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Post by Oni Aleksandra on Dec 17, 2010 21:23:08 GMT -5
☁ ---------------------------------------------------------------------  YOU DREAM OF TRADING PLACES I HAVE BEEN CHANGING FACES~
[/color] [/center] Ah, what an atmosphere; the streets were illuminated by various lights, kids were running about holding the newest technological advancement that would guarantee a fatter America once it was shipped overseas. While their parents followed closely behind. The hustle and bustle of the outside world could make a person feel small; a magnifying glass was dangled overhead, or as most would call it, the moon. Its glorious light beamed down, dwarfing the otherwise awe-inspiring shrines that stood over the electronic displays. Those neon rows, and buzzing monuments crowded the glistening tar, which was sandwiched between sheets of concrete- the sidewalk, and on those sidewalks? Pedestrians, nudging and pushing one another in an attempt to rush the stores. Herds of human waste, they served no purpose, and bought not out of need, but instead, want.
Oh, but this area was about to lessen in clutter. A single drop of rain descended from the sky above; its high position was snatched from it, lowered to that of a peasant. That lone splash of gathered moisture splashed down, signaling the beginning of a shower that would most likely force the technically savvy to flee- in fear of losing their high-priced equipment. The crowded streets quickened in pace for what seemed like a solid minute, before nothing; the tailing two or three people remained. You know, the people who had just arrived, or didn't care enough to hide within their safe-havens; for most, this was the closest gaming space. The light shower turned into what most 'weather men' would call full-blown rain.
Among those few who were brave enough to face mother nature's assault was Aleksandra, one of the high-brow members of the school, who stepped above middle-class, and dared to be rich. He was dressed to impress, but to him, he was simply wearing his casual wares. The usual suit, closed. Hiding underneath that expensive garb was a tight vest that hugged his chest, as well as a tie that was secured around his neck like a noose. Now, noting the color would be important, as per-usual; the nineteen year old man was cloaked in black, from head to toe. Which included his long mane. Soft and manageable, probably from years of expensive hair treatment.
Continuing this thought; the actual suit was weighed down by a long trench-coat, the same that he wore most nights, as if he was always expecting a thunderstorm to pass by. Thankfully, his cautious ways had payed off, and he had been blessed with the pitter-patter of rain, if only light. His arms were not drawn through the sleeves of the rain-coat, instead; the heavy addition to his overall attire was held around his shoulders, billowing with each passing wind. He looked like more of a caped crusader, than a man who came to stock up on a few pleasures of the soul.
Sensing the shift between a slight mist and a thickened humidity level; Aleksandra moved into a near-by club. As fate would have it, he had landed himself smack-dab in the middle of the well-known site of interest ' Taste the Static ' not that he was all too enthralled by the thought of playing arcade games with a bunch of other men, still; he could wait it out in here while the time passed. A hostess met him by the door, but he was already passing her by; the ever rude Alek' wasn't one to talk with someone who didn't catch his eyes, or set his heart aflame with the wonders of the world. Then again, he had a certain taste in women when he was sober, of course; he was a drinker all the same, and thankfully, the Electronic Rave club was ripe with glow in the dark beverages and sticks alike.
Ignoring the jibber-jabber around him, the cloaked teen marched over to the nearest booth and sat down. He loved to be the center of attention, but not now; not when he looked so out of place in his all black get up. Surrounded by waves of shimmering lights, eyes, and hair. He was out of his element; a moment of silent contemplation passed before the usually vibrant man stood up and walked over to a machine; it looked old and beat up. The antique framing suggested a pin-ball machine, while the squared-numerals pressed along the back end confirmed this.
Aleksander slid his cold fingers into his coat pocket, pressing them against the frigid steel within. A coin, probably one of the few that he even had on him. Being a gentry of sorts, he had no need for change, or spare dollars. No, most of his bills were high, which made shopping a breeze, luckily. The ever arrogant response of ' Keep the change ' removed the chance of him grabbing a spare one dollar bill, replacing it with a shot to Daddy's bank, but he didn't care. No, as long as the green sheets didn't stop coming; he didn't have to worry about how he was securing his regular income. His Stint at the small coffee shop being a simple play put on for his family. If he looked like he was able to make it on his own; he wouldn't be cut off, there would be no point, or at least, that is how young Alek thought.
