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Post by CAIN PONTELLIER on Dec 19, 2010 19:07:09 GMT -5
i love your analogies we're both crazy in our own little ways we talk about the future and our past lives
Empty, idle words.
“It has been so boring here lately, I’ve been thinking of moving out of Japan, as soon as I can sneak out, away from mother and father, I will. I want you to come with me—we could have a life together, you wouldn’t have to play this game with me anymore.” Disgusting words. Her words dripped and slid down her pretty little glossed lips, all of it just maudlin drivel from a cloying mind that happened to stick to the decorative counter. They were sweeter than the luminous drink undisturbed in her glass, and they made his carnivorous teeth itch with caustic retorts. But, as always, they liquefied in his throat behind that soft, humoring smile.
“What if I don’t want you to leave?” replied the alabaster-haired man, knitting nimble fingers together so that he may rest his chin on them, his temples disintegrating from the final rays of evening sunlight spilling from the nearby window as he spoke. She was giving him a headache again.The young woman pursed her lips at the words, straightening her lithe back and for a moment bore a depth in her stare of such ferocity that Cain would have sworn he could see hellfire in them; he knew well enough what it looked like. “I would leave anyway.” She replied, stalwart, unperturbed. Defiant. Disgusting little coquette.
His lips thinned around a careful, measured smile, an expression of vague amusement and the faintest traces of resentment dappling his features. Beneath the feinted nonchalance, the forged emotional connection, there lied a seething mass of perpetual deprecation for this woman, buried far below an almost patronizing friendliness in the stead of respect or genuine interest. “What if I forbade it?” He murmured in a breezy response, continuing to stare at her without betraying any emotion. The words were negligible, light and airily petty in nature, and she wouldn’t notice anything aside from the joking quality to it now. It was all just canned words and disingenuous repartee. Still she faltered, her arrogance deflating, her ego paper beneath the charading demon’s casual words.
“Do you truly think you can get anywhere?” Every motivation puppeteering his internal smile turned a degree more perfidious at the young lady’s discomfiture; some inexplicable satisfaction tickled his fancy when those of such pomposity became crestfallen. It was an irrefutably addicting thrill. “I thought you had been of a greater intelligence than this, but now I simply can’t allow you leave for fear your faulty plan will leave you in a more precarious situation than you are in by staying here. I don’t want to lose you just because you want to be rash.” A brief flicker of uncertainty dimmed her expression, darkened it into something almost excruciating; that heady feeling crawled up his spine as he drew his cup close and puffed a bit into the tepid liquid as though it had been scalding—a coffee for the night ahead. He would always be there to watch her crumble again and again.
Cain never overlooked the hesitation or the falter in her; he had always known there was more to this than first seemed apparent, but now it was blaring at him, in all of the young woman’s actions. “Dwell on it a bit, darling, I’m going to go check on something with the cashier.” With that, his lithe fingers moved from the cup to the young lady’s cheek, then to her own hand, and drew it close for a charitable kiss to her knuckles. She was such a pretty, petty, gritty thing. His smile was almost indecorously rancorous as he stood from the booth, rounded the corner and sank against a second booth along the far wall as if to hide from her.
“Nn, so damned annoying. Her skin…is soft though. Heh, have to keep her around, keep her happy, though. One day, mhm, one…day.” Cain pressed his back squarely into the wall behind him, an infinitesimal shiver running along his spine at the cold façade. A soft chuckle fell from his throat as his fingers fluttered against his own neck, pressing until he could not breathe, begrudged to let go even when instinct bit back his aggression. He imagined that woman digging her nails into the throat of the coarse gentleman she though the host had been, eyes alight as her own hands destroyed what she so loved. It felt good to be the beloved object, the thing to be defiled, to be ruined. The machinations of his mind meshed against the idea, grinding it into his core thoughts. He wasn't really sure what to make of it all; but it was disgustingly enticing to him in a way.
Thoughts of returning to his target fell from his mind when his preoccupation with himself had dimmed, having enjoyed the arm room of the club’s quaintly docile twilight crowd. It was like the calm before a perfectly catastrophic storm. Later, maybe later he'd go back, but Cain desired to hide in plain sight for a bit. Hide away from her and her cancerous affections with a second cup of coffee that he ordered without more than a terse grunt resembling his mother tongue. Most of the waitstaff merely took his babbling with a grain of salt when he seemed in one of his moods. Not that he could have wholly cared in his brooding, “I plan to lean on this counter like a displeased child until someone tells me this is incredibly stupid” manner and when he went about tap-tap-tapping his twitching fingers along the very edge of the opposite side. Something was absent here. Oh, yes.
