11-12-2010, 02:52 AM
[html]what i wanna know is why you keep me hanging [/html]
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He was not so eloquent, so educated, in worldly practices as he’d have desired to be. He was well enough read, but his interactions were sometimes awkward and forced, even if he held an air of nonchalant ease about him outwardly. He felt judgment and he felt revulsion even if no external signs were given. She took the flute, raising it to her own lips and blowing gently on the little thing, creating notes unpracticed and unmelodic. But he smiled regardless, for he cherished any contact far removed from what he was accustomed to. “Neither did I when I began,” he said, smile easy.
He could not judge, for he was the lowest of the low—the last able to cast a stone. He could breeze along, only bringing critique to himself and his own existence. He took it when she offered it back, scrapping a nail along one rough edge, focusing eyes momentarily on the crude corner and desiring his tools to immediately fix the flaw, though he refrained, tearing his eyes reluctantly away.
Later; he’d have to remember to adjust it later. “Yes,” he returned, meeting crimson eyes once again. “I’m Valentine,” he offered.
He was not so eloquent, so educated, in worldly practices as he’d have desired to be. He was well enough read, but his interactions were sometimes awkward and forced, even if he held an air of nonchalant ease about him outwardly. He felt judgment and he felt revulsion even if no external signs were given. She took the flute, raising it to her own lips and blowing gently on the little thing, creating notes unpracticed and unmelodic. But he smiled regardless, for he cherished any contact far removed from what he was accustomed to. “Neither did I when I began,” he said, smile easy.
He could not judge, for he was the lowest of the low—the last able to cast a stone. He could breeze along, only bringing critique to himself and his own existence. He took it when she offered it back, scrapping a nail along one rough edge, focusing eyes momentarily on the crude corner and desiring his tools to immediately fix the flaw, though he refrained, tearing his eyes reluctantly away.
Later; he’d have to remember to adjust it later. “Yes,” he returned, meeting crimson eyes once again. “I’m Valentine,” he offered.