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Post by Blaise Blackwood on Dec 29, 2009 5:10:51 GMT -5
The water was crisp and cold, but it enveloped the man like a welcoming glove. The natural liquid fused with his alabaster skin, and though it should have caused him discomfort, he felt nothing but invigorated. His lithely muscled arms caressed the smooth surface of the small lake, his freestyle stroke like a caress upon the large body of water. There was barely a ripple, barely a disturbance. His movement amongst the gentle waves appeared natural, as if he belonged there, like some humanoid Aquarian creature. Overhead the heavy, blackened clouds gathered. Dusk, by the man's calculations, was still half an hour away. But the storm clouds brought dusk earlier than was predicted. It didn't bother him, though. His feet soon found purchase upon the underwater bank of the river. His toes dug into the sand, pushing his torso from the water; the liquid fell from him, like a silk sheet. With a quick flick of his head his dark hair arched like a halo. The removal of the dark curtain revealed bright, silvery-blue eyes and a finely chiselled face. It was a face that could appeal to men and women alike, though it contrasted with his finely toned body. That body was most definitely masculine, and the water clung to it as if it never wanted to let it go. The man glanced upward as he strode toward the shore; the bright bolt of lightning reflected in his wide eyes as it shot across the darkened sky. When the man lowered his gaze, his eyes flashed silver. They retained a spark, as if they were instead lenses of a camera and they'd captured the awesome power of the lightning. Where beforehand his features had been blank of any discernible expression, there now rested upon his lips a devious smirk; not more than five seconds later, a deafening crack of thunder rumbled the earth and startled the birds from their resting places. As the birds screeched their surprise and the ground-bound mammals burrowed deeper into their holes, Blaise's entire body trembled with anticipation. He attracted the static in the air, gathering it to himself, harnessing the deadly energy of the storm. Oh, yes, he could do some damage tonight. And by God, he was looking forward to it.
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bel
CITIZEN
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Post by bel on Dec 29, 2009 7:10:08 GMT -5
I was a child, and she was a child, In this kingdom by the sea… Thanks a lot, ma. Annabel’s nose wrinkles a slight. It’s cold out - there’d be no dispute over that. It didn’t seem to matter much whether or not she grew up in the northern united states, just blocks away from the eastern coastline, with that freezing wind whipping off the tide, bringing a distinct mist to anyone’s breath. With all reason miss Courcel should have built up some sort of immunity to the chill in the air. But she hadn’t. Those cold hands of hers with frozen knuckles draw her pea coat about her form, doing up the buttons with all the ease and eagerness a lover may have to undo such a thing. Still, this cold was no lover’s embrace; more a thing Miss Courcel was eager to avoid, with hands stuffed deep and fingering against that soft-shelled pack of cigarettes, and that cheap bic lighter - bright orange it was, if Bel recalled properly, that was. And she did recall properly. She was soon proved right as she draws both cigarettes and lighter from within her jacket. She’d left Dear old Bahstahn for this place - well, not this place in specific. This RavenBlack City. In some ways it reminded her of her home town, of course it may have simply been the chilled breeze that reminded her of home - her frozen nose a sweet sort of reminder, heated only by the burning ember settled upon the very tip of her clove. It was the shoreline she stayed for. But the shoreline most definitely wasn’t the reason she was out this eve. It’s the simple reason that - despite allowing her to paint her walls a garish harlequin pattern - her apartment complex was a “smoke free” environment. Supposedly. More often than not she obeyed and stepped out to the front stoop or took a short stroll along the walk to enjoy that burning in her lungs. And then there were other nights which Annabel laid within her bed, ash tray balanced between warm breasts, doing her best not to fall asleep before that glowing ember was successfully extinguished. So, tonight she’d paid her apologies to Dear Holmes, that disgusting and portly English Bulldog of hers, and exited the building to wander along the tide-line. It’s loud out tonight, though, even with the sound of waves breaking. Gulls were agitated and circling noisily overhead though it weren’t time for them to sleep yet. Whatever, though, it would be fine so long as they decided not to peck Miss Annabel Lee’s eyes out. “Mm, fuck,” the small girl curses sharply as clipped brunette locks whip into her features, threatening to burst into flame with but the simple burning end of her cigarette, “Gahdamn piece’a’shit,” she grumbles onwards, flicking the butt toward the sand carelessly. It’s at this point she takes note of something else entirely- a man, a handsome one at that, “Mm, hell-oh,” she breathes out, more for her own benefit than anyone else’s. Despite near-immediate attraction the young woman is almost hesitant to approach. Men were always better from afar anyway.