What a sad existence, having no purpose in this world, and no thought process that traveled further than a witty comeback and the 'pleasuring' of the opposite sex. This was something that weighed on the introspective mind, but didn't pass Oni's, maybe a few times while secluded, but the Teen- who was wearing clothes fit for a mafia meeting, and less for a rave club- tried to push those Nihilistic advances aside, but the sub-conscious was a tricky vault of information, and Alek' was unsure of who was holding the key whenever those little shards flickered by; the snake-ish tongue that lulled from his mouth seemed to retract, his fox-ish smile also fading. Ah, how those who had it all always seemed to empty~ Ever conceited; Aleksandra always found a way to forget via an ego-boost, and a pep-talk.
Words 1019
tagged OPEN~ •
ooc notes No one else posted in this district, so I figured why not~•
lyrics • Almost Famous by Eminem
credits • made by zinzagoon of on the edge!
YOU CAN NOT FILL THESE SHOES THERE IS TOO MUCH TO LOSE [/color] WAKE UP BEHIND THESE TRENCHES YOU RUN AROUND DEFENSELESS~ --------------------------------------------------------------------- ☂[/center] [/blockquote][/size] |
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Post by kyrie fox on Dec 18, 2010 15:00:46 GMT -5
| [bg=333333][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,430,true][atrb=style,border-radius: 30px; -moz-border-radius: 30px;] |
[atrb=background,http://fc00.deviantart.net/fs31/f/2008/221/6/c/gothic_wallpaper_by_Reina_The_Sparkanean.jpg] I'm making those desperate calls
A glittering utopia for all modern appliances, the way station for all things that clicked, whirred and shined. Akihabara was a realm of its own recourse, a nest of sinfully delightful attractions meant to unearth the hidden fanatic within them all, dragging a fraction of society too weak to resist temptation into a state of joyful obsession. If it consumed, distracted or monopolized your life, chances were that the item of your desires was within the limits of the Electric Town. Sitting idly in a window bathed in florescent light as if it were grander than the plastic exterior let on. Beatific but never so innocuous to be wholly without blame for the corruption it brought to humanity. That compulsion, the staggering urge to divert from the path of wholesome sanity to walk the fine line between principles and depravity, was before her now and even she wasn’t all that secure in her willpower.
It was a trap, everything here was a pitfall waiting to open up beneath her, she was intensely aware of that. Her head knew it – her heart didn’t give a damn. Her mind tried refusing it and yet her eyes would always encounter something else and the psychosis would resume, a sweet poison she wasn’t willing to take yet doubting the amount of time she had before she too was swallowing it down. Trying to take it all in, lusting for the next hit like lovesick crack head. Dying for just one more taste of synthetic happiness and metal. And these modest gadgets winking in the neon firelight would unfailingly feed her hunger and nurture that enthusiasm. If she didn’t mind the anxious twitch of her fingers as they smoothed over the cool, comforting feel of money wrapped in leather bindings, she’d undeniably deviate with the rest of the population that had succumbed to this mania. It was an ugly, distressing route and not a road she wished to take. The only antidote for the disease of electronics was to get far, far away from it. What she needed was a diversion.
The first drop made her jump. The second drop didn’t so much as register. If there had been a third drop Kyrie wouldn’t have been able to tell it from the other million that had joined the movement, shooting pedestrians unable to cram themselves beneath umbrellas or escape the watery wrath. Diversion granted. The university student blinked owlishly, the enchantment of the district broken. She couldn’t ignore the rains earthbound suicide nor the struggle of the human traffic as they all shared the same fleeing mentality for a moment. It was all she could do simply to direct herself through the hastening sea of civilians let alone gape at the wonders separated by sheets of glass. The torrential downpour was exactly what the woman had needed to breakaway from the glitz of the nations newest addictive. And while the rainwater effectively deterred her from yielding to her inner compulsive buyer, it still was not a well-received relief.
Enclosed in the walls of human bodies there was no saving herself from the steady rainfall. One crisis diverted and another took its place, joy. Unused to Japan’s volume of people and their outward inability to care for whether she was in their way or not, Kyrie had little choice but to let herself be pushed and jostled and shoved and brushed from every possible direction until sudden onset claustrophobia got her to fight her way through them just as fervently. By the time she had ducked beneath the awning belonging to Taste the Static her overcoat had gotten two pounds heavier, her comfort meter had hit zero and she was ready to fight the next person who stepped on her toes. With a disdainful exhale she filed into the club, not even bothering to play courteous when no one else seemed to give a damn about manners. So the kindly hostess was ignored, left flapping her gums to the next person to amble in after Kyrie who had already begun unbutton her winter jacket and peel away the wet layer of clothing. Thank god she’d been wearing a lighter jacket underneath.
