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Post by asail on Jul 2, 2009 18:39:02 GMT -5
Vindictive anxiety began to lumber within Byron's throat, and the itching stress that influenced the excessive loads of his movements tensed and tottered within his head. Vengeance recurred upon his placidity and indelible nature to ponder, to wait. His back stiffened and knees became stricken with restless, goading knots. Slender fingers twitched, tapping a lack luster harmony of a variable, ineffable sort bearing no rhythm or set pace. Fruitless perusal subjugated the frantic man to fret, and as his posture yet again began to lean a familiar chime extended to him. Body crept to stillness, to garner the diminutive twinkle made familiar, made euphoric. His head lolled in a lazy sweep, beckoning a smile, vast and childish, to befall his face. The sloppy grin beaming with ample ecstasy, such a premature visage of joy was reflected, nurtured and gentle, in his blaring blue discs. Regal limbs stretched, then gathered to support his body, a vessel matured well past whom he sauntered closer to. "Lera~~" His gait intensified to a bound, debonair shrouds strained as he pursued at a reckless pace. The vision of a man, obviously, is not always accompanied by the humility of a gentleman. Byron's call, boisterous though it was tender, signaled the beginning of an onslaught. "I missed you~" He mused, equivocally coy. His arms shamelessly entangled her, the bulk of his limbs encompassed her delicate form and then some, permitting his arms to fold and playfully, but not harshly, squeeze her. "Did you know your school has plastic trees? How dull. Back in my day all the trees were real and you could buy a stick of gum for a penny." He pursued to complain, articulating his voice in a way that was stricken and jaded, a mock elderly man. The cessation of his platter proceeded with the gradually release of his infatuation, although he proceeded to affectionately touch her, supple hands grasping subtly onto her elbow while his fingers rotated on her skin in soothing caresses. "Ah, Lera, I know I shouldn't be touching you, a damsel, in such a way," His eyes retreated behind onyx lashes, resting his jowls sweetly upon the top of her head, awkwardly bending to commit to the stance. "But my students were released early and there was no one to distract me from thinking about you all day. So, do forgive me this one time miss maiden? I’ve been weakened by torture." Byron's fingers fanned across the span of her lower arms, retreating back to his palms, fairly pressing the skin in a slight massage. A passive aroma tasted the air, a culinary spice that marked Byron's comforting scent, a flourish of ginger that doused the reckless layers and wild strips of his eccentric hair.
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Post by Kodiak on Sept 7, 2009 20:39:29 GMT -5
Somehow, the girl offered no signs of flinching at the much larger figure being thrusted upon her, perhaps partially expecting it. Her dark orbs almost seemed to uphold an effulgent gleam, Byron's presence swiftly igniting her gentle smile. The touch of the older man did not perturb Lera, however, the sight of the myriad amount of students caused the nonchalant air around her to weaken into cessation. Her meager jaws parted to emit a distressed whisper, but she desisted from uttering such words. Lera knew he was aware of the severity of the nature of their relationship, but it still beleaguered her nerves. Careful orbs avoided the stares of others, parting with the reality of her surrounding peers; only recognizing Byron, she offered placid yet jocund words. "You're not eighty. I guess they figured it would be less of a hassle if they didn't need to water them." The last traces of the girl's grin dispersed slowly, replaced by a sincere luster in her gaze. "Byron...Can you do something for me?" A flash of red overtook her cheeks, eventually succumbing to replace the prior tender peach. Fragile fingers lifted to tangle themselves loosely in the material of his clothes, while youthful orbs drifted toward a formidable slope. "Could you please..Take me up the hill? We can both fit on my bike. I can't petal there myself..And there's something I want to show you." The scarlet had begun to fade, but her voice remained vulnerable, so feeble; lacking vigor to even stir the auric bell.
Slipping through the halls was 69, his fair hair still somehow, imbued with the remnants of his cleansing moments to himself, spurning very trifle elements of the previous activites. However, clothes remained damp in a different manner, still procuring traces of sweat even though the heavy jacket vest had been removed. Slick body was outlined discreetly by the tight length of his ebony shirt, stretching slightly at the expansion of his muscular arms. "Bit by bit. From now on, things are going to change, mother. Even if you feel that nothing is worth keeping any longer, you'll crave to retain the little broken down sliver of life you have left while I tear it from your crude, greedy hands that could never in God's name nurture anybody. I'll make you repent mother, and then, you'll love me, mother." Caustic eyes flashed as if imbibed by a fain eclat, slightly eclipsed by fulvous hair that adorned his unstable head. 69's lean figure garneshed a more relaxed position as his slouching imputed him to slide somewhat unassiduously against the wall. "So I'll tell you one thing mother dearest, no matter what we do, as long as we're still in this shit heap us 'humans' have called our home, we're dogs. But I'm a god damn fucking stray. So don't you or your fucking psychiatric groupies bind me with your filthy leashes or I'll rip out every last juicy artery from your heart for rope and decorate my dear brother's christmas tree this year with your hanging corpses. Wouldn't want him getting lonely, seeing as though that fucking stoner shit for brains you called your husband finally returned to hell. It was nice talking to you, mother. Let's not do it again." A protracted finger briskly ran across the novel placement of his eye patch over his morbid orb. Acrid smirk inundated his abstruse countenance, manipulated by the cessation of any ire. “Remember, 'hatchet murders were the house specialty of the Journal, whose front page was a virtual abattoir of murder most foul'.” Cellular device folded in on its self, recurring its prior composition, while a gaze of aridity gripped the length of the hall.