“Bored. He's late again.”
TAGGED, kazu-cat. WORDS, 900+. NOTES, He's weird? |: Never type things after not sleeping for thirty-eight hours
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Post by TAKEMURA KAZUO on Dec 20, 2010 23:33:53 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,470,true][bg=444444][atrb=background,http://i875.photobucket.com/albums/ab320/luxxray/bgpattern6.png]it seems like my eyes have been transfigured SOMETHING DEEP INSIDE HAS CHANGED - THEY'RE OPEN WIDE but hold that trigger → The colors. Oh, the colors. Scarlet eyes were transfixed as bodies mingled together in a mass of reaching limbs and flirty smiles. Brunettes, blondes, redheads, bluenettes, rosettes were bathed in flashes of colored lights that seduced these eyes like the come-hither look of a sultry young lover. The pink of his tongue flickered between the slight part of his lips; hungry for the neon greens and yellows that painted the silhouettes of the bodies that leaned close to whisper enticing words into ears so eager. The thud of the music meshed with his own heartbeat and the man found himself bobbing slightly on the balls of his feet, head tilting back and forth in light little twitches to match the beautiful bass that sent tingles through his cunning core. The music, the glow, the voices, the lights. Yes, Kazuo Takemura was content in this dark, pulsating world of neon and sensuality. Content enough to purr like a languid housecat observing the self-serving mechanisms of its domain.
Slender, feminine fingers tugged at the white fabric of his sleeve and a voice jabbed at his haphazard attention. "Kazuo-kun? C'mere, let's sit down." The dark-haired pianist tilted his face just enough to eye the girl for a moment; a shallow young nymph with full lips pouting up at him. She wanted him to spoil her, didn't she? Wanted him to tease her with a haughty laugh and feather-light touches adorned by the graceful pads of his fingertips. He felt her small hands wrap around his arm, tugging playfully to guide him into a booth. But he wasn't budging, just standing and lifting the glass that had been in one of his hands. It was filled with something alcoholic, but Kazuo wasn't interested in the basic buzz it might provide his distracted psyche. Instead, his crimson stare was focused intently on the green illumination of the liquid that he swirled with a light twitch of his wrist. His smirk broadened in private delight, even while his fussy little client perched up on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek.
"Tch," was the sound he made when the enigmatic host took notice of this, lips tempted to fold into an unimpressed hint of a sneer. But, despite the secrets of his preferences -- the nature of his beloved taboo -- he did feed from the spoils of his manipulation. He might have been more interested in the bright lights that adorned the club like a psychedelic wonderland, but Kazuo could not deny the satisfaction that plucked at his interests whenever he could make a body swoon with the curl of his lip or the flutter of his fingertips. There was such power in that. It was why the eldest of the Takemura brothers had become immersed in his music. A pleasing high would leave his eyes in a distant daze of drunk content that came with watching (listening, even) to the way a man or woman would fall into the luring tune of his piano's siren song. He was a sadist; a creature who fed off reactions like a child did with sweet, sweet candy. Of course, none could compare to the one object of his affections. That one, delicious apple of his eye...
Typical. The girl wanted him to talk about her. For ten minutes more, she whined for attention and praise. And so, like a good host should, Kazuo granted her these luxuries. He toyed with a piece of her hair, even, as though he was actually appeased by the soft texture caught between his fingers. Lies, of course, but the young musician had already woven the woman into his web. When he was finally able to leave, he kissed her knuckles and licked his lips, amused with shiver that quivered up the length of her arm. But once he turned away and adjusted the collar of his jacket, there was a mocking roll of his eyes and a pitying snicker scoffed from the breath of his sigh. People were such simple things, such easy things. Such was why he sought company that would provide him with more amusement than the bland faces he kept entertaining.