Kyrie never broke her stride, moving through the growing crowd as if she wasn’t ready to put the hurt on the next person to try and get by her without so much as an ‘excuse me’. She took a seat at the bar, something she very rarely did since she didn’t often drink and didn’t like declining it and looking like a total girl in front of all the other alcohol-chugging patrons. Maybe she was more paranoid than she thought but she swore every time she refused to order something that you needed an ID for that people looked down on her. But same as with the nice hostess, Kyrie really couldn’t bring herself to care for anyone else. She was wet, cold and not in any mood that would take well to anyone who wanted to make a comment about her beverage preferences. So she sat on the barstool, had no other choice but to lay her wet jacket over her legs, and ordered herself a Shirley. Did the bartender just snicker? Nah, had to be her imagination.
Now that she could breathe without smelling where the person beside her had just been or what they’d eaten last, Kyrie took a moment to find her center. And by find her center that meant to suppress the violent urges that lurked beneath the surface. Last thing she wanted right after her course reviews was to lose face in front of her instructors because she’d gotten into a bar fight. It was too high school. While she mutely soothed her inner animal, she busied herself with sweeping the room. She’d never say it aloud but a lot of Orientals looked damnably alike the next, it’d be hard for her to differentiate if it wasn’t for the subtler things that set them apart. But one figure in the crowd couldn’t be mistaken for anyone but whom she knew him to be and that was trouble. Granted she welcomed the trouble when faced with isolation but still it was like pulling the whiskers on a lion and expecting to come away with both hands.
Russo was a tall man, one of the few she’d encountered in Japan who didn’t make her feel like a giant when she wore heels. His hair was long and always gave her the impression of horse’s mane but looked like it was softer than that, she always had to resist the urge to touch it and find out for herself. His attire today wasn’t as showy as she’d seen but here in the present atmosphere he looked like a Goth at Junior Prom – just out of place. He looked like he should be luring women away and ravaging their necks in an alleyway. Wait he already did that, regularly in fact. The bartender had come back and slid Kyrie her drink, which she paid for as she slipped off the barstool and moved toward the only face she recognized in the steadily livening club. If she was gonna be in a foreign element she might as well cling to any pillar she knew wouldn’t give out, or slip her a ruffie.
Approaching him from behind she was able to get the drop on him, tapping his shoulder lightly before she moved up beside him. “What’s the occasion Russo? You look like you just got back from a funeral. I miss the color.”
TAGGED Oni;
MUSIC your love is my drug – kesha;
WORDS 1259;
NOTES1UP I now have the longest postt;
TEMPLATE BY KYRIE FOX
Staying up all night hoping
hitting my head against the wall [/td][/tr][/center][/table] [/center] |
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Post by Oni Aleksandra on Dec 18, 2010 17:40:27 GMT -5
☁ --------------------------------------------------------------------- YOU DREAM OF TRADING PLACES I HAVE BEEN CHANGING FACES~
[/color] [/center] Ah, yes; the dance of life. The rain was picking up, but that would fall on deaf ears as the club was alive with the, though cliche, 'sound of music'. A thunderous roar that dwarfed Mother Nature's attempts at frightening the Japanese youth. The omnipotent force that shrouded mountains in snow, and villages in ominous tints of fog was making an appearance here. Oh, how the unknown frightened some and excited many. Ignorance was bliss, and living in said ignorance would allow for an ensnarement of one's potential growth. Then again, that was besides the point. With each passing moment another guest hoping to escape the climate change entered. The worst part about this? The sudden increase in humidity was sure to leave his ends split and his locks frizzed, but this was nothing an expensive conditioner couldn't fix. . . He would just need to make a trip to the bank to 'garner' a brand-new accessory- in other words, a filled pocket. The man's 'effort' would be wasted on the trek there, and was all he had to offer in-terms of 'earning' any real wage.