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Post by Blaise Blackwood on Dec 29, 2009 10:16:28 GMT -5
The black jeans clung to the man’s legs, though his feet were bare. For some reason or other he’d decided to go swimming half dressed; the decision had been so spontaneous, so unthought-out, that it was the pair of jeans that suffered. It did not matter. They would clean. What harm could a little water do?
The slender fingers of his right hand reached up to brush the remaining hair from his face, slicking the long strands back and flicking the water from them. He blinked the water from his eyes, upper lip curling over his lower lip so that he could blow the water from his mouth, to keep it from getting in.
Now that he was back on dry land, he felt heavy again. It’s what he loved about the water; it held you aloft, cradled you, and made you feel as if you weighed less than a feather. His toes crunched in the dry sand as he slinked toward his pile of belongings over beneath a tree. A movement in the corner of his eye shifted his attention to the left; light glancing off of a solid, moving object.
His gait did not slow as he ascertained that the movement was, in fact, a woman. She had stopped, and was watching. Perfect timing, Madame. He crooned to himself inside his own mind. He’d only glanced at her, but would not watch. In fact, he appeared to care little about her presence, continuing to act as if he were still the only one on this lake’s beach.
Blaise reached his arms skyward, arching his back as he stretched out his muscles and bones. His body was turned to allow the woman full appreciation of his feline-like movements. After which, he bent down to retrieve his light grey tee, flexing his upper body as he manoeuvred the item over his head. The material was immediately spotted with water, the patches showing up a darker grey against the original colour of the shirt. The weather may have been chilly, but this obviously did not bother Blaise.
Still, he retrieved his leather jacket from the pile, shaking the sand from it before shifting into the garment. He picked up his two shoes in his hand, the socks tucked inside of them. He could not abide the feeling of damp feet and sand in formerly dry shoes, so he chose to walk away from the beach bare foot.
He turned toward the woman, then, tucking his free hand into his pocket as he sauntered along the beach toward her. She may have thought he was approaching her; but after five steps he winked at her, before turning onto the path that led away from the lake and wound its uneasy way back toward the city. The path morphed from sand, into unevenly placed slats of wood, until finally forming a neat row of pavers. Blaise continued along this path until he found a bench, upon which he sat.
He removed the socks from his shoes and started to expertly swat the sand from his feet.
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bel
CITIZEN
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Post by bel on Dec 30, 2009 2:00:50 GMT -5
Men truly were nothing but trouble, thought to be fair the same could be said about women. The only problem with that is the simple fact that Bel is in no way attracted to women. Save for that one time back when she was seventeen. Still, barely anyone knew of that short-lived escapade, especially not anyone she’d just recently met!
Still, it was best to simply observe from afar. It’s this thought that brings herself to backpedaling a step or two in attempts to… Well, she wasn’t exactly sure why she was backing away. There was truly nowhere to hide unless she decided to make some sort of a run for it, and even then, it’s not like she’s the most in shape of folk, aside that, running in sand was simply exhausting work, and nothing worth even thinking about! Still, there was nowhere for her to go, not that there was really any true reason for her to be going anywhere.
Miss Courcel comes to a quick half then, pinching a single eye shut and simply averting her gaze toward the horizon line. She came out here to smoke, right? Sure as hell she had. Despite having near lit her pretty little head on fire Bel gives it another go with fingertips plucking another to the swell of her pout, eagerly drawing that horrendous orange lighter upwards. She flicks the stitch. Once, twice, three times.
And nothing.
Pretty eyes loll upwards though considering her options before lifting that plastic container toward her ear. She gives it a good shake as if she may somehow be able to hear the sound of nothingness rattling above the whip of the wind around her. “Fuck,” the young girl breathes out, taking those few steps from the tide line, slowly coming to approach the warf from which she’d stepped, despite the sands’ protest; the seemingly slick substance dragging her down almost desperately. In that moment she held the utmost respect for anyone who even attempted to give a go at running along the beach.
Her chest heaves against the frozen air and her heart flutters as she approaches that bench with that undeniably alluring man was situated upon. First and foremost Annabel slams the remains of her lighter within that metallic drum before more directly pivoting toward the handsome young man. “Ya got a light?” Bel questions, lifting a small hand to flick her cigarette away from her lips so she may wave it, though he needed some sort of explanation for her request.
Without invite Miss Annabel Lee lowers herself gracelessly onto the bench next to him, settling her clove back upon her soft mouth.
“You looked good out there,” she offers up almost off-handedly.