Oh, there he was. A fox's sly grin was adorning the slight curvature of his mouth and he found his strides swaying playfully as he advanced upon his brooding coworker. A dexterous hand reached out to tap across the table's surface, as though to tease the rhythm Cain Pontellier had put into play with his own clicking nails. "So sorry to keep you waiting," he greeted with a smile, clearly meaning nothing of the hollow apology. "The kitten didn't want to retract her claws." A laugh. It didn't even seem fitting, comparing these writhing parasites to the felines he was so strangely fond of. Kazuo sat across from the pale-haired man, still grinning like a laid-back Cheshire Cat. His glowing drink was placed down on the table, though one of his fingers caressed the rim for a moment as though in consideration. "Why the long face, Cain-chan?" The nickname was like another laugh and the pianist tilted his head in amusement. "Pouting is so unbecoming. You'll scare your customers."
this could mean danger ← |
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Post by CAIN PONTELLIER on Dec 22, 2010 6:27:27 GMT -5
i love your analogies we're both crazy in our own little ways we talk about the future and our past lives
Cain always came upon revelations when he brooded in his own company. It never happened intentionally, either; the man just sort of stumbled upon them, really. He’d decided that there was always a quality of obscene rawness to the ritual ligature, to the self-infliction of possessive breaks beneath the skin when he saw them in the reflective surface of the counter top; something that did not quite fulfill one’s expectations of the loving injuries left to torment him into questioning why his beloved was not with him. Perhaps it was because they were so angry-looking, like they had been inflicted out of some form of seething hatred than out of affection. It was only because he was her beloved object that he did these things. Cain could only reflect these feelings of spite against his own person when she had cherished him most. Why did he exactly? She had been a pretty girl—one he’d have no problem with attending to, pecking here and there just because she might have made one of those airy little giggles of hers—and she wasn’t entirely unintelligent. Frankly, and he’d come to believe it might have been this, it had been because she was growing attached to him. It was because she was seeing commitment where he was seeing an evening’s good time. And whatever it was and forever would be could only be looked at for what it was. A disability. A liability. A flaw. She was a flaw, and he would never willingly accept a flaw.
All at once he felt a little saner than he had been for want of this theory. After all, wasn’t it precisely the mad who needed no reason for their actions? He had a reason, ergo, he was not mad—at least not yet. The very tips of his fingers ran along the rim of his cup, circling calmly over and over again as though nothing was wrong, all was well and he was a cat biding its time with idle flicks of the tail. That was, of course, because nothing was wrong. Nothing at all. The coffee in the cup rippled and for a moment his eyes were drawn to the movement, merely staring intently at the liquid as though the sway of it would spell something out to him. It didn’t; he turned away from it again. Instead, those incarnadine eyes flit elsewhere, to a clock. It was about that time. Already, the smell of alcohol and a mélange of dissonant perfumes was wafting away from within the crowd to the edge of it, to him, and he could surmise that the air in the thick of it was more like a noxious fog that suffocated all who dared breathe it. It reminded Cain that he had a job to do soon enough and at this point he was very much loathe to do it. He rolled his shoulders stiffly before returning to lolling out on the counter top, knocking over the coffee he’d been toying with earlier. It dribbled over the edge and into the booth’s cushions. Drip, drip, drip. It was louder than the music at times. Drip. Drop. Oh, how bored he must have been for that to be interesting.
Then, something else. It was disrupting his dripping metronome. The white-haired male scowled and turned his direction toward it. A picture of congenial greeting, really.
“You should be sorry, I was almost withering away for lack of you~.” He whispered furtively after a moment, as though he were still keeping his peculiar air a secret from the other, his utilitarian glance passing over his coworker before breathing a soft greeting. “Kittens do so often have claws, oui? How ever did you get loose, hm?” There was a primal flash of teeth, a carnal smile in spite of the disgruntled air whipping around the pallid-haired man like the glare of flickering flames. Part of him thought to warn Kazuo of the coffee coagulating on the seat of the booth adjacent of him. But the colorfully luminous drink had distracted him from it. It wouldn’t have been too terrible an idea to steal the damned thing. Cain might have needed it, really. “What makes you think I’m bothered? So presumptuous of you, mon petit souris.” He replied after a moment with a slight, simpering smile and a quiet trilling lilt to his affectionate misnomer, through which each word was a tetchy hiss inlayed with an exasperated breathlessness directly related to the current situation that had brought about his discontent. The young man’s shoulders rolled a second time and his nails scraped uselessly along the tiled counter top in an attempt to lift himself off of it, albeit he was fairly lazy in going about it. Truly, what had been bothering him was nothing. Nothing at all. Just a tangential woman, a modicum of mean, insect existence that made the predator fall back on its haunches, nonplussed at it. That much he could be convinced of. Because, really, denying this was the most flattering thing he’d ever done for her.