The natural exchange of body heat was warming the area, of course; the moisture in the air- coupled with the hot-waves radiating from the various lights was creating quite the uncomfortable environment. Maybe it was the raving body of lunatics out for a good time, or just the general atmosphere, either way, something felt out of place. Like the universal order had been broken. As if the old ' As is above- so is below ' chain was tampered with allowing multiple paths and endings to appear. A natural balance was fine, but maybe it stopped progression. If all had stayed the same throughout time then most of the world's greatest achievements would be non-existent. Crowning examples of human evolution wiped away and discarded without a care. Right, that odd figure out that seemed to stray away from the strobe lights and neon fanatics. It was Kyrie, another victim of the swarm. Sadly, she was suffering the same fate as the ever arrogant rich-boy, Alek'. Swept up in the crowd, she had found herself among the hive, and as always; the mind was linked throughout. Russo' didn't pick anything up, or even take note of her arrival, at first. As she made her way to the bar, he began his game; an attempt at passing the time.
If he were to follow the Bible tale and be imprisoned for those 'forty days and forty nights' then he was going to make the most of that time. To him, this meant he was going to spend the next while flooding this game with coins- and even buying from the hostesses -in an effort to get his name up in lights, or on a plaque next to the bathroom, forever engraved in the 'golden' plate they used to commemorate such a thing. Now, being from a rich family; the Student didn't exactly go out regularly and play such arcade games. He knew what pinball was, but he had never made use of the actual machine, or even seen one in person. No, they were all on magazines and in pictures- kids accompanying the age-old game in an attempt to make it look hip, but it wasn't. He could of been playing anything else, but for some reason, he picked this. Why? Well- the rest of the games were either being drenched in a luminous shower of booze, or being shaken by the groggy customer that always seemed to respond with the same statement ' I'm fine, I can handle my alcohol ' . Sad, because anyone watching from the sideline could tell they couldn't. Before starting his game, Alek made a pass at a hostess that happened to be strutting on by. A simple wave was all that was given; he handed her money and ordered a drink, and without the least bit of hesitation- she was off. Jogging to the counter to grab him a round.
While alone; the fabric clad Teen began to claw away at the trench-coat that dangled loosely from his already narrow frame. He was a slender youth, but held muscle in his chest, as well as his arms and mid-section. Russo' was by no means a body builder, but with all of that time and money- one would be able to guess that his family had a facility for working out, which substituted the disinfectant ridden machinery for a sterile, clean environment- used by only the members of the family, or at least, one member. Second by second the man shed another layer; the heavier two being the casual jacket, which remained relatively dry due to the Rain-coat's sturdiness . A passive smile took his countenance as he freed up some of that dead weight. Leaving him in his jet-black vest, and long-sleeved collared shirt. His tie still held against his chest. His breathing became a bit more predictable now that the movement pattern could be seen; the only other change being the breaking of that defensive shell. He still looked incredibly out of place, but to him, it was all well and good. The lights on the pin-ball system were dimmed by the two sets of clothing that were now splayed over the back end, hanging just inches from the ground at this point. In all honesty, he wouldn't care if they were picked up by another. His entire wardrobe was filled with articles of clothing matching the outfit he had on now. A select few pieces worn on special occasions.
The sleek locks that descended from his scalp drifted from side to side as he got in position. His head bobbing from one side of his body to the next; a loud *Pop* resonating throughout the area, even if it was muffled by all of the excitement around him. The hostess returned with his beverage, which he laid to rest on the glass of the inclined window. Thankfully; it held steady while he began his first take. A pull of the knob brought the spring away from the tiny ball. The pad below gathered energy which was just waiting to be used. Releasing the sphere, which was screwed onto the rod to make the spring-mechanism easier to control, the ball took off. Yes, it sped through the tunnel, and out into the open. Bam- in an instant it had found new life within the flashing lights inside of the pin-ball station. Each knock brought another flash; a sparkle that seemed hell-bent on blinding the user, or Alek anyway. He turned his head, obscuring his view, peeking every few seconds. It wasn't like he wasn't trying to stay in the game, but at this rate, his chances at racking up some unbelievable score were slim. His first slap of the side-set buttons set the bumpers forward, which narrowly missed the marble. It seemed like the crash course in-front of him had shut off in such a short time. And if you knew good 'ol Russo'. You'd know that this instance would piss him off oh so much, angering him and causing him to scold the machine as if it were a lower-level being unfit to share this world with him, but instead, nothing.
