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 You Will Hear Our Voices Echo, @Oph
Drew Hunter
 Posted: Apr 24 2017, 04:11 AM
275 posts
puppeted by Eien
Drew
GMT +1 he/him
job
kitchen help + cabaret singer
species
human
group
n/a
sexuality
bisexual
status
single/shipped
age
30
mature
yeah~
I won't compromise, I won't live a life, on my knees. You think I am nothing, I am nothing, you've got something coming, something coming because (We are indigos)
sweet sooty muffin



He lit up and then put it out. Ugh, old habits. Snuffing the cigarette against the wall by the backdoor, Drew frowned, and then stood on the spot, considering the deadened, crushed cigarette butt with resignation. It was shit to see himself revert, but if not stop the slow-burn reboot, the therapy was teaching him how to catch it on time. He wasn’t sure it helped. He caught himself going back to his old habits, every bit of the progress reverted as he explained it, and yet his body seemed to follow through the worst of old habits without ado, adjusted to the feel of the cigarette against his palm enough it would seek it like an addict their next dose. He’d have been annoyed if he didn’t feel bitter nostalgia in the acts. He caught himself pouring himself a drink and then lighting up.

Caught himself sleeping around. It felt like the once-walked road before he’d reunited with Dylan and Mack. Before they found him, or before walking down the road leading to them finding out, but afterwards taking an abrupt spiral down. Remembering this, he actually questioned if a month from now on, he’d find himself with a razor in his hold. It was odd, bizarre to contemplate it like it were a casual dinner. Did he make mac and cheese, or did he slit his wrist? Options, options. Drew crumpled the cigarette pack in his hand, and then threw it away. Hitting the wall of the opposite building, it bounced off and on the ground skittered, spilling its cancerous contents like an abdomen disemboweled. Broken, though some intact, the cigarettes rolled out, mocking him with their white paper wrapping. He stared at them, and waited.

Stood against the wall by the backdoor to his workplace, he was probably waiting for a miracle, or for the cigarettes to become thin air. When the passing seconds proved them very much solid, and an evidence of his returned habit, not as powerful as it had once been but a growing force that built itself up from his errors, he made a face and walked forward, and began picking them up, one after another. They were returned to the pack, and the pack meticulously deposited in the next dumpster. Then, he walked back inside, and closed the door behind him. He looked down at his hands.

At his clean, spotless hands, but he swore he saw soot smudges in their centers, skin stained from where it had come in contact with the pack. He looked up, and rubbed his hands down his side, erasing the impression. It was time to go home. Most people had long packed and found themselves out on the streets, commuting to their families. He did have a place to be, technically. His home, after all, wasn’t so bad, an acceptably comfortable place that did its job of providing with a roof and a bed. But he’d lingered. Even now, meandering, he dallied in the corridors of Up In Smoke, like this home of his, comfortable, and acceptable, wasn’t a home worth return. He couldn’t go back because he pictured that silent, dark emptiness that would greet him as he entered, and his mind imagined a set of bars to go with it, and a cold, unfeeling space. Drew sighed.

Looking around the empty restaurant, all the chairs pulled up and nothing behind left to remind him how it had looked during the day, he stood on the spot, like he waited for a source of excitement. Tick and tock went the clock, tick and tock counting down to when he had to get out, and he placed his hands on his hips, and thought to his things in the changing room, cold since last worn. The light to his side snapped his attention.

Wandering to the smoking room, he expected to find nobody of worth, but seated in one of the circular booths, surrounded by a thin film of smoke, and her hair as red as ever, was Ophelia, the owner. Drew smiled.

“Am I disturbing, boss?”

Despite the answer possibly being yes, he was, he walked in, awaiting no further confirmation his presence was wanted. He approached, slowly crossing his arms over his chest as he looked down at his fae superior, and gave a faint grin. There wasn’t the usual energy behind his gaze.

“What’s up? Work tired you out, boss?”

He bent his tall frame and joined her at her low coffee table. Seated down, he looked at her, studious and curious, his head cocked and his hair doing that recalcitrant thing when it sent his strands trickling down the side of his face, like a dark veil. His grin turned toothy.

