[html] This is gonna be weird, but.. I want Anselm to have something of a one night stand. XD. One night stands are supposed to be impulsive, so I figured "hey, why bother formulating a plot about it??"  For realisms sake, though, I must request a female at least approximately in his age range, nobody he already knows, and nobody from Inferni because that'd be too awkward for him later. XD Also, chemistry on at least some level has to work out IC, or else.. it doesn't make sense (although I've already got him loaded, so that should help). Future plots available! even if it's just something little like bumping into one another again or something and having it be weird. Hah. Who knows, I'm hoping it'll figure itself out. We can fade to black if you want to. First post got long, it won't be that bad in the future.
!@#$%Months before Gabriel set fire to the lands of Bleeding Souls--quite some time before the historic Storm, Jaded Shadows, Clouded Tears, and Inferni were done and buried under dust--Anselm had walked these streets regularly. In some ways, the entire region had been his before they all got here. Other than the scant number of loners who posed no threat and failed to stick around for very long, there was very little company. For Anselm, that meant very little disturbance--and with that, some truthful relaxation. He always found himself tense in the presence of others, questioning their motives and forever watching his back. He had been betrayed often before.
!@#$%Then, he had found himself. In no ways could his trek be considered a spiritual awakening, but it was not a great stretch to call it an "existentialist journey." In solitude, he was free--liberated, even. He did not worry about his kills being stolen while he slept, and he did not worry about defending those kills while he ate. Without the harassment of others, he had all the time in the world to do exactly as he wanted. Now, under Inferni's banner he exercised vigorously and regularly. Once upon a time, he would take enthralling hikes, climb rocks, and swim just for the fun of it. He would also come here, to the city... this spot in particular.
!@#$%The place was complicated to get to. Somewhere in the residential area, two apartment buildings sat side by side. Their juxtaposition accentuated their differences--the one on the right had some chipped paint, while the one on the left had part of its roof and top floors taken out by a massive tree that now blocked the main entryway. Rubble blocked the back, and most of the stairs had been taken out as well. The only way to get anywhere in this second building was by accessing the roof of the first, jumping the meter or so across to the other building, and climbing down a loosely secured metal ladder that was now overgrown with vines. Indeed, most of the top floor had accumulated dust and dirt, and by now, seedlings had taken root in the cracks of the old wooden floor. Some wild flowers bloomed and squirrels and mice built nests.
!@#$%An old couch was back against one of the walls. He pulled it forward into the light that filtered down from above. Funny, how a roof was once there to block it. A few meters away, the top floor ended and he peered over the edge, where saplings had taken root years ago and had progressed into small sized trees. In the back of his mind, he found himself wondering just what this place would be like once they got even bigger. For now, he made his way back to the couch, rearranged the pillows, and slouched into a sit. He could make do with the partially wooded park across the road on the other side. He rested his hand on his chin for a moment, then dug around into his bag he had carried with him. He pulled out several customised treats, made just for him--a cocktail of drugs he had found (all in this city), wrapped in cooked venison.
!@#$%He hadn't come here often. He'd been too afraid to leave Inferni for very long. So what had happened, he wondered, as his eyes rolled back and he gazed up into the blue sky above. He had been "good"--he'd been loyal enough, he'd sure worked his ass off, and he had been vigilant. In many ways, the lifestyle suited him well. In another, he just needed to get away. All of his alone time had vanished. Gabriel could handle it, and he wouldn't be gone for long, anyway. Now, here, he felt serene and undisturbed. Blinking as if he remembered something, he turned to rummage through his bag once again. This time he produced a glass bottle, the contents of which he sipped thoughtfully, all while thoroughly engrossed in this vacation of the mind.
 |
[/html]
[html]  http://i25.tinypic.com/jizx5d.png); background-position:top; background-repeat: repeat-y; width: 500px;">
Very interesting way of going about these things. ;D It definitely got my attention. Let me know if I got some of the layout wrong/Poe isn't actually so suitable. x]
In a tower of steel Nature forges a deal To raise wonderful hell
She could say that chasing ghosts was just in her blood, but that would suggest that it this wasn't just the nature of any sentient being. Reaching for the faces, spaces and egos that had risen and fallen over the course of a lifetime, and had no intention, no way of coming back. Because you could always have a purpose if your goal is impossible, and no one truly wants to have a free spirit when that means there is no hope of return.