Instead, he wrapped his digits around the glass and took another swig; the cold liquid seemed to set his throat ablaze, but this didn't bother him, nope, not one bit. He wasn't an alcoholic, but he was an 'avid drinker' which only meant one thing. He had been drinking for a while, and he knew enough to not order anything he needed a chaser for if he didn't want to break his bank account, as well as make the owner tremendously happy. Oni shook his head- trying to free the burning sensation from his maw. He let the container hit the tilted surface once more, sighing outwards. It was in his body language; he wasn't saying anything, but that didn't mean he wasn't raging on the inside. He was just trying to avoid the obvious scene, and he didn't want to deal with any idiot who decided that he needed to be 'thrown out' that would only heighten his frustration. It was for the best if he wanted to stay away from the worsening condition out on the streets of Japan. He armed himself with the machine's handle and was ready to take another chance at club-stardom. Even if he could just cut out the middle man and throw money from atop the bar-counter. The peg slid out of position, his arm forcing the rod outwards, but before he could begin round two; a tap of the shoulder took his attention. Was he being summoned by one of the fair-hostesses?
To his surprise; a classmate had presented themselves, drawn together by the always intriguing dance of fate. The two had found themselves in the same position without any earlier planning. Aleksandra turned to face Kyrie, his mood set on flirt. Though he was given a question before he could begin his verbal assault~ Oh; he was a little taken back at first, but after taking her words into consideration; it did look like he had taken a trip to a family passing. Of course, to the high-brow resident; he was in casual wear. His formal clothing being left at home. " These aren't even my best wares, hun~ Of course; I am always dressed to impress. A suit just fit the setting. " Russo' responded, patting down the remainder of his outfit, which was the buttoned vest; the suit- as well as the rain-coat, still stationed over the back of the pin-ball system. " Maybe I just have weird taste, anyway~ What brings such a foxy vixen here, hm? Enjoying the Techno-atmosphere~? I somehow ended up in here after the rain picked up, myself. "
words 1643
tagged Kyrie~ •
ooc notes The longest post is mine~•
lyrics • Almost Famous by Eminem
credits • made by zinzagoon of on the edge!
YOU CAN NOT FILL THESE SHOES THERE IS TOO MUCH TO LOSE [/color] WAKE UP BEHIND THESE TRENCHES YOU RUN AROUND DEFENSELESS~ --------------------------------------------------------------------- ☂[/center] [/blockquote][/size] |
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Post by kyrie fox on Dec 20, 2010 10:21:23 GMT -5
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[atrb=background,http://fc00.deviantart.net/fs31/f/2008/221/6/c/gothic_wallpaper_by_Reina_The_Sparkanean.jpg] I'm making those desperate calls
A thunderstorm could have just as easily been lighting the sky with bursts of electricity forking the heavens, roars of thunder accentuating each livid strike that rained down but Kyrie wouldn’t have even been able to hear it. Its importance lost on her and many of those who had sought asylum underneath the sturdy roof of the club, or by those that had been there to begin with, the actual patrons of the livened establishment. They did not seem to pay heed to one another, each crowd melding into a singular force of flesh, heat and emotion with no demarcation between who was there and why. It was irrelevant, a subject hardly worth the effort of conscious thought. They simply endured, together and all but seamlessly made to share the space with those that had come in from the rain. Some even going as far as to breach the barrier of business for pleasurable pursuits or amiable conversation, the distinctions of the two atmospheres dissolving in fierce music, strong drink and lust. There were just bodies, brushing, rubbing, unspeakable things that implicated more than a desire to get acquainted with another.
The music thrummed, not an artist she was familiar with and the lyrics too lost in the melody for her to decrypt, loud and violently intense until it was all but a secondary pulse, an unfamiliar heartbeat colliding with the cadenced throb of her own. Around her people twined, some better than others, matching the tempo for all they were worth. Kyrie was in no way interested in joining the fiasco, dancing was a pastime she reserved for special occasions or brief lapses of personality. This simply was not her scene – not that she could exactly confer any establishment she had happened across had spurred her to kick off her heels and join the fray in all her months on the island. Maybe she just wasn’t able to find an atmosphere worth the endeavor. Maybe the woman didn’t quite fancy having a stranger try to grind their privates into her backside without so much as a greeting. Whatever the reason Kyrie Fox was not going to contribute to the friction of skin and clothing and swiftly made to extricate herself from the insanity of the too crowded dance floor, eyes still settled on the dark figure mere feet away and seemingly oblivious to her plight.