But his eyes hooded.

Charmed, and gentle, he quipped, “You know, I can absolutely leave you be if I am a bother. I have other places to be. Home, for example.”

His tone carried.

The word ‘home’ fell out in a poignant tone, stressed with wry, faked amusement. Home, what nonsense.

"Or," he sang, "I can absolutely stay and bother you, if you don't mind that. A preeeetty obvious answer, I think we both realize. Sooo... Get up, Hunter, and get out?" In jest, he squinted his eyes.
@Sarah

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Ophelia Nazari
 Posted: Apr 24 2017, 03:28 PM
133 posts
puppeted by Sarah
Oph/O
PST She/her/hers
job
Owner @ Up In Smoke & Model for Blood Silk
species
Fae
group
Seelie Court
sexuality
Pansexual
status
Professional life avoider
age
1308
mature
Ye'h bitch
We bear no fruit, no flowers, no life. And we get sick but never die. Walk with me to a place of trust, Death will no longer silence us.
sumptuous snack



The sweet sound of serenity would encase her as she sat there, alone and in the din of the vacancy that came with the end of the day. Her life settled around in a plume of smoke she'd sit in before the air around her was disturbed by the shifting of ventilation down the wall a ways, a system that evened out the temperature like it were a self contained echo system within these walls. For a second the cloud would hover, thick and comforting before it was jostled and shoved about to dissipate and wander in long wispy strands. A heavy thing even in its movement, lazy. Ophelia's mind was well and forever away when the boy wandered in, eyes snapping to him though she saw very little of Drew himself but rather the outline of him as he spoke. His tone colored him vibrant and soft, softer than it ought to have been, soft like her own she supposed, though decidedly without the air of age to prod it along.

Happier in some sense and yet sadder in others.

She'd register his smile first as he slid forward, her title on his tongue, a thing she'd correct with an, "Ophelia," that was too tight lipped and quiet for him to rightly hear, or so she'd assume when he stopped before her and issued it once more with yet another question. There would come no answer before he joined her, the smoke rolled around in her mouth was too thoughtful to correct a second time, Released, with a push of her tongue and in a plume that was half re-inhaled through her nose she'd wander his jovial face thoughtfully.

The last remnants of smoke pushed out with a soft sigh that saw it angled overhead she'd set her hands and the nozzle of the hookah on the table as she regarded the other with a soft polite smile. Always slightly too trained, too taut and painted across her face. Dark green eyes watched the boy as he settled in to watch her watch him, his own gaze far more studious over her than hers was over him. As if she were some great mystery worth unraveling, she'd have cautioned against this had it been proposed to her as a feat he was willing. Straight and tall as she sat there her chin would cant softly to one side as she watched him, his voice lyrical and lower than might be expected at face value. Calm would overtake her as he shunned himself from her table, however playful.

"You have more worth than you credit yourself with, Drew." arms rested on the table her tone is soft and as wispy as the smoke overhead, lazy in it wafting to and fro. His name fell easily from her tongue, a thing almost resounding even if she'd not meant it to be. "Sit. Stay. I only ask that you call me Ophelia," at this her mouth would stretch into something softer and less chiseled int place, fluid where it'd not been before. "I don't call you 'kitchen help', now do I?" Tutted softly before she shifted to slide to the side. A finger offered to see him stay where he was, a quiet wait.

Lifted from her seat she'd wander, her shoes left behind in a tidy little pile beneath the table and for however odd it might have been it suited her best. Wandering these spaces in loose billowy skirts, hair that matched and feet bare of anything confining. She looked deceptively free as she fetched a second hose from beneath the bar counter before wandering back. Regardless of whether he held no offense over sharing, or whether he'd use it or not, she'd go through the motions of attaching the second, for ease and offering. Her tone soft and quiet as she worked. "This home of yours, seems about as readily entertained as my own," a second parallel she'd draw without qualm, the first wasn't as obvious but it was yet a truth of them both and their lack of self worth. "Why is that? You have a little one do you not?" The details of his life were not knowledge of hers, and even if he swayed her from it now, she'd not fight for her right to the information. Perhaps though, children were simply more daunting than she cared to admit of them.