It was a black hole that she believed herself to have kept out of in her adult life, and perhaps she had come close to holding that truth before the man made of nightmares crawled into her dreams and showed her his heart. She could see her mother's face behind her own when she woke up from an overextended, underwhelming slumber, and there was more horror there than in her own calm reactions to the nights that spun out tales of blood, incest and tears. So she had spent the night on the rocky coast with a bottle of wine and some poorly rolled cigarettes, watching the storms stir up the ocean and tasting the salty spray of the broken waves it cast in her direction. It was the softened weather and empty bottle that had taken her back to the city that she knew as home now, and her avoidance that guided her into the old apartment building and down the path of disturbed dust and a live scent. She had only been half aware of the track that she was purposefully following, her mind hazed over by too much drink, too little sleep, and an unarguable core urge to find a beating heart in this abandoned city. Until she came to the edge of the first apartment building's rooftop of course, when whimfull steps could only take her down several stories to the narrow strip of pavement below.
Her gaze lifted to the landscape that she had inadvertently taken. The clear sky cast a warm, easy light over the rotten and re-grown rooftops that swelled green from the recent rains. It shook some life back into her limbs, and with a reawakening mind, she made the leap from one building to the next, and continued with soft, solid steps across the second roof to its abrupt end, casting her shadow alongside the sought-after stranger's figure. All heavy hanging bangs and salt stained dressed, the small, dark girl looked down at him from the edge.
[/html]
[html] Can't think of any reason why she wouldn't! :] I'm glad someone else found this idea interesting, too.. I can't recall it ever being done this way before? :o
!@#$%His head was spinning and he marvelled as all of the typically inanimate things around him began to swim and sway around, all while never really getting anywhere. It was a strange feeling, albeit not a totally unfamiliar one. Even in this state, he knew he could get home without getting lost (and with that, walk and run), shift should the need arise, and act semi-normally. Still, it was unusual that he chose to render himself so relatively vulnerable--hazy and uncoordinated. He could not focus on anything for very long, so hunting was out of the question. Fighting? He could only imagine it would end badly. Fortunately, he had never had to test this theory, for never before had he encountered another wolf in this state. That was about to change.
!@#$%It was important to note that Anselm had never truthfully hallucinated before. The images his brain took in may have become choppy and he may have gotten dizzy and maybe he'd even developed a heightened awareness of the form constants all of their brains had been preprogrammed to ignore, but never before had he witnessed something that was not truly there. The sky never fell apart around him--he was never tormented by countless snakes or imaginary demons. This made it all the more intriguing when Poe D'Angelo appeared above him.
!@#$%The dull thump of her footsteps across the roof were muffled and surreal, almost as though he was experiencing them with his head held underwater. They were distant, somehow, and seemed to blend in all too well with the birds chirping in the woods across the way and the sound of his own heartbeat. His head was still resting upon the back of the couch. At first, he nearly missed that something had changed--he'd been trying to focus on a peculiarly shaped cloud up in the deep blue sky. A smudge of black in the corner of his field of vision blurred into the rest of the background, but an instant later he realised something wasn't quite right. His eyes adjusted, and he simply stared at her for some time as she looked down at him. He had never seen her before--she was petite with feminine features, but even more strangely, she was wearing a human dress. He squinted as he tried to discern the details of her face, but her eyes were cloaked by long strands of dark hair.
!@#$%He frowned thoughtfully as he craned his neck towards her and reached one hand up inquisitively, as if he was trying to see if she would disappear if he touched her. Of course, she was much higher above him than an arm's reach, and so he allowed his hand to drop back down to the couch and he offered a hushed "hummm" as he wondered, with surprising calmness and clarity, whether or not he was losing his mind.
|
[/html]
[html] http://i25.tinypic.com/jizx5d.png); background-position:top; background-repeat: repeat-y; width: 500px;">
Not that I know of!  -groundbreakers!?-
In a tower of steel Nature forges a deal To raise wonderful hell
His gaze shifted and turned to find her, and the upside-down profile of his face came into view between heavy, warrior shoulders. His eyes were the same bloody hue as Ahren's, and her heart snagged and lingered there momentarily. She had entangled herself with Ahren once on a night not unlike the last, and he had pulled her from another sorrow that she had denied (such a child, playing make-believe again and again!). But this copper and golden luperci was not her blonde anti-hero, and with this in mind, she pushed away from such considerations that may had led her to sketch out a genetic line between the two rugged-handsome men.
It was a task that this wolf inadvertently aided her in as he squinted and frowned, trying to smear her image like wet paint on an invisible canvas. So, his hazy gaze hadn't merely been a product of his own sleepless night--he was right out of his mind (or on a load of drugs, of course). An amused grin pulled the corners of her lips despite her tight-lipped attempt to refrain. But it was no use, and by the time that he was mumbling a calmly considering noise, a throaty giggle had bubbled up to the audible surface, and her pearly whites bared a wide smile, tilted a little with the turn of her head--a prime picture of the Cheshire Cat.