It was a hassle. She cringed with the effort it took to simply take a breathe from within the sea of patrons and refugees, whose collective musk might have suited a pack of wild dogs but was hardly flattering of the human population. It made her wonder how many of those within the club had bothered to quickly spray their bodies with deodorant – it was too gross a thought to pursue and she immediately disregarded the passing thought, alternating her focus from the crowd to the figure she was drawing nearer to. The distance between herself and Russo was not a grand one, however considering the surrounding masses he might as well have been land and she adrift in riptides. Even so she could see him, define him like a word for what good that did her since attempting to label such a creature was asking to be occupied for life. He stood there, an untouched pillar of relative sanity while he hunkered over what appeared to be some form of machinery. For a moment Kyrie wasn’t sure what it was he was doing, bent over and intently fixated on the contraption that she couldn’t immediately identify until she was closer still. His hands flicking over shiny, barely visible knobs, smacking at buttons causing lights to flash spastically and illuminate his little corner and play across his front. Had he not looked awkward enough dressed in such depressingly colored garbs than this was certainly something worthy of deliberation. Aleksandra, the man of a tongue so smooth he could persuade a nun to forsake her virtue for a night of promised ecstasy, earnestly playing Pinball.
A smirk bloomed, evolving quicker as she was finally at his side and snatching his attention away from the console to focus on her, her question granted a swift response that was purely Aleksandra-esque. Of course this nifty ensemble wasn’t his best, only a man of his caliber – or maybe a woman of her own, could say such a thing with such utter nonchalance as if most people wouldn’t have to waste a paycheck and a little from their savings to achieve the height of his attire. And he unflappably measured them as nothing more than informal clothing. Kyrie almost shook her head at the man, her smile full and humorous as she listened the thick baritone wash over her, surprised minutely by how easily she picked it out from the otherwise deafening boom of music – or perhaps she was finally registering the claps of thunder outside?
The woman raised a brow, the deviant never failed to disappoint and his final rejoinder had him written all over it. “If that is a play on my name Russo, you have terrible taste in jokes – not very unique.” She challenged, coquettish but not at all meant to be serious. It was, in a fruitless way, a game. See who could flirt without overstepping the bounds of their familiarity and comfort zones – although she doubted Aleksandra even knew such a plateau as the one she so often was trying to cling to. “The same here, London’s good for this kind of weather but I didn’t think it’d follow me.” She said with a scoff, almost able to be miffed over the weather but unable to shake the hilarity of their circumstances. Sidling up alongside the man she was once again taken that he was taller than she was. That in and of itself was not warranting of such surprise but it had become a rarity in Japan and it also designated a foreigner without much reflection. The same could be said for her own height as well, in a crowd she could stand taller than even some of them men and that was without the addition of heels to bolster her already five foot ten frame and give her those extra two inches. Aside from the height, her eyes had moved to his choice of entertainment. “A mistress made of metal? I had no idea you played Pinball. Who’s winning?”
TAGGED Oni;
MUSIC your love is my drug – kesha;
WORDS 1067;
NOTEScouldn't make 2k I bow to my sensei;
TEMPLATE BY KYRIE FOX
Staying up all night hoping
hitting my head against the wall [/td][/tr][/center][/table] [/center] |
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Post by Oni Aleksandra on Dec 20, 2010 12:23:08 GMT -5
☁ --------------------------------------------------------------------- YOU DREAM OF TRADING PLACES I HAVE BEEN CHANGING FACES~
[/color] [/center] The thunder clap, the displacement of wasted energy. The skies bull-whip that seemed to crack any and all barriers leaving the pieces to swim freely through their ears, ever audible. It was the roar that inspired fear for some, and wonder for others, but which held a home in which? That varied with the person, and the time. The mind was generally weak; the heart taking precedence over most- if not all decisions made in a gathered few. How droll, to be guided by what you can never achieve; standards set high enough to clip the beard of God himself. This was the life for some, but not Aleksandra. He was a lot of things, and most of those things, but he wasn't one to think with his heart- maybe his male organ, but usually; it was his mind that was doing the talking. Hell; it was probably the reason he remained so calm and collected time after time. For this; he could make sure he was a catch you could bring home to daddy, but mommy might catch the backlash of his lusty ways as well. A man's man- for some. For others; he was an annoyance, but that was life, that was the existence he had been given. The steps of vain identity were the ones he had taken a liking to, and with that in mind; he wasn't going to start walking back down from his long lived position.