The small torch on the table is pressed to the delicate fig flavored tobacco at its peak, pouring smoke into the soft round of its glass bowl beneath. There was care in her gaze when the little device was set back to the table and she swept him forward with the offering of her chin. Her own drag taken after if he did partake and before she leaned herself back into the plush of the booth to watch him languidly for a moment, awaiting an answer or her own 'get up, Nazari, and get out'.

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Drew Hunter
 Posted: Apr 25 2017, 10:32 AM
275 posts
puppeted by Eien
Drew
GMT +1 he/him
job
kitchen help + cabaret singer
species
human
group
n/a
sexuality
bisexual
status
single/shipped
age
30
mature
yeah~
I won't compromise, I won't live a life, on my knees. You think I am nothing, I am nothing, you've got something coming, something coming because (We are indigos)
sweet sooty muffin



He stayed. Said nothing in particular to her words, not until the later part, which prompted him to point out, “But I am kitchen help”, the wisecracking attitude softened with the slit of his mouth, and how he bowed his head down and shrugged. “Doesn’t matter,” he added, with a glance up. He recalled how she’d called his name: Drew. He almost wanted to correct her:

Andrew.

Though he’d long since forsaken that name-- long, not that long ago, actually, at least officially he’d been Drew only a little over a year if he remembered his numbers, but unofficially he’d hated it forever, the name from a mother who’d never earned the title. Not by the right of giving birth to three children she could have detested half as less as she had, and should have loved half more than she had. Hadn’t. The two scenarios that made him mentally correcting Ophelia almost an offense to her. Perhaps he placed Ophelia on the same pedestal as his mother. A wicked witch of the east though she sometimes stirred the pit of him with feelings. He ignored it. A wicked witch, or just a woman with eyes as dark as his and that softness to her lip he’d been the sole sibling to inherit. He smiled like she did, actually. He was looking at Ophelia and remembering the smile of his mom.

It was odd.

He inclined his head at her, studious of this odd woman. He knew so, so little of her. And a little he was bound to know as long as she acted herself, an elusive, strange creature. And skittish. He could tell so much from a single look. All of her clothing reminded him of bubble wrap, or the prettiest of tin foils painted over in the color of rainbow. They twirled after her, flashing through the air as she moved past him to fetch him a hookah too, and Drew’s brows cinched forward at the view, his form hunching and his frown displeased.

You don’t have to,
he wanted to call after her, like she’d bent over backwards to fetch the water pipe. She was back, and his frown relaxed, his stare thoughtful. Troubled by some necessary must be that he derived from nothing. That merely appeared, though felt right for it. He supposed he was uselessly fretting. She was being a good host, and yet he was looking at the hookah with one part distrust and another thought, not so much put off by it and certainly not by her as she was, and yet the manner with which she treated him--

“You remind me of my mother.”

He reached for hose. “She was, by no means, a good woman, but there’s something in you that reminds me a bit of her…” He glanced up at her, something mischievous in his squinted glance. He placed the hose to his lips, but didn’t yet draw from it.

I shouldn’t, he wanted to say too. At this rate, he’d end up with a wishlist of things he could have said, but had abstained. The mischief in his gaze was replaced by a rueful warmth.

Drew looked away.

“At least, there were times when she fretted as you do, anally fixing up everything to look its best-- this reminded me of that… heh.”


He flushed, and took a drag. Bowed his head as he did, the first lungful feeling a lot like sin for what it reminded him of, peppery and strong. But the rush that billowed through his body wasn’t quite like what you got from plain cigarettes, and Drew lounged back, his breaths gentle, his body relaxed. He was looking at the hose, turning it over in his hand.

“Pretty…”

The word curled his lips.

He looked up, and grinned.

“You know, you’re not particularly keen to hurry home yourself.” He looked around then, his brittle pride over this discovery bringing light to his eyes. He hummed.