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Post by Blaise Blackwood on Dec 30, 2009 9:03:04 GMT -5
He heard her coming, but he did not look up. People walked this path all the time. Just because they’d both been on the beach, and she’d followed him to this spot, did not mean there was any special connection between them. This was public domain. People could go where they pleased. But sometimes, just sometimes, it felt as if there were other forces at play. There was a magnetic pull between certain people, so that as they moved through life they’d come together at some point. Or perhaps it was just pure coincidence. What Blaise liked to believe, however, was that he naturally had a stronger pull than other people did. If everyone was a magnet, than he was the King Pin. But he did not brag about it. It was a secret desire, or just a secret in general. If he told anyone, he would not be King Pin anymore. If he told anyone, the whole thing would fall to pieces. When alone, his thoughts followed such mundane patterns; thoughts that meant nothing, but everything. Her footsteps didn’t seem to slow as she approached, but as she stepped in front of Blaise, she turned toward him. His head was still bowed toward the ground, so the twitch of a smirk at the corner of his mouth may very well have been missed. Whatever the case, it was gone when he glanced up at her, another flash of lightning highlighting his features as he did so. He nodded once, before pulling his right foot into the white sock. Only after both of his feet were shoed did he dig into the pocket of his jacket to retrieve a silver barrelled lighter, the anarchy symbol carved into the front of it. He flicked the top of it open to reveal a shivering flame, which he shielded with his hand and held out in front of her. At her compliment, Blaise lazily shrugged his shoulders. He was trying to assess this woman, for indeed she was a woman. She had confidence and flare; she was no girl who could be won over by petty, cliché pick-up lines. At least, it was what he assumed after the paltry first impression. But what kind of poison did he want her to be? Or, more precisely, what kind of poison did she like best? He narrowed his eyes as his contemplation came to an end; he stretched his feet out in front of him, crossing one ankle over the other. One hand rested in his lap as the other stretched over the back of the bench. He licked his lips, before glancing back in the direction of the beach. “It’s amazing you could see me at all. Night’s falling early tonight, I think.” He said, a rumble of thunder following his words. He glanced back at the woman, his smile a mixture between amusement and devilry. “That rain’s gonna start pouring, so I’d suck that cigarette quick if I were you.”
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bel
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Post by bel on Dec 31, 2009 5:00:48 GMT -5
Bel leans close to this young man. More for the light than for anything else. Well, maybe that wasn’t entirely true. She’d one cigarette on this short walk and that could quite possibly do her just fine for the night. She didn’t need this second cigarette, and still, here she was on this public bench with this inexplicably alluring man sucking heavily on that filter.
There was really no denying it.
She was here for him. Her brows furrow at the thought and the young woman shoulders back into her seat comfortably, her back arching to settle shoulders and backside only upon that seat. Quietly she listens to him speak - it was remarkable she was quiet at all. More often than not when around people Miss Annabel Lee simply couldn’t keep that pretty trap of hers closed long enough for her companion to formulate a response. It’s almost maddening, the fact she was behaving so differently just because of one boy.
Slowly Miss Courcel exhales then, those mossy green eyes of hers fluttering closed. Mild pleasure aching within the pit of her burning lungs. “I grew up in Bahstahn,” she explains, and by that accent of hers, it’s more than obvious she did, in fact, hail from Boston, Massachusetts, “Nights on the beach ahn’t exactly anythin’ new,” she clarifies with a wrinkle to her nose.
As for the second comment, well, “I can suck ahh cigarette like no one’s business,” perhaps that could be taken in a more perverted way than she’d intended, still, it weren’t as though she were trying to impress anyone with her speech, well, maybe she was, and she was simply failing miserably. Still, she flashes an almost confident grin, taking the time to dash ashes upon the boardwalk before the two. “My apartment’s just right there,” she grunts out, gesturing quickly in the direction of her apartment, “Don’t imagine I’ll get too wet,” with that Annabel settles the filter of her cigarette to the corner of her mouth.
“I’m Annabel, for the record,” she coos out sweetly, offering her hand for shaking, “Much prefer Bel, though,” she continues onwards, pinching a single eye shut, for a passing second. It’s at this time she takes a moment to simply eye his features, and none too discreetly at that! He’s handsome with firm jaw and bright eyes. Or at least she thinks. Beautiful, even, in some strange sort of way.
Fuckin’ perfect.
He must think her some sort of pervert in that moment. Slyly Annabel shifts her gaze back toward those encroaching clouds.