She backed away from the broken floor's edge then, and with softer, cared-for steps, she found the ladder to the inhabited level. There, the couch and its passenger appeared illuminated in the sunlight that divided the dust-dimmed, shadowy half-room from the outdoors. Moth-like in her simplisticity, the dark girl walked pointedly for this beacon of light and company. Poe had never been one to pay any mind to reservations, or even common courtosies in the animal kingdom that they still, supposedly, belonged to. Her argument could have been easily presented here and now, between the sky-high male lounging on an old couch, and her own half-drunk swagger outlined by what was likely some girl's prom dress once upon a time. Tight and shaped from chest to hip, then billowing out in a great, pink crinoline glory that ended abruptly at the knees, it way anything but suitable for the world that they had not so long ago evolved beyond.
With the casual gait and easy slump of shoulders that might be expected from an old friend, the small lady sat on a couch arm and smiled at Anslem. He was larger in build than she had gauged from above, and despite his inebriated state, he seemed to have that inborn understanding of his own body and its movements that came from any kind of physical training. He also carried a pack scent, a steady home that clung to his fur the way that the sea salt currently stuck to her own, but true to her lone wolf ways, she was unfamiliar and disregarding of the details the smells could have told her. So he remained a pleasant mystery to her even from face to face. "Hola," she broke the silence, the first barrier, and nudged her head to the right to push the heavy side of her bangs out of the way. They steadily slid back to their original place, and half hid the casually direct gaze that searched his face and settled back onto his eyes.
[/html]
[html]
!@#$%Some tread lightly throughout life, opting to stick to the shadows and mind their own business. Their footprints were often washed away quickly from the sands of time, but the legacy that Damian (and Nosferatu before him) left behind was a great one. Ahren was beyond a doubt the rightful prince of Chimera and this legacy, but Chimera was long gone now, and the affairs of wolves concerned him little anyway. Indeed, it was Kaena and her son whose reputations seeped like venom throughout a great majority of the immediately surrounding areas. Ahren's marks were too vague and subtle for most to consider them much--they didn't particularly involve full out genocide against the dominant population of wolves. Regardless, Anselm had never met Ahren, but odds were he would know who he was immediately upon their initial encounter. The two males looked remarkably similar for how distant of relatives they truly were. Frankly, this was the last thing on his mind.
!@#$%She smiled at him and giggled--normally he would be offended or upset with somebody for not taking him seriously. It was strange how his mind could twist a light, soothing sound into something cacophonous and grating. The drugs pumping through his veins made him toss this notion out the window, though, and a dumb smile found its way to his face as he stared up at her--she, the mysterious dark lady clothed in ancient garments who still may not "officially" exist. Rather than float down to him on a lofty breeze, she found her way over to the ladder and made her way down. Only now did he tip his head forward, and for an instant he was annoyed at how heavy his face felt. He leaned forward a bit more to compensate, then swallowed as he remembered that the hollow, soft sound of footfalls meant he had company.
!@#$%She took a seat nearby him on the arm rest, and he peered up at her curiously, as if seeking permission for something. One hand lifted hesitantly, and he touched the frill of the dress and pressed it between his fingers. It was soft, yet somewhat stiff from the salt water--and it sure felt strange. Perhaps it was because it was synthetic? The bright pink colour was so unnatural to him. Most clothing he'd seen in the past was faded and blackened with dirt. He'd also paid very little attention to it, so perhaps this was just what a closer examination ought to reveal. But was it? Before he grew too confused in his hazy thinking, she broke the silence with a simple Spanish greeting. Right now, everything was literal. Obviously, this meant she only spoke Spanish. Shit. His brow furrowed as he struggled to recall the choppy bits of the language that he knew.
!@#$%"Buenas.. dias. ... ¿Qué es?" he inquired lightly, referencing the dress. Not that he would understand the Spanish word for it, anyway.
|
[/html]
[html] http://i25.tinypic.com/jizx5d.png); background-position:top; background-repeat: repeat-y; width: 500px;">
Pardon the delay. My laptop hasn't been working at my cottage, so I've had to borrow someone else's now. I'll be back to regular posting soon, though. :]
In a tower of steel Nature forges a deal To raise wonderful hell
It was all about angles, levels and tints, these egos that shaped the lands and the bodies that tred it. While Anslem lived so close to the conflict between wolf and coyote that he could smell the bad blood as it boiled and steamed, Poe’s worldly idealism and unconventional life between concrete and ocean distracted her senses with anything but. Seemingly impossibly, she had caught only the softest breeze of the discrimination that painted lines across this (and the last) landscape, despite the violent having torn her own flesh once. The fundamental concepts were so foreign to her eclectic experiences that it would sound laughable to have it presented to her at this point in her life. But then again, Poe D’Angelo laughed for many reasons, so perhaps it would be less telling that it might seem/
The stoned tough-guy was seemingly fascinated by her dress, and Poe replied with an equally blatant interest in his physical features; the details of his marking, the curve of his lower eyelid, cradling gasping pupils as he looked closer at the pink fabric, and the way the muscles in his face pinched and pulled when she spoke. His hesitancy was explained as he pushed out a few basic words in Spanish off of his tongue, landing in the lap of her dress. She grinned with open amusement, mellowed by a wedge of nostalgia and simple appreciation for even the small, broken piece of one of those romance languages that she had strolled amongst too briefly, but so vividly. ”Ah, señor, this old thing? Just a party dress I found in a pile of memories and high heeled shoes,” she chimed back in a warm, rolling tone that came from too little sleep, a little alcohol and a great, subdued interest in dancing with this quirky, serendipitous moment of time in a secret city nook.