“Though it’s so nice here, I suppose I cannot blame you…”

He faced her, and enjoyed another soft lungful of the shisha. As long as he paced himself, it wouldn’t overheat, and leave him with but the tender flavor of tobacco and whatever she’d mixed in. It was sort of familiar, but he didn’t want to be wrong. With some eager fondness, he looked at the hose tip once more, and muttered, “You know I shouldn’t smoke. Even though it’s ‘just’ hookah, it’s still a trigger…”

It was good to hear those words.

He took his third drag, every exhaled bit of the smoke hanging around his head for a few moments before billowing past him, and leaving him with that absurd openness in his gaze that would make any a murderer hesitate.

He quirked his lips at his superior, and with the next subtle cock of his head let his longer, dark hair come down over his cheek. The strands met with his stubble. He smiled, tender and warm. And asked in a cooing tone, “Want me to keep you company, Ophelia?”

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Ophelia Nazari
 Posted: Apr 25 2017, 04:45 PM
133 posts
puppeted by Sarah
Oph/O
PST She/her/hers
job
Owner @ Up In Smoke & Model for Blood Silk
species
Fae
group
Seelie Court
sexuality
Pansexual
status
Professional life avoider
age
1308
mature
Ye'h bitch
We bear no fruit, no flowers, no life. And we get sick but never die. Walk with me to a place of trust, Death will no longer silence us.
sumptuous snack



"Do I?"

Her tone was careful and her question rhetorical as she cautioned herself from too much thought. It wouldn't have been the first time she'd been compared to someone's mother though the reasoning in this case was not that of the typical. Especially as he spoke and it compounded so suddenly down to this mother not being a good woman. Yet some part of her still reminded him of this woman he held no real fondness for if she trusted his tone. He'd clarify a moment later. It wasn't whatever made her not good, but rather her affinity to make sure things were in order and properly worried over that drew the parallel.

Ophelia sat carefully where she was, carefully in a manner that showed her as just open enough to look presentable in a social situation but would not invite others to sit. Typically speaking anyway. Well enough away that she felt safe while also encompassed in the circle of proper conversation. And so she'd live her life in this manner, just as carefully tucked into, as she was outside of. Even her smiles were a semblance of this order, carefully constructed among the chaos to be delicate and meandering. "I suppose I'm glad I'm awarded her fastidious aspects and not the pieces that made her tip your tone frowning," even her voice was something thoughtful and wandering, careful in its inflections as not to offend anyone.

The past tense of said woman is noted in silence as she watches the boy with her sink into his grin a bit, her smile to counter it was slow and far more quiet as he moved to point out her folly in being here as well. "It's as good a home a any," the dark of her green eyes would flicker about the room where her expression would soften and warm itself as it drank in the beloved home away from home, one that had proven time and again to be far safer than her actual home. A thing broken into by all manner of heathens as of late. This place was familiar and because of that she'd find it welcoming and comfortable.

The hose at her lips, perched there as delicately as any rose tossed across the lips of a lover than danced for their own, would see soft inhale swirled at the back of her tongue. Its taste indulgent and rich, even as the sweet of the fig came at its after, long whiles after it'd been released into the atmosphere. The avian fae's gaze is thoughtful as he speaks once more, wandered his face in repose as she pondered his being. Such a delicate thing, even compared to herself he was a structure made of toothpicks where she was thin branches. Easily toppled and felled with the sweeping of a hand or a strong gust of wind. A soft hum would come as she pulled smoke between her softly hollowed cheeks once more.

"If you'd like, I certainly won't see you out. We all deserve a quiet place from time to time, do we not?"

Words marked by the subtle wisps of vapor and smoke and she'd settle herself into the booth a bit, releasing the hose to rest on the table before her. Ophelia would never ask anyone to do something on her own behalf but neither would she shun them from it if they so chose. Her life was the same whether he stayed of his own accord or filtered off and left her to her silence and smoke.

"Why do you?"