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Post by asail on Nov 26, 2009 18:25:59 GMT -5
Though Byron wasn’t oblivious of his surrounding, he didn’t pay it much acknowledgment. The unconscious vigilance commonly allotted by orthodox man to their stance and stature had slipped upon a whimsical whim, and left him saturated in an almost insolent apathy. For the form of Lera’s body against the curl of his arm caused such apprehensions to shiver away, leaving him soft, tendered. However, bluntly articulated, Byron was in no way stupid. He realized the implications and considerations his type of relationship required, and fervently held to them, though this rarely obstructed any of his juvenile affections. Pardoned by the grasp of her hand on his sleeve a placid purr resounded in his genial tone. “Quite right, I have a few years before that.” His tongue protruded from his grinning lips in comic expression. He rose carefully, though remained clinging to her torso, massaging the folds of her clothing in a demure, sweet manner. His right brow quirked, fair breeze rustling his tousled hair shimmering white with the blaze of his teeth as he chuckled warmly, muscles tightening about her in a faintly teasing squeeze. “Then onward we go, dove, lead the way~!”
Rent leaned against the threshold, aged frame billowing the profuse folds of his sweats, visage still rank and curdled in sweat. Despite such conditions he stood expressionless, more or less, impatient, passive hands procuring a blade from the depths of his trousers, he held it meekly. Face fixed in a slight scowl, yet the oppressive hostility in his natural glower made it questionable if the negative emotion was all imagined, generalized by the searing chill of his orbs, shards of glass, flickering with a cold, dying flame. The blade twitched in a fidget and his sly voice ventured, sloppily articulated in reeking breath, apathy shearing his voice cordless, to bones. “C’mon momma’s boy, our hit is cooling for every damn second you waste.” Despite his words there was no aggression professed and he slipped silently back, disappearing into the hall.
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Post by asail on Mar 10, 2010 23:39:00 GMT -5
A young man of his later twenties reclined against the office seat, the back creaking but ignored beneath the incessant tapping of keys as he typed. The fan blades overhead turning in slow rotation, men and women of variable ages wandering listlessly toward some destination or another or laboring at their cubicle just as he was. One hand flipped through a stack of papers absently while the other continued to type at a slower pace. “Look, ‘Evan’, I really don’t know where your dad is. Bastard hasn’t come to work in a few weeks now.” His tone was oddly soft for the grudge in his words, an exasperation stiffening his orthodox movements. He articulated quietly, for the one he addressed was not even a foot distanced; rather, she was beneath him, situated quietly in a corner under his desk. Her petite body curled against the wood, her feet intertwined by her bare toes. He ciphered a hand from its work to sift his long fingers through his tawny locks, tapered in lazy curls, his breath passed heavily in a jaded exhale, the chair sounding an ugly echo in his motions. “Hasn’t been home either.” He mumbled, whisper half-hearted in its elocution, as if uncertain as to whether its necessity was owed. His temperate eyes peered gradually to the child, limbs feeble and smooth under the folds of her clothing, virile yet dainty. Her stare was away, unsettled and dazed as the tousled threads of her dyed amethyst threads framed the supple skin of her face. Her dirty hands clutched at the worn textile of her trousers, and her slight shoulders, just barely, seemed to tremble.
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Post by Kodiak on Mar 8, 2012 2:28:12 GMT -5
The anxiety drained from the delicate girl’s face, returning her cheeks to a tender peach. As much as a taboo it should have been, Byron’s touch always soothed her. A sincere smile over took her countenance. “Thank you, Byron.” With a hesitant shift, she broke away from him, procuring an unsteady gait toward her bike. Pulling it a slight, insignificant distance from the passing by students, she rested a dainty palm upon the leather seat. “You first..Ill sit behind you.” Her sheepish gaze quickly met the floor, cheeks rouge once again.
A hazy, nebulous stare tracked Rent, lingering momentarily. Knuckles fettered the phone with a malign intensity; A boorish, youthful spirit took refuge in his eyes, a tarnished innocence, a paradox. Both the ripened sapling of scorn and abhorrent venom coexisted with a peculiar ambience of fervid compassion. The bittersweet sound of children’s laughter followed 69 down the hall.
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Post by asail on Jun 26, 2012 23:17:50 GMT -5
Byron appeared undaunted to retain his blithe expression at her request, and though he made no grand display of the emotion caution slowed his eager gait, eyes scaling, sly and surreptitious, along his peripheral. He held his tender smile as he pat the leather seat, shifted his weight, espied trailing students leisurely walking toward the opposite gate. “Make sure to hold on tight.” He told her quietly, as the sweet hush of chattering leaves sighed with the pull of his legs over the cool seat. Bright eyes, indolent and sleepy with tempered love, focused back on his affection in full, assured, though not confident, in their ability to slip out unseen, unquestioned. He had rehearsed excuses plenty of times should anyone become suspicious: that he was a relative, a father, an affectionate brother, but when he looked at the delicate girl, at the light dappling the nape of her neck and the innocent trust she seemed to confide in him, he felt aggrieved and angered that he should hide. Though he knew such vain sentiment would never come to fruition, a bittersweet yearning smarted faintly in his heart. He absently caressed her head with a ginger hand, resigned himself to the handle bars, and merely smiled.
'Twas night and shit. Don't know what our fanny bandits are doing xD
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