[/html]
[html] No sweating it, life happens. =P
!@#$%Why was everything happening so slowly? It was almost as if time itself had ground to a halt around them, and he felt as though he were wading through space-time as he might a shallow pond. Things weren't flowing naturally--they were coming through in waves and ripples, and occasionally some of the older ones would bounce back entirely and strike him again. Just as his brain was settling into the idea of a foreign language he'd had limited exposure to before (which, of course, roused up not so great memories of his birth pack and the malicious freaks that had inhabited it), the lady's words switched back over to English. He squirmed a bit in his seat, feeling almost physical discomfort for the sudden shift. Quickly he eased back into a state of relaxation--at the very least, conversations would become much easier. Also, even if the words were confusing, her tone was not. It was soothing and it seemed to sedate him, even when the drugs may have made him paranoid or anxious.
!@#$%"Party dress? High heeled shoes? What purpose do these things serve?" he muttered hazily, fascinated. The concept of a shoe was totally lost on him, and by the looks of it a dress would only get caught on briers or make camouflage impossible. Why did she choose to wear such a thing? In his state of mind, Poe was morphing into some mystical being--perhaps not unlike a fairy. She could survive with such a hindrance and she had come out of nowhere, which was surreal enough. Everything appearing as it might through a kaleidoscope wasn't helping, either. His head tilted upward and he peered at her curiously coloured green eyes, now--there was definitely something in there, and there was no way that he was making all of this up. Shaking his head a bit, he decided his earlier questions didn't matter. "Nevermind. The colour is interesting, and it feels very soft." That was enough of a purpose for now.
|
[/html]
[html] http://i25.tinypic.com/jizx5d.png); background-position:top; background-repeat: repeat-y; width: 500px;">
In a tower of steel Nature forges a deal To raise wonderful hell
She watched his body move between the fingers of an assortment of drugs that she couldn't name if she tried, but understood from arm's length. Intoxicants of every and any sort had drawn thick, colourful lines and designs down the timeline of her life, from a pothead mother and her rock star lover, to a band of hippiesque werewolves that partnered with several substances amongst their dances across history, music and the stars that they followed. They had taken her halfway from hell to home, teaching and showing her the surrealist, river-flow lifestyle that remained a strong influence on her life today. But it had been the music, the blue fiddle and the man with nimble fingers that had lifted her feet off the ground, not the drugs.
Still, they held a kind of magic that she felt a complexity-distanced fondness for, if only because she had not spent the time later in her life understanding it, the way she had many other natural magics. When she took her fill of the stranger-man's face and shoulders, chest and hands, she turned her attention to his bottle and bag, and with it, this incomplete understanding of the substance he was riding high on. He too changed his focus of attention on the same beat, and after one of silence, she asked outright, "What fairy dust are you flying by on today?" Her gold dusted eyes flicked up to meet his again, always outstretching a line of easy, precise eye contact when she spoke to him. Building bridges, reaching for a connection.
[/html]
[html]
!@#$%Maybe if he had a better imagination he wouldn't need the drugs to feel good--maybe if he could just convince himself to try, to move somewhere more peaceful, maybe then he wouldn't feel the need to escape from reality. It was one of his guilty pleasures, but they all had a handful of those. This took less work then finding legitimate happiness, and so long as he kept up his guard around strangers, he knew he'd probably be fine. The chemicals themselves he'd found in a laboratory once, in mass quantity, along with the data sheets and necessary information. Nothing he took was too toxic.
!@#$%One hand dropped down, as though it were under the influence of gravity alone and not his own free will. It landed (ever so conveniently) in his bag, and he produced two separate kinds of meat--cooked venison, and raw rabbit. "This cooked deer has marijuana in it." He'd read somewhere that you needed heat to release the chemical that caused the high, which was why smoking was a popular form of ingestion. For him, though, he was too paranoid about the quality of his lungs to ever smoke it--he wanted them operating at 100%. "You can have some if you'd like."