Her tone is so quiet she wonders if it carried enough to not be drowned out by the hum of the forced air that poured from the wall or by the sound of the city just a room away. "Well enough rounded to claim it as it is, and yet...," brows would pinch lightly as she studied him like he were something her mind rightly couldn't comprehend. "It has nothing to do with strength. No. So why then, do you indulge yourself these things you know you shouldn't?" Her head would shake upon her no in a manner dissuasive as she'd not accept weakness as an answer. He was strong enough to live this long as a mortal being among a land of monsters, surely this was nothing to do with strength. As surely as this wasn't an easy answer to give her, of this she also knew but her curiosity would not wane and keep her from asking. Indulgent as his vices or so it would seem.

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Drew Hunter
 Posted: Apr 26 2017, 02:55 AM
275 posts
puppeted by Eien
Drew
GMT +1 he/him
job
kitchen help + cabaret singer
species
human
group
n/a
sexuality
bisexual
status
single/shipped
age
30
mature
yeah~
I won't compromise, I won't live a life, on my knees. You think I am nothing, I am nothing, you've got something coming, something coming because (We are indigos)
sweet sooty muffin



His lips tipped up at that. “I don’t know about that,” he said slowly, in a tease. But of course Ophelia would earn herself the title of his mother after all, eventually and finally hers like long owned. It was ridiculous, of course, to liken her in any remote manner to the cold, and calculative woman that Drew called his mother.

Harriet “Harry” Hunter was no pleasant woman, only if you put her in a cocktail dress and surrounded her with important names. On her own, she was thoughtful and diligent. She was detached and calm. She’d befriended the bottle at a point, as had her husband, and as had her three children. That they’d scattered to all the directions that pinned them gone was almost logical. An end to something Harriet had been wrong to begin. But who would fault a once young, and ambitious woman who’d hard it hard contenting with three older and more successful siblings? The only daughter out of four, she’d lived a life almost hard enough to excuse where she came from once a mom. But there would never be plenty enough past abuse to excuse a mother who’d looked down at her son bleeding on the cold, February ground, a bullet in his mouth, and she’d told the husband, starting forward--

‘Don’t, the neighbors mustn't know.’

Reputation over being parents.

Drew let the memories go. Focused himself on the water pipe, nothing he commonly indulged. It felt heavy in his hand, and important, like the first time. Didn’t all firsts feel sort of special? Enhanced and strong, a flavor longer that lingered like a lover, a sound sounder like a song sung the strongest, and a smell the likes of fragrances you carried to your subconscious memory and at times, it resurfaced. Then, he tasted the fruit, and he grinned.

Wanly.

“Fig,” he muttered, softly, a bit of a look in his eyes. It’d been a while, after all. Just like the firsts felt poignant, so did the first returns. He smoked, casually and softly, her rhetorical question ignored. Do we not? That we do. He couldn’t ignore the other.

He looked up at her, wondering that if he were in any altered state of mind, if he’d respond to her, if he’d be honest. If he’d blurt out because I like how it hurts when I fuck up. He quirked his lips at her, his grin dishonest, soft. But it was there, and he said, “It doesn’t quite matter.” He looked down, at the bottom of the hookah. Watched the spot where the fire burned, the shisha heated up, the hose still as weighty in his hand as before.

“A weak will on a weak man, I suppose,” he suggested brightly, and grinned at her. “It doesn’t quite matter. I shouldn’t but I do and don’t worry, I’m not making it your business. An adult man, you know,” he added, with a bit of a ravenous flair. Playful words for certain, if you ignore that something poignant in his gaze-- like a flash of realization he was quick to smother. “Honestly, it doesn’t matter. Do you often spend your nights here? You know, at work after nobody is here... like this?

"Alone?”


He held the hose up to his face, like to survey it, a pointed mention he helped decipher with the object itself as though she could have blinked in confusion. But then he took a drag from it, quick to develop fondness for this. Sitting comfortably on his pillows, he moved his long legs under himself, crossed-legged, and observed the tip of the hose, wondering, “You know, I used to smoke a while back. Was a smoker forever. Ten years, I think? Feels like a forever. Might be a blink of an eye to you. Do you also have opium here? Asking for a friend.”

He looked at her, impish. Grinned, toothy.

“I promise?”