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Post by Blaise Blackwood on Jan 1, 2010 1:40:21 GMT -5
Ah, Boston. Blaise knew he recognised the accent, though he hadn’t been able to place it exactly until she told him. It was a place he’d never visited, and he didn’t know whether he cared to. But perhaps it was a destination he ought to put on his map. Though he didn’t imagine that a beach in the middle of a city could be a sight for sore eyes; he idly wondered how this one could compare. It was a passing thought.
He chuckled low, under his breath, as she told him how skilled she was at sucking a cigarette. Something that could be added to a person’s curriculum vitae, to be sure. And it made him wonder what else she could suck ‘like no one’s business’. Yeah, this one was a keeper. This one, Blaise believed, would give him more entertainment than he’d originally bargained for. And, if he played his cards just right, he may just get to find out the answer to his aforementioned curiosity.
She offered him her hand, and he took it; his hands would be surprisingly warm regardless of the fact that he’d been swimming in chilled water in icy weather. He applied a small amount of pressure, but not too much. It was tempting to lift the hand to his lips to place a soft kiss on the knuckles—but would she fall for that? It was too soon to tell. Many women, these days, would consider such an act smarmy or cliché. Blaise would be neither, unless the situation called for it.
“It’s a pleasure, Bel.” He nodded. “I’m Blaise.” He returned the gesture. Annabel. Such a sweet, innocent name for such a...well, he didn’t believe Bel to be sweet and innocent. She would have time to prove him wrong, of course.
“Yes, living right there, I think you could get away with not getting too wet.” Blaise commented offhandedly, shrugging his shoulders and frowning in that careless kind of way. He then leant forward, and in the process of doing so, got a little closer to Bel; he glanced upward at the broiling clouds, waited for the next rumble of thunder to pass before he continued, speaking low, as if conspiratorial.
“But what’s the fun in being stuck in a thunder storm if you don’t allow yourself to get a little wet.” It was a murmur, and he was grinning like a mad-hatter; he was completely aware of the not-so-sweet undertones of his own statement. No, Blaise wasn’t sweet or innocent either. Although he was restless and buzzing with energy, Blaise exuded a deathly calm, willing to try to hold back time, to slow them down, to wait for that rain to start pouring.
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bel
CITIZEN
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Post by bel on Jan 1, 2010 4:10:07 GMT -5
Miss Annabel Lee purses her lips then. So his name was Blaise. Now, she’d been around the block a time or two before, and she’d never, in her entire life, come into the company of someone with such an odd sort of name. She fought to keep quiet on the matter, biting upon her lower lip so she may silence herself.
Despite the strange name his hands were more than warm, especially compaired to her own, and despite the almost positively freezing water he’d just crawled out of. But that’s how it seemed to work - women bitch about how cold they are, and men always seemed to be overheated, somehow. It simply wasn’t fair.How did it happen, anyway?! It’s not as though Miss Courcel were sporting less clothing than this Blaise was! In fact, she was probably sporting more layers than him!
She was almost tempted to offer up some sort of commentary on the seemingly toasty state of his body. Though it’d more than likely come off as almost adolescent! Still, she resists the urge to simply tuck close and mooch off his own warmth. Toasty bastard. Her nose wrinkles and she tongues her cigarette toward the corner of her mouth, simply sinking tiny hands between the warm press of her thighs. At least those were still warm.
A slow grin spreads across her lips then, “Where’s the fun in getting a little wet if you’re doing it by yourself?” Annabel asks of him with a wrinkle to her nose. Once more she glances upwards and to those brooding clouds overhead before sucking that final drag from the filter of her cigarette. It felt hot, even through the length of that filter. It singed both lips and the fingertips which were clutching upon such only to flick it lazily toward the ground below the two of them to press the toe of a single black ballet flat upon the still-burning ember.
“Tada,” she presents, lifting her foot to expose the remains of her spent cigarette. It was no big trick, nor does she expect him to be impressed, but she had managed to suck down a cigarette before some downpour fell upon their heads. She’s still expecting it, in fact. Any moment now, right? Her gaze shifts to peer upon the looming clouds overhead.
It’s almost on cue then, as she feels the first pitter of raindrops on her bare features. It’s cold upon the apples of her cheeks, and despite the fact that she’d seen it coming, she finds herself blinking almost rapidly, and sputtering to boot.
The question was, did she really want to get wet? Well, no, not really, but it couldn’t be all that bad. She’d come in contact with an attractive man. Even if the two of them would be parting ways soon, it wasn’t so bad in the end. Bel pinches her eyes shut once more, taking the time to draw her tongue along the lower tier of her pout, lapping up those stray droplets sprinkling upon the two of them.
Despite the rain Miss Annabel Lee doesn’t make a move, at least not yet, anyway.