!@#$%He now turned to the other roll of meat, which was sprinkled with a powder of some sort and secretly contained several drops of liquid. "This... use at your own risk, though. The chemicals are named with letters. They're hallucinogens.." Specifically, he was referring to MDMA and LSD. He doubted she'd recognise the names, anyway (seeing as he barely did), so it seemed useless to state them out loud. He smiled a bit as he caught her eyes, and then he held up the bottle. "And you can have some of this, too, if you want..." he said. That it was alcohol should be apparent enough--most of them here had tasted that devil water at one point, it seemed.
|
[/html]
[html] http://i25.tinypic.com/jizx5d.png); background-position:top; background-repeat: repeat-y; width: 500px;"> -ramble bramble-
In a tower of steel Nature forges a deal To raise wonderful hell
Nature didn't like to make things easy. Quick fixes always came with catches, and there was never a win-win, let alone a black and a white. To feed an addiction, to get instant pleasure, meant notching a day off of the long-term story. Health, mental, physical, emotional, one or more would pay for all of their fixes, but oh-so often, those bandaids were what got someone by and gave any hope of seeing that bigger picture, even if it was being shaved down by the day. Everyone had something worthless that they clung to for that reason, when it came down to it. Drugs were just the tip of the iceberg--power, love, wealth, sex--there was something for everyone out there. There was a nature, and instinct to it. And those were just the kinds of instincts that Poe trusted in the most, these days. The ones that kept your heart alight, sometimes in in exchange for basic survival. More than sometimes.
The wine still stained and flavoured her tongue, trickled in her veins and softened her muscles, but the coyote's broad collection of intoxicants piqued her interest, and she listened to their explanations one by one with patient interest. Marijuana very distinctly reminded her of her mother, and in one way or another, had never really agreed with her all that well. It slowed her down, fogged her brain, muffling her innate need for movement, beats, and attention to the senses. The hallucinogens were the choice from that summer long-passed now, eye-openers that made her see the music beating in the pulse of her companions and let her draw the constellations they showed her on the flesh of a lover. But she had been led through them by knowledgeable guides that steered her away from the pits that she saw a few fall into, and the warning that came with this dusted meat caused her to waver and thoroughly consider his final offer. Good old booze, a staple addiction in her life that, given more time than she was likely to offer, would likely be the end of her. Certainly the easiest one to reach for, but easy had not been the focus of her last handful of hours. She craved something that would jog her brain, shake her up, launch her away from the patterns she had worn so deep and recent events suggested that maybe, she couldn't get out of with the edge just out of reach.
"Well, if you insist," she purred, just as her overgrown bangs swung out to cover the right side of her face. She pushed her rear off of the couch's arm and into the lap of the cushion next to Anslem, facing him and the backrest with crossed legs that pushed her fanciful skirt out in every direction, just like the spinning fairytale urban princess that she made a mockery of. From there, she reached over and took the second piece of meat that he had explained, and brought it near to examine it, aware of how vague her understanding of a proper dose really was. She was a disturbingly small luperci, and if it were designed for the likes of this bulked-up boy, a small portion seemed reasonable, and that was what she took. The rabbit flesh overruled the taste of the drugs, and the lot of it dropped down her throat with a pleasant weight and texture that she had grown less familiar with in her heavily seafood dietary lifestyle. She returned the rest of the meat to him with a double lip of her lips, a quick suck of her thumb and a cheeky little smile, "The kindness of drug-bearing strangers," she said with a pleased note of humour, refocusing on his face with a distant anticipation of the oncoming effects. "So what are you doing out here?" she asked, leaning her weight into one locked arm connecting to the boney edge of the couch. "Hanging out in beautiful and remote piles of rubble, coming at oblivion from a few angles at once--it's not something I find here everyday. And trust me, I do look every day." It was definitely an unusual state and place to find someone so comfortable, and her never-ceasing curiosity with others' whys gravitated onto people like this.
[/html]
[html]
--
 Anselm must have been designed by the devil for his own entertainment. His self image was unique--it was the kind of thing you got when you crossed teenage pseudo-invincibility with outright skill and wit. Maybe it would be better for him if he could learn to live--less risky misadventures, more appreciation for life in general and so on could do him some good. But because of psychological conditioning (or generally being fucked up, that's for the reader to decide), he'd been trained to believe he couldn't feel alive unless he thought he might die. The rush of adrenaline was what got him going; all of the brushes with danger were a collective "fuck you" to anybody (mortal or fictitious) who ever dared him to exist. Essentially, he knew that taking these drugs was like playing with fire--but without anticipating the burn, there was no point in anything. Bring it on.
It was also worth mentioning that he didn't consider the chemicals themselves dangerous--it was concerning other sentient beings finding him in a vulnerable state. In this way, he was also testing himself... pushing the limits to see exactly what he could get away with. What could he get away with now? A dopey smile crossed his face as the petite woman drew herself in closer--it delighted him how easily body language could attract or repel. He seemed to do a lot of the latter, so much so that it surprised him when he could still muster up the "ability" to do the former. He made space for her, and she accepted. In his drugged out mind, it amused him endlessly that he could perform this subtle "mind control," even if it wasn't really.