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Ophelia Nazari
 Posted: Apr 26 2017, 06:19 PM
133 posts
puppeted by Sarah
Oph/O
PST She/her/hers
job
Owner @ Up In Smoke & Model for Blood Silk
species
Fae
group
Seelie Court
sexuality
Pansexual
status
Professional life avoider
age
1308
mature
Ye'h bitch
We bear no fruit, no flowers, no life. And we get sick but never die. Walk with me to a place of trust, Death will no longer silence us.
sumptuous snack



"Mhmm, fig," an agreement prefaced with a low quieted hum, her mind elsewhere, drifting with the thoughts of him likening her to a mother that seemed little more than title, rather was more a woman in my life. Long ago perhaps and perhaps dead, she'd not question it as she held no right to know a possible pain he'd not readily brought to the table for her to examine. She held no curiosity over a woman that once was, not after she'd been explained away and left behind for this mention of cute little fruit made of beautifully rich and muted colors. Snapping her attention to the present with a smile she regarded the boy, man in his own right though he had a boyish enough quality about him she'd yet attach him to this descriptor.

He'd dodge a question like he were better fit this title as well, dodged it not at all well and with such a dismissive air she wondered after the reason. He'd defend himself and his actions and as he did her features would calm and wipe themselves clean. A visual chastising she'd not be able to help, made all the more so when he moved to change the subject back to her, back to something that didn't remind him of himself. Ophelia, entitled as mother-like, would not be so easily swayed. Drew from the hose clamped at the crook of her full lips and regarded him a long moment more. Let the silence stretch a moment as she indulged in the heavy smoke that eased her mind and colored her pliant where she never was not.

"Doesn't quite, but you entitle it with harrowing mention, and then excuse and defend it like it were something you birthed and must protect. A piece of yourself you counsel and yet, even still can not let go of."

It meant nothing, her tone soft and chatty held no real weight beyond the offering of what she saw in his own words. A bad behavior in both it and himself and one he was so quick to brush off and wave away even as it posed some danger that required a mention of triggers. She'd not ignore the exacted edge behind his eyes, no more than she moved to swat his hands, an offering perhaps better titled as an outside view. And one which wasn't so quick to let him slide because his smile was dashing and his eyes warm. Thoughtful her head would dip a little allowing him the segue he so wanted, away from himself and onto her. "Yes," soft, her voice warm and almost hesitant with the quiet sadness that clung to its edges. "My own home, leaves my mind as wry as yours does you," the dark green of her eyes shift to the bar, swept over it as she spoke further. "A simple four walls to house things. At least this place houses others, perhaps not now--" her gaze would sweep sideways to peer at Drew, quiet but gently mirthful around its edges, her pause allowing a smile to press into her expression-- "but the ghosts of them remain here. Keep me better company than the world ever has.

"Than I ever have."


It wasn't as sour as it should have been, bitterness rarely had any place in her tone but it was a heavy sort of thing as it fell from her tongue. The bird would shift then, tucking her legs up beneath her in a seat that angled her sideways, comfortable and far more casual than the straight of her back allowed her otherwise.

Eyes widen a bit as he inquires over opium in a cheeky little tone that furrows her brows a bit.

"Ten years," thoughtful she'd ponder this like trying to calculate his age in dog years, for surely his years were better equated to that of a canine in comparison to her own. In the end she'd come to only the conclusion that his personality was that of addiction. "Have you ever imbibed?" A curious question that lacked judgment. "If your excuses and your defense are anything to take into account... your promise is as hollow as your head," tutted gently from her tongue as she pulled once more from the hose that would rest gently at her knee. His terrible attempt at lying was neither something she'd not catch nor was it something she seemed to find cute. Still her face would retain its warmth, too befitting a woman who mothered casually and when she was in vicinity.

"As your mother's likeness, I must insist that you pay attention to these triggers of yours, and not as something that's cute and casual to toss out in order to startle people towards your amused shadows. Rather, take them as seriously as they're meant to be."

Wandered his face a moment, her own calm and quiet, tone dipping lower still upon her next mention.