“Let them be scared then. It is better to be feared than to be loved if you cannot be both~.”
TAGGED, kazu-cat. WORDS, 800+. NOTES, I'm only posting after twenty hours of not sleeping this time. 8I
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Post by TAKEMURA KAZUO on Dec 23, 2010 21:28:42 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,470,true][bg=444444][atrb=background,http://i875.photobucket.com/albums/ab320/luxxray/bgpattern6.png]it seems like my eyes have been transfigured SOMETHING DEEP INSIDE HAS CHANGED - THEY'RE OPEN WIDE but hold that trigger → Kazuo had not paid much mind to the coffee split on his seat. He'd managed to avoid most of the mess with a graceful tilt of his hips, though some of the wet could be felt soaking into the side of his right pant leg. Oh well. The black cloth would not suffer terribly and any stain would be difficult to notice at this hour. So the dark-haired host paid no mind to it and continued to smile pleasantly at his companion while one of his clever fingers continued to trace the rim of his glass. His eyes watched this for a moment; observed as the glow of his drink reached up through the glass like radioactive liquid straight from low-budget action flicks. There was a slight, teasing hum purring from the back of his throat and, amused, the musician's eyes rerouted to Cain. They searched his face like one might read a map, but only in an instant. His coworker's off mood was not quite intriguing enough to coax that much attention from the easily-distracted young pianist. "I noticed. Really, I feel terrible for making you wait like that. I won't let you wither again, my friend.~" |
[/color] Kazuo's sly grin was as ambiguous as ever concerning its genuine nature curved so elegant along his predator's lips, but this was a common game for this fox to play. Such sharp, cunning eyes could easily decipher the beast-like gleam of the Frenchman's fangs, which he seemed to take a strange satisfaction in. As stated previously, he was a man who fed off reactions as one would a tray of rare, exotic sweets. In scowls, sneers, smiles there was something to appease the wicked master of ivory keys. It was one of the reasons behind why he'd taken up this job in the first place. He so loved the idea of entertaining and all for the satisfaction of his own, personal gain. Each pout of lips and flutter of eyelashes was his to consume greedily and hoard away in a box. A part of him was always fascinated with the fleeting, bestial qualities that his "partner in crime" would occasional reveal through a part in his typical, relaxed demeanor. "I scratched her a bit behind the ears and told her I'd be back tomorrow with a ball of yarn. What else, of course?" Kazuo laughed that smooth, purring sound that would have better suited a jungle cat eying its prey from the cover of shadows and foliage. "She just loves the sound of pretty words." That said, he grazed the surface of his drink with the pad of his fingertip and lifted it to his mouth to suck on with lips still happily tilted into a crooked smile. Once he seemed to finish with tasting the illuminated drink, Kazuo licked his lips and raised a slender eyebrow as though expectant of something. "Because you're over here in a corner, brooding like a child who's been sent to time-out." His finger dipped in the drink again and he pointed it at Cain as though accusing him of a heinous crime, though he was smiling with the pleasantries of any good friend. "Plus, it looks like you spilled your coffee. What's on your mind, Cain-channn~?" The nickname was spoken again in what could be translated as fondness, even drifting into a sing-song tone near the end as he tried tracing lines over the table-top with the finger he'd adorned in his bright beverage. Now his eyes followed these lazy movements and his head cocked while resting in the palm of his other hand, elbow propped on the table. He seemed quite intent on whatever he might have been drawing with the drink. Knowing Kazuo, it was probably a kitten of some shape or size. The odd mannerisms of this red-eyed youth were not to be understood by outside minds. Such was why he never took the time to explain it, after all. It was also why spending time with Cain was a tolerable hobby. His pale comrade had a delightful bag of quirks all his own. "I still say it's bad for business," he told him with another little laugh. His eyes were still watching the graceful strokes of his finger along smooth counter top. "Though they always seem all the more keen to return when they think there's danger in the air." The pianist sighed, humored by this. "The allure of a bad boy.~" Kazuo shook his head lightly and finally looked up at Cain with amusement agleam in his devil's stare. "So why are you all alone over here, hm? Already bored of these tramps?"[/div] this could mean danger ← [/center][/td][/tr][/table][/center] |