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Post by Blaise Blackwood on Jan 2, 2010 9:25:23 GMT -5
Well, snap! It wasn’t often that Blaise met a girl who could match him his dirty thoughts. Though of course he didn’t think they were dirty. In fact, he was of the opinion that such thoughts, or at least the things they depicted, were beautiful. They were works of art, and nobody should ever want to be washed clean of them. To think them dirty—well that kind of pessimistic thinking was a remnant of an old-fashioned, catholic past. Men and women were free to do as they pleased now, as they always should have been. There was nothin’ dirty about it, no sirree.
Not long after she was flicking that fast-burning cigarette of hers to the ground; Blaise almost regretted not having one of his own. It wasn’t a habit he kept up with, smoking. He’d have described himself as a social smoker, as it was. As with everything he did, he’d only smoke if the situation called for it. This just may have been one such situation, but alas—he had no cancer sticks on his person.
Truth was, Blaise spent a lot of his time just wandering through the rain. He revelled in the downpour. He was about to retort, to tell her that a person could have plenty of fun by themselves getting wet. Hell, it would have been the most perfect dirty retort. But, whether thinking in literal or dirty terms, it was always far more fun to get wet when with someone else. So his mouth, slightly ajar, fell shut and he rolled his shoulders in a shrug of agreement.
And, as if fate were allowing her the full satisfaction of her addiction, the rain started its descent almost as soon as the cigarette had been pounded into the earth. Timing, indeed.
Blaise was amused by Bel’s reaction to the rain. She’s blinking, and sputtering, and though she seemed to relax into her seat Blaise had a feeling she was only acting comfortable. He, however, was a natural. He lifted his face to the droplets, giving them free access to his skin, his lips, his eyes (though he’d shut those, momentarily).
He was then up and out of his seat and offering his hand to Bel; with each passing second, the rain drops fell harder and faster. The thunder rumbled louder overhead, and the seconds between the flashes of lightning and the cracks of thunder were getting short and shorter. The storm was bearing down upon them. And Blaise was in no hurry. Secretly, he hoped Bel was a little afraid of storms. There was no better way to woo a woman than to comfort her when she’s scared.
“Come on, Bel. Let’s frolic a little.” He says with a mischievous smirk, that flash of silver gleaming in his eyes.
“’cause you know what’s really fun about getting all wet and cold?” He asked, rhetorically, waiting for her to take his hand before he answered;
“It’s getting warm again afterwards.” He answered, with a wink. Oh, yes, he’d had plenty of fun on other such occasions doing exactly that.
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bel
CITIZEN
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Post by bel on Jan 2, 2010 10:51:14 GMT -5
Bel didn’t so much mind the rain. She’d grown up in a geographic region which provided for rain two seasons of the year; spring and fall, mostly spring. She recalled the downpours in its attempts to wash away any remainder of snow still clinging to the sidewalks. Still, even though she’d by no means grown up within some arid climate, and this particular wash of rain came as no surprise, those first few freezing droplets were almost startling.
Though by no means was she uncomfortable.
Quietly Miss Annabel Lee dares to peek an eye open and shift her pretty gaze upward and to the sky from beneath well clipped and sideswept bangs. She even goes as far as to slip a single hand from her pocket to brush back that thin filament layer of bangs, further exposing pretty features to the building downpour. Mm, lovely. There was truly nothing like rain in late December; nothing ever seemed to get that cold.
It’s then, with her hands tucking back into the confines of her pea coat’s pockets and eyes pinching shut once more that this handsome fellow is offering up a hand. Oh, she must truly look pathetic in that moment, with dark hair wet and pretty features scrunched in retort to the cold. And still, he wished to frolic. Wait. Did she hear him right? Frolic? Oh, yes, she did! Even above the rumble overhead there was no doubt as to his choice of words.
Still, her hand lifts from within the confines of her pocket to slip within Blaise’s very own. “You don’t look the frolicking type,” Bel, teases with a widening sort smile. Her free hand settles upon the lip of that bench so she may push herself up and from her seat to join Blaise’s. Her ears prickled with heat in reply to his words. If Annabel wasn’t mistaken she’d say he was flirting with her!
Her lips purse before she offers a broad sort of smirk, “I’m inclined to agree with ya,” she croons, or at least attempts to. It’s truly difficult to manage anything semi-seductive with that thick Bahstahn accent of hers. Still, it lends a sort of respectable distinction to her voice. Or so she’s been telling herself, for at least a good handful of years now.