"No one loves a mess, little sparrow. Not for any length of time, and certainly not long enough to ever mean anything but hurt to the mess."

Her tone spoke sadly and of knowledge on the subject, again lacking that judgment but rather offering a kernel of wisdom as it was well known to her. People loved a mess, for as long as it took them to tire of its machinations, and then it was tossed with every disregard to the mess itself. It was a perilous way to live that awarded the mess nothing but pain.

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Drew Hunter
 Posted: Apr 26 2017, 11:28 PM
275 posts
puppeted by Eien
Drew
GMT +1 he/him
job
kitchen help + cabaret singer
species
human
group
n/a
sexuality
bisexual
status
single/shipped
age
30
mature
yeah~
I won't compromise, I won't live a life, on my knees. You think I am nothing, I am nothing, you've got something coming, something coming because (We are indigos)
sweet sooty muffin



Drew had to blink at that. “I’m not too sure I understand what you said…” And he didn’t. Counsel? And-- she’d spoken so oddly, like she’d lost herself in some time long gone to make sense to him. Deciding the words didn’t matter, he dismissed them, and moved on; she’d repeat them if they had been important. He blinked at her, and listened. Disagreed. No, mine doesn’t, and his brows furrowed, his frown building. He didn’t want this. This parallel where she disliked her home (as well).

He didn’t want this sweet echo of a shared likeness, two people working under this roof who refused to return home, and who looked for reasons against having to. If it were up to them, their itinerant feet would lead them astray. Forever after gone from a place that tended to feel alone. He put his hose down. And focused on her, at once opening his mouth to argue, “So? Why won’t you move here then? To a place that’s not all four walls?” He looked around them. His frown waned. At least in structure it seemed lesser to what it had held a second before-- at least that. But in feeling, it had remained; disapproving, and wry, as wry as these homes they shared, apparently, anyway. He’d kill this parallel. And looked at her, his frown softening with emotion.

“You cannot talk about grief and sound happy about it…”

A pause. He grinned, bitterly.

“Who the fuck does that?”

And who the fuck was she to dislike her home and return to it? The worst. Mission: home, begun! He just wasn’t sure how. Began to ponder over it as though he had any ability to change what may have been the case for decades-- for centuries. He hardly knew anything about Ophelia to trust him with decisions in this. In fact, if she did meddle, she was welcome to shout Hunter, out!, as she ought have when this conversation began. Hunter, out! But instead she’d permitted his presence, and Drew’s mind bent and bowed to figure out how to turn her home into one warm. How to toss her there, safe, and sound, and eager for those four, tall walls, not ivory perhaps, or maybe their ivory state, if they were of the shade, made her feel trapped; nothing quite like white, and pretty prison to feel more imprisoned than most. He had to ask. Opened his mouth--

Ten years, she echoed, and looked like it didn’t compute to her. Imbibed? He grinned, faintly. Flashed his teeth for a bit, feeling (and looking) youthful and cheeky. He winced then, his tone amused though that squint in his eyes didn’t match it perfectly. “Harsh.” Hollow as his head. It turned him off the smoking. Soured the lovely taste, once invited into his body and now chased out like it had snuck in to kill his brains; it had hollowed him out, killed that wit he’d held before sitting down. Frowning faintly at the hose, he watched its gentle, calm position atop the table, so innocent-like and yet he began to feel hurt hatred for it. He decided to give it a name and make it person.

Carmen.

He looked up at Ophelia, his smile wry. Lacking. Fake. And of course it was when paired with the darker look in his eyes, like her attempt to protect him actually offended him-- there was no way, he may have hoped to defend, to stop the downwards spiral of a person who’d only ever spiraled. All roads led down and Drew looked at the hose once again, and pretended it was the red-haired woman.

He took it between his lips and sucked just to prove himself that memories killed every taste.

It tasted like figs and sweetness.

Drew smiled.

Thinly and bitterly, a frown pinching his brows, but he smiled all the while and looked up, something hurt and soft in his eyes.

And so he just smiled bigger.