She got him back for it, though. He honestly had not expected her to take the most potent of poisons, especially with such confidence. Had she done this before? Puzzled, he only became more so when she asked him specifically why he was here. Even more perplexing was how she'd managed to hit the nail on the head: this place was unique, because turning your head one way or the other gave you a completely different perspective. The sky seemed normal, except for too far back--then you got the damaged roof. The park seemed normal, until you glanced a little further across the street and noticed the other houses in various stages of decay. Directly behind them, the building almost seemed intact.. but obviously in front of them, there was a gaping hole in the floor. "I used to come here a lot before the fire when everyone started showing up," he finally managed. "I guess it felt isolated here and secret, but I guess you proved me wrong. I thought nobody else came here, but here we are..."
So what? His tone suggested that he certainly wasn't complaining. Maybe it was still a safe spot for him--he felt strangely comfortable with her here anyway, and this was evinced by his slouching posture. Ever so subtly, every time he moved or fidgeted, he drew himself closer to her, even if just an inch. She was an enigma, and that was what she stood for. She was safe, but nothing that unknown could fail to be exciting. He didn't even realise he was doing it. |
[/html]
[html] http://i25.tinypic.com/jizx5d.png); background-position:top; background-repeat: repeat-y; width: 500px;"> Mlld power-play? Let me know if it needs adjusting.
In a tower of steel Nature forges a deal To raise wonderful hell
Movement and body came as a first language to the danciing city urchin, far broader and more practical than any language that came from the lips and only really rivaled by the language of music by her standards. Body language, gestures, glances, twitches and touches told of much more than the words Poe chose, and she believed herself to understand (although not always consciously) those of others' with more clarity than any conversation might offer her. Perhaps it was the animal that still lived somewhere behind the crinoline and ribbons, prowling around in an everyday that tried so defiantly to deny such a nature. Because it certainly did take charge of these times that she crossed paths with another, and spoke with a louder voice and listened with larger eyes the deeper things progressed.
Like polar magnets when they were brought within range, it seemed that the instant Poe sat herself to the hybrid's side, there was a distinct pull that neither of them were fighting against. He fidgeted his way closer, and she leaned onto an arm, propped next to his knee and slinging her torso, shoulder to hip, towards his side of the couch. And behind lazy eyelids and heavy eyelashes, she followed the story that his body offered to tell her as he thought and spoke, and slowly, slowly came closer. The back of her mind noted his scent and the warmth that radiated from his large body, creeping up by fractions of degrees as they neared. He moved comfortably in his own skin, comfortable in this secret edge between many worlds that she had sleepwalked to. The place, the sights, the company and conversation had a distinctly dream-like quality to it, and in a briefly touched moment of humour, Poe noted that it was more dream-like than the real dreams that she had recently been chasing after. Except for the simple fact that nothing would crumble away with a wrong move, with a single touch.
To prove this to herself, she brought her free hand to the hybrid's knee, pushing dark, fine fingers in trails through the mottled-golden fur halfway up his thigh and then smoothing it back down while considering his words. Her gaze fell to scan the slightly ruffled tracks that remained, and she used her thumb to smooth only one of them down entirely. "Secret gardens always call in fairies, though," she said, flicking her gaze back up to him with the impish smile she often wore. "It doesn't mean that it's any less of a secret, though," she said in a low, mischievously assuring tone of voice. Truthfully though, she then marked this as a place she would not take someone else, or very likely even speak of. Places of precipice were delicate and precious, and she thought that her companion just might need something beautiful all for himself.
[/html]
[html]
--
Comfort was easy to come by. A full belly, plenty of hydration, a comfy seat or den, good health... all of these things made it easy to be comfortable. Acceptance, however, could be a hard thing to find. Inferni accepted him, and yet that automatically mandated that the rest of the world did not. Yet strangely, he felt alright here. This place had never done him any harm, and neither had the mysterious woman whose name he did not know. He'd never felt so embraced by the environment or the moment before--it was like the couch was swallowing him whole. So were her eyes.
His own drifted down to her hand as she touched him. The sensation was strange to him--it was delicate and light. Lately, none of the touches he had received possessed any amount of warmth at all, for typically they were outright vicious. Furthermore, it called his attention to his own fur. The lines she drew over his skin spiralled outward and melted together with the natural streaks of colour in his fur, breathing, and seeming to take on a life all their own. He closed his eyes and the swirls remained, vibrant in colour and ever evolving. They swelled in size, spiralled into one another, then cascaded into a sea of checker boards and a whirlpool of pulsating triangles. It became dizzying, so he opened his eyes again.
