like the burning end of a midnight cigarette - p - 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: like the burning end of a midnight cigarette - p (/showthread.php?tid=6660) |
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- Geneva Stockholm - 06-24-2009 Lubomir. The ocean was thrashing, teeming with sound and vigor and color. She found it a dizzying spectacle. The waves beat against the shore, as if to bruise all the pristine sand. That sand flew as though there had been an explosion as lightning arced through the air, with sound racing to catch up with the speed of light. The gray woman swallowed hard, finding her throat dry as rain pelted her head. She bowed her head, hunching her shoulders in, trying to keep water out of her eyes. She should have known better than to come here, but she found herself inexplicably drawn here. Ghosts of stolen moments whispered through her as she pushed open the heavy door of the lighthouse. The wood was rough beneath her fingers, and splintering in places. The last few months, nature had not been kind to this lighthouse. It was clearly wind-worn and sand-blasted. Geneva was just glad that the structure itself was made of stone, much sturdier than the heavy wooden door. The lighthouse would continue to stand, for a time. But it would always be a symbol to her, a reminder of something she had loved, cherished, stolen, and thrown away. It had been here that all this madness had started. She had crossed this threshold and tasted her own heartbeat heavy on her tongue here before. She had watched the ocean change color, painted by the rainbow of the sunset so many countless nights before. It could have been a night like this, for all she remembered. The only color she could recall vividly was a heart-lifting blue. It was an image she both cursed and adored, each with only half her heart. She was tired of fighting, tired of living with her choices, and tired of trying to make up her mind. Her actions had destroyed that path, forever. Anu meant the world to her, and she still possessed a part of her heart. She would always love Anu, always care about her. And now, her heart twisted at memories of the woman's pain and anger, and the fact that she could do nothing to fix it. There was still a distant fire, a small tongue of flame no amount of time or distant could quell, and it burned for Anu. For Anu, her friend, the only being in the world who might understood her innerworkings so completely and perfectly. Only the most frustrating creature in the world made sense to her. She sighed, disgruntled, as thoughts of Jefferson penetrated her stormy mind. She found she felt a bit of peace, even though he, too, sent her thoughts racing in a million different directions. The one man that didn't make one bit of sense was an anchor against her own confusion, guilt, and sorrow. That strange, bombastic, exasperating man. He changed like the face of water, calm one moment and rippling the next. And in that moment, she wanted nothing more than to run to him, to confront him, to bask in the peace that sometimes radiated off of him, to contemplate him in quiet moments. She didn't know what she wanted of him - she only knew that she wanted him, a revelation that startled her. She stumbled until she found her back against the wall, staggered by the sudden realization. Sliding down to the floor, she rested her hands on her knees and stared into the dust flying into the air. Fuck. Her heart leapt into her throat, and plummeted to the pit of her stomach. She blinked blankly, swallowing hard. I cannot - I absolutely can-fucking-not love Jefferson. - Lubomir Varg - 07-12-2009 [html]
- Geneva Stockholm - 07-15-2009 [html] Geneva turned her head a fraction when she heard the door open, although she was too lost in disbelief and turmoil to care much about the fact that someone had happened upon her. She would have rather been alone, but she could not deny another entrance to the lighthouse. This strange structure had drawn her, time and again, to ponder mysteries she felt she had no business thinking about. It was here that she had seen sides of herself she hadn't known had existed. And it was here that she came to grieve for those parts of herself, so at war with her mind. It was here she hoped that these parts of herself would drown and die. The gray man wore a face of dismay, lines in his expression weaving a tale of emotion gone wrong. Geneva rotated her shoulders, but stated seated on the floor. She did not have the energy nor the inclination to rise at this moment. For now, she was fighting to look past her whirling emotions, fighting the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach in order to assess this situation. He looked as miserable and mixed up as she felt. She rose with her back to the wall, feeling a little unsteady. "Nonsense. Misery loves company," the gray femme said with a dull smile. She jerked her head toward the winding staircase as her footsteps spread dust in the air. "If you want, I think there's something up there that will make this night bearable, or forgettable." IF anyone needed a drink right now, it was probably this man. "I'm Geneva," she offered. - Lubomir Varg - 07-28-2009 [html]
- Geneva Stockholm - 08-08-2009 [html] http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v463/ ... Tablep.png); background-position: bottom center; background-repeat: no-repeat; width:400px; border:1px #D8FF00 solid; font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px;"> Geneva smiled dimly at the man as he emerged from the stairs. She listened as he spoke his piece. Although his words were polite, thoughtful, and even light-hearted, there was something about the tone of his voice that seemed subdued. She could tell that her earlier assumption was true, and that there was something obviously troubling this man. It was strange how misery seemed magnetic, and that miserable creatures could find one another so easily. But Geneva was grateful that this night neither of them would be alone. She rose to help him with his burden, and selected a random bottle to cradle between her own two hands before she settled to the floor again. She leaned her back up against the wall and brought her elbows to rest on her bent knees, the bottle dangling from her hands into the gap between her legs. She watched as he bowed and downed his first draught, and wondered what could haunt this man so. Taking a firmer grasp on her own bottle, she raised it in salute. "To you," she said, before she brought it to her lips and swallowed the sweetly bitter draught. She did not know what it was, and she did not care. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand before she turned her lime green eyes to Lubomir. Setting the bottle down - although she had not set it aside, to be certain - she did not know whether it was time to give or take from this man. At the moment she felt horribly unbalanced, and she surmised that he must feel the same way. She stared at the bottle that rested between her feet before she finally asked, "What brought you here?" |