“If I wasn’t mistaken,” she continues onwards, the thin line of her body nudging and tucking close to Blaise’s own without shame or even a hitch within her step, nor any sort of sign of hesitance, “I’d say you were flirting with me,” she decides, free hand lifting to brush fingertips upon the curve of his side. He’s pleasantly warm in comparison to the downpour of rain on their heads and shoulders. By now she’s left slick enough to simply brush back those dark locks of hers to leave them clinging to the lift of her brow.
Dear god, he’s attractive. How did Miss Courcel even get this lucky? Then again, she hadn’t quite yet.
“Now then, how about you show a girl how it’s done,” the frolicking, that was.
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Post by Blaise Blackwood on Jan 7, 2010 4:02:10 GMT -5
If Blaise was going to be completely honest, he liked women (and men, really) best when they looked natural. When they smothered their faces with make-up, with foundation so thick that it looked like it had been painted on...it ruined the moment. Light make-up he like well enough, but he hated it when they made themselves look like some kind of dandy, street-girl doll.
So seeing Bel saturated, her eyes blinking to keep the water from them and her dark hair stuck to her skin—it made her all the more appealing. Mother nature was giving them a gift of water, smothering them in its silken goodness, and the outfit suited Bel well.
Blaise smiled a lofty smile and narrowed his eyes in a luminous, smouldering kind of fashion; most of the time he got away with saying ridiculous things. It was strange how the world worked, sometimes. If a person looked and acted like a fool, and said something ridiculous, others would think them a fool. But, if someone acted and looked sophisticated and said something ridiculous, the ridiculousness was well able to be dismissed.
Though for a moment an absurd image flashed across the front of his mind—he and Bel skipping down the path as if it were some yellow brick road, he acting like some raging, flamboyant homosexual. Hell no. He was not going to engage in any such ridiculousness as that. To frolic to enjoy oneself, to gambol about, to play. That was exactly what Blaise had in mind.
There is no reaction from Blaise when she tucks herself close to him. He does not pull away, nor does he immediately release her hand. His thumb traces an idle pattern over the top of her hand as he cocks his head to the side thoughtfully.
“You shouldn’t judge people by their looks, obviously.” He told her with a wicked grin. There were plenty of things she might judge him to be by his looks, but she’d find out that he was the complete opposite in many ways.
“And if I’m not mistaken...” Yes, he was indeed flirting (it was what he did best), “...I’d say that you like it.” He said, his wicked grin tilting upward as he chuckled low under his breath. He had no qualms or hesitations when it came to flirting. It was the best kind of game.
He then turned his gaze near-inconspicuously to the side, surveying the path ahead. The thing, though it might once have been a very well-made path, was now a little worse for wear. The ground beneath it had shifted so that there were little dips and hills in the pavers. On a dry day, or night, those little inconsistencies might very well be missed. But on a night like tonight, with the rain bucketing down over their heads, the little valleys were filling with water, thus creating splashable puddles.
It was only then that Blaise released Bel’s hand, sauntering toward the nearest puddle. Once he’d reached it, he swiftly and gracefully turned on his heel and used his free foot to swipe the top of the puddle to send a healthy spray of water in Bel’s direction.
Now he would find out whether she really was a girly-girl. Most would slap him for treating them in such a fashion. But both he and Bel were already saturated, and the water was not overly dirty. He didn’t see the harm in a little frolicking, as surely they’d begin to frolic if played along with his game. There was a child-like look of glee upon his features as he waited for Bel’s reaction. He was now in the defensive, backing away from the puddle slowly...
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bel
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Post by bel on Jan 7, 2010 5:40:40 GMT -5
Bel scoffs in retaliation toward his accusation. Though the smile upon her face spoke otherwise. Miss Courcel was, in fact, enjoying this bout of flirting. He was an attractive young man, after all, she’d have to be half blind, or some sort of fool to deny this fact, well, at least sincerely deny it.
Still, a slow sort of smile crawls across those rain kissed lips only to settle upon the apples of her cheeks; high, round and rosey with the cold, her cheeks forced some sort of smile lines to her features where others may be blessed with simples. She’d not been graced with such a strange and attractive physical quirk. She’d no dimples to speak of, simply a fine dusting of freckles speckled across the bridge of her nose, just beneath her light eyes, “You may be right,” Bel finally confesses, taming that almost perverse grin for the shortest of moments.
His hands were warm within her own cold ones. Despite the freezing rain, and the no doubt equally frozen water he’d just managed to saunter his way from moments prior. It’s almost shocking.