The triangles subsided somewhat, but he was struck at once by how queer everything looked--the drugs must have really been kicking in now. Colours and textures that didn't exist eddied about and melded together, giving him the distinct impression that he was in a painting. Pulsing, throbbing... why was everything pulsing? Looking down again, he was met with a rather horrific sight: his little (or not so little) soldier stood at full attention. Beneath his fur, his skin turned a shade of red that could have rivalled the hue of his eyes. He jerked his gaze up to Poe suddenly, and his ears went back sheepishly. His mind screamed at him to do something--to utter an apology, to flick it so it went away, something, anything, but all he could do was stare dumbly at it like a kid that just hit puberty and saw his first boobie.
|
[/html]
[html] http://i25.tinypic.com/jizx5d.png); background-position:top; background-repeat: repeat-y; width: 500px;">
In a tower of steel Nature forges a deal To raise wonderful hell
She could imagine, and would soon begin to believe she could see the toxins dancing through his veins, licking and disorienting the cells that belonged there, making them dance and spin and fall over laughing, laughing, laughing. These drugs put a body into hysterics while romancing the mind contained within, and painted chaos across walls both inner and outer. It offered a strange thrill, seeing this large, sturdy body surrender to the throws of invisible chemicals, eyes wandering and body softened, melted into the embrace of the old couch in the middle of a half-and-half landscape that could have come out of a Dali painting, it was so contradictory to expectations. Even before the drugs could sink little fingers into her own petite body, she felt the scene awakening her tired body, her worn out mind, whispering the beginnings of a new story, read out in the body-language of this unnamed companion. I liked his vibes, she thought, hearing her inner voice echo from a growing distance, I like his stories. She smiled softly to herself, and then brought her gaze back to Anslem to scout out his state of mind. Her surprise to his look of outright embarassment only conjured a slight, slow raise of her eyebrows and a glance to follow his. Down to--oh my, down to a very attentive soldier, indeed.
She couldn't contain a low, almost sultry laugh, even when she bit her lower lip and rather reluctantly withdrew her gaze from his crotch, returning to his replying gaze. Any residual toughness that she had senses in him before had become obsolete right then, and she reached a hand up to touch his cheek softly, assuringly, as her laughter bubbled lower into her chest and then was swallowed up entirely. "My, my," she purred, stroking the fur across his cheek back, and following the grain down the side of his neck and to his shoulder, using it to balance her as she rose up onto her knees. "Those drugs have some rousing side-effects, don't they?" she asked sweetly from behind a half-curtain of pitch black hair, giving clear glances of him here and there with the sway of her movements. A leg stretched slowly and surely across the golden canine's lap to anchor her knees on either side while dragging the silky and crinkled material of her prom dress with her, covering him along the way. There, knelt close enough to nearly touch nose to nose when she turned her face up to his, eyelashes slung low and nonchalant. "Now look at that," she said lightly, leaning her body subtly closer to his while maintaining a steady gaze on his face. "My magical dress made it disappear," she said in a lower tone, arching her lower back towards him only far enough to make it evident that it was still ever so present.
[/html]
[html]
XD. This is hilarious.
His expectations for the day had been nothing in particular. Drugs, by their nature, seemed to be tied with impulsivity. Planning for the day's events was useless, for something better might come up, or perhaps one would feel pulled one way over another. The whole experience was about living in the present, doing what felt right at the moment, and having no regrets. The petite beauty was certainly helping with that final aspect--her soft laugh was extremely reassuring. Her pun struck him as hilariously clever, and a soft laugh rose from within him, too. With it, any tension or embarrassment dissipated and was replaced with a mystical sense of serenity.
"Magical..." he murmured quietly, as his gaze rose from the frilly end of the dress up to her side. He liked the way it adhered to her body; it accentuated curves that might otherwise be blurred by her soft fur. His right hand began to touch the edge carefully--the turn of events merited a second inspection. He then ran it slowly up her body, gently yet firmly enough to get a good feel, for he found her warmth and the slight movements of her muscles as his hand trailed up and down her side absolutely delightful.
As she arched towards him, his hand moved around to the small of her back encouragingly, and his hips moved forward just slightly to meet hers. She was brushing up against him, and every little movement she made also caused the fabric of her dress to tease and excite him. Needless to say, his condition had "worsened" considerably and he could only pray that she was enjoying this as much as he did. It was so uncharacteristic of him to be so vulnerable and so unable to get what he wanted--would she give it to him? A soft whimper rose in the back of his throat. A plea for more. |
[/html]
[html] http://i25.tinypic.com/jizx5d.png); background-position:top; background-repeat: repeat-y; width: 500px;"> Ohman, so very. xD I wish we could make post-accompanying musical tracks. I want some 80's porno music.
In a tower of steel Nature forges a deal To raise wonderful hell
Sex, drugs--all they needed was a bit of rock and roll to make this sunny, unassuming afternoon ridden with rockstar indulgence and sin. It was just the kind of recklessness that she craved right then, increasingly so in the presence of this unnamed stranger. He could have been the devil himself for all of her best guesses, offering her an escapes from the predicament that had kept her sullen and sleepless the night before, and perhaps that was what she would take from him regardless of who he truly was or what he actually offered.