For those who shoved on and walked this broken path, there was hope. The comfort brought into the fray via another, but it wasn't for their brain or various personality triggers, but the body that held it all in one place. In-short, the mouse would do anything to get to the block of cheese on the other side of the table, but- like all things, there was a variable. A control put in-place to test the urgency of such. The limit held inside one's own being that gave the definition of a ' want ' and a ' need '. Sadly- in this day and age, that line was becoming smaller and smaller; a crack that did not split the Earth, but instead; the sidewalk below, easy enough to walk over and forget. No amount of spending would lengthen the two, only further its decline in size. Now, when you over saturate the ' market ' you tend to yearn for said thing less. So is the case with a sacred few- who have tasted the forbidden fruit, and devoured the God-given apple without a moment of hesitation. Of course, this doesn't mean they would pass up the chance to indulge in the sticky nectar of life with another, but they tend to stave off the option for a bit longer than the always lusty succubus.
" Of course not, I am far more witty. My jokes are as priceless as well, me~ " The ever conceited Russo' replied, his right arm raising just slightly to flick the air- adding to the arrogant vibe that seemed to wash over his general area like vicious tides- fueled by the gravitational pull of a full moon, which is only strengthened by the power of the Sun working in unison with its dark ally. Which was an interesting concept all on its own, but was Aleksandra the moon that cloaked the world in his ominous- yet always present shade, or was he the sun that beamed through the Heavens, making a name for himself wherever he went, and enjoying the praise received? In any case; he made it his duty to secure a zone where he could reign supreme, and this was his; even if it was a bit out of the ordinary. " London, hm? " He questioned, his query was a repeat meant for him; a confirmation message of sorts as the music was still drowning out small bits, to him at least. Maybe it was his lack of focus, or the fact that the music playing in the background was foreign and strange to his pampered ears.
His cultured taste was weighing heavy on the content being blasted through the ear shattering speakers; it was almost turned into an inaudible thumping of just bass and drums. Then again, most music had been turned into a product of beat; the success of most mainstream music being piggy backed on the instrumental used. The flirtatious back and forth was easily dissected by some, and for others; a tongue that couldn't be put into written language. " Do I get to visit London next time you see family, hm-hm? " Aleksandra continued, his smooth rhetoric left his lips in a pleasing tone, angelic in some ways. If this man was interested at all in political fancies; he could possibly run a campaign that rivaled presidents of yesteryear. Oh, and lets not forget the scandals that would take place while in office, but hey; all presidents need an interesting story that bordered on tabloid worthy and just plain wrong. Sadly, if Russo' was to ever step foot in the white house; a story would be made every other day, not including the ones he managed to keep a secret.
" I don't play very often; to tell you the truth, this is the first time I've seen one of these things outside of an ad. " Aleksandra scowled lightly, turning his attention to the machine that had just stolen his change without giving back any real form of entertainment. If he wasn't so wealthy; he would have been truly upset; the music would have been drowned out by bellows filled to the brim with anger. The notion passed and his countenance returned to his usual smirk. His eyes examining the woman before him, taking in Kyrie's lengthy form. The sharp-dressed student was obviously staring, and he didn't make much of an effort to hide it. His index finger ran along the edge of his glass; the remaining elixir gracing his digit. " London is pretty far away though~ " He began, stopping short of his mark, the liquid that had covered his flesh being pressed against his tongue via his extended finger. It made its way through his system as his eyes rolled over her legs. " It would be well worth the climb- I mean uh, trip. " Alek' finished, finally reeling back his fiendish gaze, and returning to eye level. " I guess pinball is one of those things I don't do well, how rare. " Russo' shrugged, his open gawking not even registering as wrong, it seemed he had missed the train when it came to ' comfort zones. '
words 1107
tagged OPEN~ •
ooc notes All is as it should be -tents fingers-•
lyrics • Almost Famous by Eminem
credits • made by zinzagoon of on the edge!