Her gaze follow’s Blaise’s own, or she thinks he was looking at something. He definitely wasn’t looking at her - Or at the very least she attempts to find that which he was peering on. Whatever that was she couldn’t tell. It simply seemed to be an empty road-way, with naught but a small number of benches and public trash bins. Not to mention the looming street lights with their yellow glow glaring down upon the puddle riddled pavement. There’s nothing of interest to be seen. Her brows are left to furrowing for the moment, confusion clear upon her features, if only for the most brief of passing seconds.
And then he’s slinking away, and Annabel Lee lifts tiny frozen hands to stuff within soaked, and body warmed pockets almost instinctively, seeking that warmth which only lied within the deepest recesses of her jacket.
Despite having allowed him to slink away - she’s still not entirely sure why she’d allowed such in the first place, at least not without some sort of goodbye. Perhaps it’d simply felt right in the moment - to let it all go. Well, maybe not exactly that. It was more likely that she hadn’t been paying enough attention to have made good sense of it. Whatever the reason she’d allowed his release it’s not long after that her face and jacket is being splashed with clear rainwater - More than the downpour which is already overhead.
She squeaks. Nay squeals, hands flying from her pockets to block her features from any further assault. What little good that would truly do.
There’s little hesitance in the next move as she bounces closer almost awkwardly. Her feet land flat upon the pavement below - directly into one puddle or another. That water splashes in a more circular pattern than she would have cared for. Still, her next attempt is more direct, as first and foremost, a small hand shoots upwards to push dark locks from her brow, and directly after he leg swings back to send another quick stream of freezing water in Blaise’s direction.
Her eyes pinch shut, expecting some sort of direct retaliation and another splash of mildly dirty water upon her features.
“That was a cheap shot,” she assures him, daring to peek an eye open, eyeing first his features, and then his feet, not to mention the nearest adjacent puddle. She takes a brisk side-step away then, offering up a shoulder as she shuffles back and away a slight.
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Post by Blaise Blackwood on Jan 10, 2010 7:57:11 GMT -5
There was a squeal, and Blaise’s newfound companion lifted her hands to her face to cover it. This was the moment of truth, and he waited until her well-covered arms were lowered to see whether she was frowning or smiling. It apparently was his lucky night, and he’d guessed right. She was not some girly girl who would be worried about mildly dirty water. This was a good thing, in a way. The girly girls were the easy ones. But Blaise always did like a challenge.
There were many directions which this night could travel in, and Blaise believed that he had the power to determine how fast or slow it would proceed.
Along with the physically crisp taste of the rain water upon his lips, he could feel the electricity in the air as it thrummed up and down his limbs, would have caused his arm hairs to stand on end had they not been pinned down by the water and clothing that covered them. And, along with the water and the electricity he could both feel and taste the aura emanating from Bel; it was something he was used to, this detection of the emotions of others. Well, it was quite so clear as that. He could only detect those emotions that pertained to him—as if they were felt for him alone, that they were gifts for him alone.
And he always took them. Always. The more intense a person felt, the more sated he was.
Bel was playing along with his games thus far; he laughed out loud as she jumped into a puddle. It was such a child-like reaction. But Blaise was a believer of child-like reactions. He squeezes his eyes shut as a spray of water is sent toward him, his own hands rising to echo the defensive posture she’d assumed only moments before.
He shrugged his shoulders. “I suppose it was a cheap shot. I’m sorry.” He told her with a playful smirk; he wasn’t really sorry, and he gathered that she didn’t quite care. He liked this game, but there was only so many times they could splash each other with mildly dirty water, and there was a limit to how wet they could get out here. He was willing to bet that their clothes could hold no more water.
She’d skipped backward, retaliating from any attempt he might make at splashing her again. He certainly had better things in mind.
But that didn’t stop him from striding toward the nearest puddle and swiping his foot, sending it deeper into the puddle than previously, sending a larger spray of water than before. It was a bid to distract her, to close her eyes, to cover her face again. Regardless of how she reacted, he stepped across the puddle to find himself directly in front of Bel; his warm hands gripped her jaw, his lips covering her own swiftly, but not without a little passion.
And, as swiftly as he’d performed the action, he stepped away. He backed away from her, his chuckle continuing in its playful theme while he offered her another solitary wink.
Another cheap shot, to be sure.
He shoved his hands into his pockets, and turned around, continuing to saunter down the path toward the city. He whistled a non-distinct tune, and glanced over his shoulder to see whether she could follow. Clearly, he wanted her to.
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bel
CITIZEN
Posts: 22
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Post by bel on Jan 10, 2010 22:17:38 GMT -5
“Sorry my ass,” Miss Annabel Lee echoes with a widening sort of smile. Her lips part to offer up a quick flash of pearly whites. Her nose wrinkles before she gives a simple toss to her head with a quick sort of shake of dismissal. No, this was serious business, and there’d be no smiling here! Not with rain on her face, and mud on the toe of her shoes! She bites back that broad grin quietly, stifling such to the best of her abilities.