But oh, not so quickly, not so simply. As the drugs ebbed into the periphery of her heavy-locked stare, Poe rested her weight into the broad hand that pleaded against her lower back, belying the noisy thuds of her heart, the quick pulse drumming out a beat under golden hands. She would hold out on him, tease him with hips and hands and gritty words before succumbing to growing desires. This encounter was a game, a test of the endurance of reality bleeding into intoxication into other-worldliness. Like a bold little kid in a candy shop, Poe played an indulged, like a drugged up game of sexual trick-or-treat that only became more fervent and greedy as the sugar high built up and up. Until it was all too far and she could only dive off right off the edge, leaving a trail brilliant, colourful shapes beating out shapes and breaths in her wake, and leaving her melted against the couch cushions that she had come to perch on in the beginning.
Broad pupils and soft curves, Poe lay in a crumpled pile of billowed dress and dirty pillows, absolutely content in any and all respects as her eyes wandered, followed the trails that she could have sworn she had sent into the blue sky. Her legs were folded up, resting along the side of Anslem's closest thigh, while her arms stretched and splayed out to her side and over her head. A few slow, steady bows of her eyelids counted out a deep breath, in and out, before resting shut for a mirrored length.
[/html]
[html]
--
Real or imagined, Anselm felt a connection with this girl that was unlike anything he'd ever experienced with anybody else in the past. It certainly wasn't deep, but it seemed to be more involved than mere physical attraction--the sole driving force behind erotic encounters of his in the past. Instead, it had to do with the circumstances. It had to do with the lack of questions, the acceptance of this mystical encounter as simply that, and the comfort despite being so vulnerable in the presence of a stranger. For him, it also had to do with the escape and the defiant nature of the drugs. They were something made by man, they clouded the mind, and even to him they seemed like forbidden territory.
The way she moved and taunted him was also delightful; that was another way this encounter deviated from the norm. Usually he was in control and it was a much different experience submitting to someone else's desires and whims as opposed to his own. Perhaps he'd be frustrated by such a thing in another time or place, but for now he basked in it. He took it for all that it was worth, if only because he didn't know that something like this would ever happen again. Just when he thought she was going too far, she'd offer relief and pleasure. It was a game that he quickly learned to enjoy.
Even once everything was over, he found himself comforted by her warmth against his side. He knew that the drugs would still be in effect for a number of hours, persistent in keeping his mind awake. That didn't mean he'd feel anxious or any less content, however. One hand lightly toyed with the fur along her side as they lay on the couch; the touch was gentle and a silent way of thanking her. This retreat from reality, from the war, from his own mind... it was exactly what he had needed, and it certainly wouldn't have been the same without her. He didn't know when they would part ways or if they'd ever see each other again, but that was what made the present all the more remarkable and worthy of being cherished.
|
[/html]
[html] http://i25.tinypic.com/jizx5d.png); background-position:top; background-repeat: repeat-y; width: 500px;"> Late to the extreme. D: Sorry.
In a tower of steel Nature forges a deal To raise wonderful hell
Her breath moved and sounded like a wave to her, rolling in and pouring into the deepest nooks and crannies of her lungs, then slowly flowing back out from top to bottom. It was soothing in the warm wake of a physical thrill, and quite possibly could have put her to sleep next to the mystery magic man with the fairy dust and strong arms. But when her eyes tested this reverie, a cinnamon sheen began to trickle over her view, leaving a tint even when her eyes opened and searched the broken ceiling and sky. The ghost remained, but she soon found that the living glowed despite. Gloriously golden and seemingly at peace, his touch carried words that neither of them spoke, but cradled contently between each other. They had shared something unique for all that they had not shared. A dark little Cinderella story that was striking twelve now, with the too-real ghosts coming to take her slippers and coach.
With that unexplained, unhesitating fairytale timing, Poe rose up in the sea of billowing crinoline, and stretched a hand out to the golden knight's cheek to pull her muzzle to the other side of his. Only small, lingering kiss was left there before she lifted herself with a broken ballerina's lazy-legged grace and began for the ladder that had taken her into these beautifully bizarre depths. There was no goodbye, no request for a later or again, nor any hint to the future. All in the same fashion that had consumed their bodies moments earlier, and that which she had become peculiarly familiar with and trusting in over her years.That betrayed her in the secret home that she would soon return to when Anslem's warmth had been stolen by the barren streets. At the bottom of the stairs, Poe turned again to look at Anslem and, like a last sip of a warm drink, she waved a single dark hand and crinkled her eyes in a smile before creeping out of the distorted sanctuary.
[/html]
|
