment. Anger suited her? The girl who never got angry, never yelled or even said a harsh word to anyone... and he found her anger appealing.
Orah cleared her throat finally as her brows pulled together, a line appearing between them. "Th-that's... cheating." She managed at last, unaware that she mimicked her brother in that moment. "You're... not supposed to surprise someone like that when you're arguing with them."
God, why did he do this to her? She was finally willing to admit that, just maybe, she was ready to accept that she just... would never like him all that much. But... she also had to admit there was something there, always had been, and she had... rather liked it when he kissed her. Short and simple as it had been. Could you dislike someone, and be attracted to them at the same time? Was it just that she was reading too much into it, trying to find something that wasn't there? Why couldn't anything about him ever be simple or easy? She just... wanted to stop thinking about it. Reaching out with both hands, she curled her fingers into the material of his shirt and tugged him closer again. He was so tall... even on her toes she wouldn't be able to reach him unless he leaned down.
"You really want to see me change?" She said as she looked up at him with that little frown on her face, still torn, but firm. "Do it again."
Maybe this time she'd shatter to pieces and finally be free of this upsetting swirl of emotions and questions.Aeeth  Achievement unlocked: Pucker up! You've managed to kiss Orah. Congratulations, a**-butt.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon May 12, 2014 5:07 am
Stolen words, taken by action alone. I'd ask how it feels... If I were blind. The shock, though pleasant to observe, would soon give way to more turbulent expression. Likely a push toward the door, given the girl's aversion to rough treatment, and a word to Matthew about permissions for driving him away from the store. Perhaps, further, a call to the father - the authority figure to right this sudden upset of social roles in his household: guests taking liberties far beyond their allotted generosity. Better yet, she might just punch him.
Now that'd be a surprise, he thought, unable to stymie a small grin.
"We weren't arguing, Orah." The heel of one hand found the back of his hip; he never backed up to account for conversational distance. Without the need to project, he dropped his voice to a low mumble, watching the too-long strips of black bangs moving in tandem with his breath. Matthew needn't hear - not now. "We were discussing."
The invite for change and fierce tug on his shirt prompted the quirk of an eyebrow, mild amusement flooding his eyes at such solicitations. A few possible outcomes surfaced in his mind, ranging from a slap if a second attempt was made to a returned kiss. With little means to assume one action over another, his only choice for finding out was to echo his own actions from moments ago. "Constant repetition carries conviction, Orah." I've always thought the opposite to that quote. Constant repetition causes outcomes to lose flavor, a kiss solicited a hundred times no headier than the first. I suppose it speaks of the intent behind such actions, but reason can be as simple as perceived necessity. I cannot applaud perceived necessity. I wonder what Quenton thinks of it...
No verbal confirmation came before he acquiesced to her request, hands braced on either side of her against the table as he leaned in once more. Soon his good hand sought purchase on her slender hip, thumb braced against the bone. How long had he spent devouring others this way? A surprisingly short amount of time, yet it felt so old and familiar... Again, his lips met hers in wordless syllables - a deliberate action, laced with intent to press further.
Looks like I got a little distracted, Quenton. But every misstep or choice I make that solicits deliberate emotion... It's good for your aims, isn't it? Helping you, hurting myself... I couldn't be happier.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