Still, it wasn’t long before another spray of water was being flung upwards, and all Miss Courcel can do is lean back and squeeze her eyes shut. Sure, it was freshwater, but Annabel wasn’t one of those freaks of nature who could swim underwater with eyes open. So with those pretty green orbs pinched shut Miss Courcel takes the time to lift small hands upwards, first to dry her eyes and mop matted hair from her brow, slicking it behind a single ear with ease.
Bel wipes her face clean shortly before her own mouth is being covered with what would appear to be Blaise’s own. Those mossy green eyes of hers widen shortly before she, too, finds her lips pursing to pres upon the handsome young man’s. And then it was over.
Did that even really happen? Was Bel suffering some sort of hallucinations brought upon by a fierce bought of hypothermia? It certainly was cold out after all.
Bel came to the sound decision that that had, in fact happened. She was attractive enough, after all, and just because this Blaise was almost ludicrously handsome didn’t mean that he couldn’t find her at least decent looking! He was a man, after all, and it’s not as though men were exactly known for their discretion or pickiness, the way some women were.
Annabel manages to shake off that initial shock before turning her attention toward Blaide. Who seemed to be sauntering offwards. Once more her eyes widen before she’s skipping along in a simple attempt to catch up with the young man. It wasn’t a long trek, at all, he’d only had a few moments worth of a head start after all. So, soon, she’s joining his side, and biting to her lower lip almost roughly, fighting back that same old perverse smile that was threatening at the corners of her mouth.
“What makes you think you can just get away with that?” Bel asks of him, brows arching upwards to match her query. A small hand lifts upwards to catch upon Blaise’s own so she may bring him to a stop. Annabel lifts herself to her tip toes only for her mouth to fall upon his own once more. Her lips cover his own for a passing second before she finds herself releasing his fingertips.
“Now we’re even.”
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Post by Blaise Blackwood on Jan 13, 2010 6:46:53 GMT -5
He could hear her, skipping along behind him in a bid to catch up. He did not lengthen his stride nor slow it down, and resisted the urge to turn to meet her gaze when she did catch up. But he paused, as she urged him to when she grasped at his hand, and what came next he did not expect. Most women would have been shy or meek after what he’d just done. They’d play upon their feminine wiles and blink up at him through long lashes, as if asking him to do it again. Most of the time he wouldn’t give in. He’d tease them and draw them along in order to heighten whatever it was they felt for him.
Because, to be completely honest, he’d always gotten away with it. But he felt he deserved his punishment, if it could at all be considered punishment. Hell, he might even be garnering a small amount of respect for this woman. She was bold, and did not fear his forward advances.
“Oh, I usually do get away with it. But you can feel free to punish me for it whenever you feel you need to.” He answered her with a gleeful smile. They were both adults here, and between them he could detect the kind of fun that could be had tonight. Would it be a passion and lust that he stirred in her tonight, or would it be something tenderer? The former could be garnered, and repeated. The latter—the latter could get tedious.
Another flash of lightning lit up the sky overhead; darkness had fallen completely now, and there was no semblance of the day left. The night time was always the better time. It was a time of mystery and desire. There was none of the innocent fun of the day time. Yes, Blaise had always liked the night better.
He lifted his hand to Bel’s cheek, grazing his smooth fingertips along her jaw and down the back of her neck, pushing away any hair or garment that got in the way of her smooth, olive skin. Yes, she was a stranger. But that made it all the more exciting. He held her gaze and held his breath; he pushed outward with his senses, like invisible feelers tasting the air. He needed to know what she felt. He needed to push her buttons in such a way as to make her feel it with the best kind of intensity. Each and every nerve ending thrummed with the electricity of the gathering storm, and he wished only to pass his excitement through his fingertips and into Bel.
The rain still thundered down upon them, but by now the lamps along the path had automatically lit due to the darkness, and he could see her perfectly in the dim light, her skin glistening with water, like natural glitter, like magic.
He was aware that he did not feel the cold like she did. Her skin, though warm underneath, was cold to the touch. The rain was cold, as was the wind that pushed it slightly to the West.
“You said you lived nearby...? We don’t want you getting the flu, now.” He said, not pushing or inviting himself along. Some women weren’t as inclined as others to invite strangers into their homes. For the moment, he only showed concern, evident in the slight furrow of his brow. Yes, he had other plans. But they would not be met if he acted like a creep.
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