YOU CAN NOT FILL THESE SHOES THERE IS TOO MUCH TO LOSE [/color] WAKE UP BEHIND THESE TRENCHES YOU RUN AROUND DEFENSELESS~ --------------------------------------------------------------------- ☂[/center] [/blockquote][/size] |
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Post by kyrie fox on Dec 23, 2010 18:18:52 GMT -5
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[atrb=background,http://fc00.deviantart.net/fs31/f/2008/221/6/c/gothic_wallpaper_by_Reina_The_Sparkanean.jpg] I'm making those desperate calls
The allegation flitted across her ears and brought a chiding grin upon her face, assessing the remarks relaxed but all too seriously intended humor. The vain creature was he, a living breathing Narcissus of the Greek’s abundant lore. She would have to find an opportune moment to instill him with a warning to avoid reflective surfaces and water lest he turn into a giant weed. The mere setting of such an unfeasible idea nurtured the already budding smile and coaxed it into bloom, lighting her profile with straight-toothed mirthfulness that reached its way up and touched the woman’s eyes, genuine and easy unlike so much else about her. “Russo dear you’re slipping, it’s wittier not more witty, proper English, or rather Japanese.” She corrected in cool, playful notes that brandished the careful lilt of one cut from the cloth of truer European. It was not so rare that Kyrie could not completely mask the intonations born of her place of birth, occasionally they were grandly prominent and discernible whereas other instances she spoke sinuously in spite of the fact that her enunciation still belied her as a stranger but left her origins indistinguishable.
Her drink, the Shirley Temple she had requested, rested in her hand, untouched. The coolness of the glass, the lines of moisture beading along the frame of the cup, weren’t worth notice or she could not feel them through the thickness of her gloves but all the same she seemed to become aware of it in that moment and look at it as though she hadn’t remembered taking it. Attention averted to the beverage, though not enough that the inquisition from the man escaped her, Kyrie raised it to her lips and let the cold, sugar and seltzer solution wash over her tongue. Her face tightened for one moment as the tingle ripped along the roof of her mouth and momentarily caused her nose to burn, it also didn’t help that her classmate’s next question nearly made the mouthful she had catch in her throat.
All passed as quickly, the discomfort as well as the consternation and she pulled it away to find the contents more than half gone. She fixed the ever-smiling man with a droll look, a quirked brow and the lightest tilt of a flippant expression that hovered perilously on the precipice of a frown and a smile. “You can go to London if you both pay your own ticket, not that I doubt you couldn’t, and keep your hands off my female relatives.” Came the snide retort, “The last thing I need is for my father to castrate you or try to. I can't imagine what horrors would await me for you to marry into the family.” The latter comment would only prove viable if icebergs grew in Hell and since that wasn’t happening any century she would be alive for, it was not a serious concern.
Worth the climb is it? The meaningful look she offered was fringed with the still lingering humor, catching the verbal blunder for what it implied. “Oh, do take a picture Russo.” She laughed, widening her stance and placing a hand at the curve of her hip, smile never waning as she watched him watch her, thoroughly entertained. “Not only does it last longer but it won’t make disparaging comments afterward.” She chirped, tone playful and humoring. Reprimanding a man of Alek’s debonair was a fruitless endeavor to which she could not expend such energy to profligate. There was nothing to be done of his lustful glances or head-to-toe appraisals, she had been subjected to worse from people of less dazzling appearances nor would letting him get an eyeful of her clothed cause her harm. Besides, if she thought that getting angry with him would result in a repeal on his behavior she would have been disappointed. He acted of his own accord; the norms of society might as well have been a pamphlet of suggestions in respect to Russo. “What’s the matter? No one here, aside from me of course, strikes your fancy?” She waved her free hand in a vague gesture, rotating it to indicate the other occupants of the club that would be more receptive to his advances than she. “If you’re putting a leash on the libido to entertain me, please, don’t restrain yourself on my account.” All the while Kyrie never once expressed ire or indignation because neither would do her much good. The man flirted like he breathed; it was innate, damn near automatic. If she bothered with him for every time she caught him she would need to carry more Aspirin.
TAGGED Oni;
MUSIC nothing;
WORDS 700+;
NOTES= v = ;
TEMPLATE BY KYRIE FOX
Staying up all night hoping
hitting my head against the wall [/td][/tr][/center][/table] [/center] |
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