champagne supernova in the sky - Printable Version +- 'Souls IPB Archive (November 2007–October 2012) (https://soulsrpg.com/ipb) +-- Forum: Dead IC (https://soulsrpg.com/ipb/forumdisplay.php?fid=110) +--- Forum: Dead Topics (https://soulsrpg.com/ipb/forumdisplay.php?fid=21) +--- Thread: champagne supernova in the sky (/showthread.php?tid=5575) |
- Jefferson Soul - 04-05-2009 [html] http://i57.photobucket.com/albums/g210/ ... etable.png); background-position: top center; background-repeat: no-repeat;"> Blackmoor Castle. > Perhaps it had started out innocently.
- Aurèle Aston - 04-07-2009 [html] The gnawing at the back of her skull had begun again. Furious, unwavering, it had chattered and shrieked and made her all but mad. She was not, of course, and she knew this, but the sensation was the closest she could compare. It was worse then the nightmares and worse then the guilt. So what Aston woman had done was run—and she had run herself right into the castle. That was when she had begun to explore, intrigued such a place was here. Then, of course, she had found the wine cellar. She had wound up outside, with a bottle in one hand and her rear planted on a worn day-bed. The sun kept peeking in and out from behind the clouds, but it was warm enough with the alcohol in her belly she had nearly dozed off. Until a masculine voice caused her to stir, to lift her head and spot a peculiar looking man coming towards her. Aurèle blinked, convinced herself he was real, and called out: “Toé! Come here.” - Jefferson Soul - 04-07-2009 [html] http://i57.photobucket.com/albums/g210/ ... etable.png); background-position: top center; background-repeat: no-repeat;"> No worries. :B Thank you! Where the hell was he, anyway? Vague, unclear impressions implied that he was within a castle, but with the room spinning and that blissful feeling of numbness in his head, he could have been in a collapsing building and not known a thing. The walls were intriguing, somehow, and he found himself stopping off and on to run his hand along the roughness of the surface, grinning stupidly and hiccuping as he went. Damn, that song in his head was great. Why couldn't he remember where he'd heard it?
- Aurèle Aston - 04-07-2009 [html] The most peculiar sensation came with the inebriation. Aurèle was no stranger here, but the feeling never changed. It was as if walking through water. Despite all of her experience, she could not fathom when she was in too deep. Both eyes shut, and one opened as if to mirror the cyclops that staggered into the door. A stupid and toothy grin broke her mouth open and she was chuckling, finding the monster under the keystone all too perfect. “I’m a ghost,” she offered, then broke into a fit of laughter. “Paqueté,” Aurèle added, and lifted the bottle in a salute to the scarred man. Curling her toes and leaning back, she swallowed a mouthful of the red-purple liquid heartily and blinked, shaking her head. “Come, sit.” The left hand patted the day bed, sending dust flying into the air. - Jefferson Soul - 04-08-2009 [html] http://i57.photobucket.com/albums/g210/ ... etable.png); background-position: top center; background-repeat: no-repeat;"> His perplexed gaze was cocked to the side when she imitated his eyesight, clasping half her vision shut and grinning the most disastrous of smiles in his direction. Strangely, he was amused, and a stupidly toothy grin stretched across his face unrelented. If only she could have mauled her arm and felt the shame of a thousand scars, they would have been a match made in heaven, or so said his misguiding drunken stupor.
- Aurèle Aston - 04-09-2009 [html] She broke into a fit of giggles as he slaughtered her native tongue, and was so smitten by this idea she did not even wish to correct him. Had she not been so inebriated then without a doubt she would do so, and then proceed to give him a verbal tongue lashing in regards to his terrible mispronunciation and then mock his efforts. If there was one thing Aurèle Aston was talented at, it was bringing down everyone around her. At least then she could explain why her companion was so ignorant. At his next statement her ears twitched, swiveled, and she laughed through her nose, finding the concept ridiculous. “You,” she began, then had to pause to sort out her thoughts. She found it remarkably hard to decide which language was appropriate. “, are drunk.” - Jefferson Soul - 04-09-2009 [html] http://i57.photobucket.com/albums/g210/ ... etable.png); background-position: top center; background-repeat: no-repeat;">
She accused him of something that hardly reached his ears at first. After a great, wobbly glug of the tart poison in his grasp, he swallowed gratefully, wiped at the dribble at his chin with the wrist still grasping the bottle, and looked at her stupidly. She didn't introduce herself; how strange. Instead, she pointed fingers and accusations. In his normal, level-headed existence, he might have brushed it off as a stranger's ignorance, or he might have defended his honor with a snarl and a snap. Instead, he smirked and pointed a finger at her.