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Post by CAIN PONTELLIER on Dec 24, 2010 0:32:33 GMT -5
i love your analogies we're both crazy in our own little ways we talk about the future and our past lives
“Ah, there’s, uh, coffee in that seat.” It was a little belated, and a little lackluster, but the thought counted just a little bit, did it not? He didn’t know if it really did any good on the matter at hand, nor did he care, and thus he kept the same balked ferocity he had about him when, surprise surprise, he felt not unlike his vicious mother—he blessed her black and shriveled heart for a moment with a faint snort. Lissome fingers returned to clicking out his airy rhythm as he hummed pensively to himself. For once, all of the lights and sounds were giving him a bit of a headache—or otherwise compounding the one from before—and he arched his back and pressed a hand against his temple when he did finally get around to not lolling out on the table top like a lazy house feline. “You’ll be struck down for your lies one of these days, you know.” What was left of his smile made him seem almost indefatigably bored; and he was, if only because he expected something to happen after he made his feigned cautionary message. Cain inwardly agreed with himself that if Kazuo was indeed smote he would convert to the religion of that angry deity’s choice.
“They never get tired of that one, it seems. That, or you have extremely abstruse kittens rubbing their flanks against your legs, mon petit souris.” The young man bore that strange grin of his a second time when he spoke, drawing his hands back to rest his chin atop his tented fingers. That, and the other was apparently attempting to draw something with his blue-light paint of a drink and, as always, he was drawn to the movement like a moth to flame. “As a great man once said, the right word may be effective, but no word was ever as effective as a rightly timed pause, mon ami,” That much made sense to him, and for emphasis he allowed his sentence to fade a bit before picking it up a second time, just for a little fun really. “That’s why it’s alright for me to brood here. The heart grows fonder in absence, you know.” Playful explanations aside, Cain didn’t seem all too keen on humoring Kazuo’s questions with answers. Let Kazuo worry about Kazuo and Cain worry about himself. It wasn’t important enough to talk about and he didn’t want to talk about it even if it had been.
He arbitrarily leaned forward a bit to brush his finger tips against the top of the other’s drink, almost playing with its surface tension for a moment before drawing back into his seat, pleased to lap at them as though he were an animal keen to preen after a messy kill. “I don’t think I’ve tried this particular drink before. Not sure if I like it or not.” One way or the other, Cain still smirked complacently about it. For a brief instant, his eyes returned to the mess Kazuo was making of the already dirty table and none-too-subtly clicked his tongue at it without fully comprehending what it was exactly that was being drawn. A cat, if he knew his companion well enough; which was silly in and of itself but it wasn’t as though Cain was above doing the same with a canine. “Your kitten looks like it was hit by a truck, mon petit souris.” remarked the white-haired male after a moment with an expression and tone of voice that bespoke far more amusement than was necessary. Cain was never much for parading about as normal when he wasn’t practicing indifference; anyone who focused on him for any extended amount of time would know of his idiosyncrasies to at least some small degree. One of them being he was quite the damned hyena over the littlest things whenever he wasn’t already in a laughing mood. Cue a few purposely poorly concealed chuckles.
“And what’s a few lost to plenty gained? You should know by now that I’ve never cared whether they come back so long as there’s another who will.” Sage words from a not so much so individual, if you thought about it. They always came back, after all. One broken heart was three newly captured one, nothing but an exchange of tears for titillations. He nodded a bit to agree with his own internal dialogue. “They love a bad boy, mon petit souris~.” There he was laughing again, just snickering to himself like it was just oh so funny. Maybe. “Everyone has a moment where they want the world to stop spinning long enough for them to get off, if only for a little while, non? Tramp, it's just tramp.” Yes, correction. There was only one he was fed up with for now. “And you’re hiding out here with me, drawing cats, so why don’t you tell me why that is next.”
TAGGED, Kazuo. WORDS, Mrf. NOTES, Meh. :/ Frustration gave me muse, go figure.
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