- Aurèle Aston - 04-13-2009 [html] The smell of poison was in the air. It was sickly-sweet and sour, and reminded her of the thousand times before. She felt sick, but not because of the wine in her belly. Vaguely, she recalled the other men, but their faces swam in the bottle and she swallowed them down, emptying the green-glass as she opened her throat and shut her mind. As long as there was safety in the bottle, and as long as she remembered how to get out again, none of this mattered. Everything was meaningless; a nihilist had told her that once, right before he walked off into the tundra. Aurèle turned her head towards the man, and though she knew he was scarred, and ruined, his face was still well defined and his claim of power was intriguing. The pale woman dropped the bottle beside her and positioned her torso over his. All of her hair, loose and thick, fell around her frame like a gold-flecked drapery. She smiled, and was unable to keep her body still; it rocked slightly, as if unable to find her center of gravity. “IIIIIIII,” she began, drawing out the letter. “, aaaam going to—“ Here she intended perhaps to say something witty, to offer to find him something to hide his ruined eye or cover the horrid scars. Instead; “—make you fly,” she giggled like a girl, and dropped her face to his, looking for his mouth. - Jefferson Soul - 04-18-2009 [html] http://i57.photobucket.com/albums/g210/ ... etable.png); background-position: top center; background-repeat: no-repeat;">
She hung down over him suddenly; when had she gotten there? His memory was beginning to lapse, as if his consciousness itself was flickering, but it was nothing of the sort. What the hell was her name? Had she even introduced herself? Damn, he couldn't even remember. Somewhere lurking within that blissful numbness the alcohol gifted him was a feeling of dread and doubt, uneasiness and discomfort as if the stress and burdens of his everyday life were still trying to reach through to him with all their might. The flood and plague of numbness muted their nagging calls, and all he could focus on was the here and now. She was on top of him, though, and that was still completely foreign to him, drunk or not.
- Aurèle Aston - 04-19-2009 [html] Regret belonged to the weak. Admitting to have done anything wrong was a folly, and she believed this as a truth. If there were to be an excuse for anything it would not have been necessary Why had she done what she did? Because she could. This was Aurèle’s truth, though she was unable to apply this logic to the fire that had destroyed her home. She knew that the girl had done it. She knew that and she knew four years was not long enough to take away the pain she felt from realizing she could have stopped it. But there was no regret. Not for her, and not for this. The pale woman focused her eyes on his face, realized their shades were remarkably similar, and smiled stupidly. “No, no that’s not weird,” she was speaking, but she was moving. Her hands began to trace patterns over his body, all the while moving further down his torso. “I told you,” she grinned. “I’m gonna make you fly.” Her voice fell silent as her tongue traced the soft fur along his belly, and soon thereafter followed her hands. - Jefferson Soul - 04-19-2009 [html] http://i57.photobucket.com/albums/g210/ ... etable.png); background-position: top center; background-repeat: no-repeat;">
Somehow, her words assured him one way or another; he wasn't weird for feeling emotions, he wasn't weird for his adulation or adoration for that gray girl's eyes, even if words had never surfaced to express to her face. He wasn't like that, that Jefferson, he wasn't one to fall in love. The cyclops wasn't capable of kissing someone, let alone trusting them to get near enough to him. He'd made mistakes around that girl, letting her remain in his presence time and time again and looking forward to seeing her on sparse occasions. Why had that never occurred to him before? He was so swept with emotions all of a sudden, swept by the fact that he could have swept up that green-eyed goddess and run off with her if only she'd been near enough.
- Aurèle Aston - 04-22-2009 [html] Aaand feel free to metaphor the crap out of their intimacy. I figure after your post I'll reply and have Aurèle leave him.
Four years ago, she believed she could fly. That she was invincible, and that her world was restricted to the forest and family around her. All of that had changed in a flash of jealousy and flame. Then there had been nothing but the hollow reasoning and the guilt. She could have stopped it. She could have changed everything. Instead she had been so caught up in her own world that she had not realized she was stepping into hell. Aurèle felt his hands on her face and she hated the touch. She moved, her lips pulled back, but she did not leave him. Not with that fire in her belly, in her head, in her loins. Both hands left his waist and found his chest, where they were planted heavily. Vaguely, Aurèle wondered if she might break him, found the idea amusing, and began to giggle again. Her legs twisted and her hips moved, and she sought the warmest part of his body for her own. “Not like this,” she promised, voice husky with the wine and the staggering need. - Jefferson Soul - 04-24-2009 [html] http://i57.photobucket.com/albums/g210/ ... etable.png); background-position: top center; background-repeat: no-repeat;">
Something happened then, something he could not protest to in his drunkenness; sobriety and a clear mind were his closest friends, and the situation he ended up in somehow explained why. The process of sobering up was long from beginning, but as the two suddenly intertwined bodies and fluids, it was as if the one-eyed idiot hadn't the slightest idea where or who he was, what he was doing, or... what he would feel about later. Alcohol demanded no immediate regrets: but when the time passed, surely they would surface.
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