“A sparrow, huh?” he echoed, ponderous. “Doesn't the cold ever hurt them? I never wanted to fly…” He rolled the hose between his fingers, looking at her. Carmen. He’d named her Carmen. It felt bitter and personal. And left his features in a state of sweet and soft.

He chuckled.

As a sound, it lacked power to carry about. It lingered, however, with a ringing, and sweet certainty only for them to hear, like a special message intended just for their ears. A soft, sweet chuckle you may have described as sugared, as honeyed or cloyed, though it didn’t do it quite the same justice as proper experience.

Sweet.

But then, all things close to breaking were.

He hummed.

“If I am a sparrow, mom, and no-one loves a mess, at least by that logic who are you not to assume I know how messy I am? … Who are you--”

He chuckled.

“God, never mind.” He waved it off, literally; waved his hand and made the smoke dissipate, sliced through in the uppercut motions of his hand before it settled on the table and he leaned on it, his arms folded atop it and hoisting his upper body. He was looking at her with a beguiling grin.

Sweet.

“So… a sparrow, huh? You know I think I have a sparrow tattoo somewhere on me…”

At that, he looked down, briefly inspecting himself though, god, who even knew? He was musing, his thoughts innocent and thoughtful.

“Hmmm… do you have tattoos, Ophelia? Now that’s a good question. How old are you, by the way? That is another question. Ooo, do you live in the fae realm? Can I go see? I promise I won’t redecorate your home or anything. Paint your walls pretty pink since fuck ivory. By the way, have you actually met Eileen? My daughter. My angel.”

He beamed at that, a challenging look in his warm expression. He straightened in his seat, and faced her.

“What a little sparrow she makes. What do you think of her? Call her amazing or else I’ll bother you with some mortal nonsense you didn’t even know could be that annoying.”

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Ophelia Nazari
 Posted: Apr 27 2017, 07:24 PM
133 posts
puppeted by Sarah
Oph/O
PST She/her/hers
job
Owner @ Up In Smoke & Model for Blood Silk
species
Fae
group
Seelie Court
sexuality
Pansexual
status
Professional life avoider
age
1308
mature
Ye'h bitch
We bear no fruit, no flowers, no life. And we get sick but never die. Walk with me to a place of trust, Death will no longer silence us.
sumptuous snack



Move here? A brow would rise as she looked around them, certainly this was nowhere she could live, though surely he also did not mean for her to move into a bar. Her smile is frail when it comes, attention flickering back to the boy seated not far away. Four walls would be just that unless you injected them with the right energy, shared them with loved ones and painted their walls over with care and want to be there. Four walls for Ophelia would always be little more than cage, a place to keep herself for some short time or another. Her home was necessary but it held no deep or resounding love for her, was a place she tended and slept, didn't hold energy or offer her anything in turn. When the day was over, she didn't crave its quiet, save for perhaps the two entities that waited on her there, small and fluffy but even they did not hurry her back.

"Apparently I do."

A mention casual and quiet, tipped her features down gently. It was habit really, when grief made the vast majority of your life and time. Grief also required happiness, without it-- there was no shadow without light. She could not know grief well enough to speak of it in a tone happy, without knowing happiness as well. Along the way somewhere the stark line between the two had been muddied and displaced, coloring her world gray. A color Drew seemed not to care for in this instance.

The light hum of her throat would wrap itself around the end of her hose nozzle, nodded her gently. "As harsh as is needed," her glance away is quiet, demure as it tipped her chin delicately, any species privy to social order would mark her submissive and entirely pliant as she studied the hose in her hand. One she knew well enough to not need the examination. "I dare say it won't matter much though, will it?" A rhetorical question. She knew it wouldn't. And why should it? The thoughts of someone who mattered none to you should also matter none. He was brazen enough to intrude and loathing enough to speak of himself as if he mattered little, call his triggers what they were and then ask after something that rightly should be handled with care, in a carelessly playful manner. He was a child who did what he wanted and ignored what others thought of it.

It was abusive behavior, something she knew well enough, abusive perhaps only to himself.

But self harm was still harm.

Still, she doubted anything she spoke would carry weight beyond the minutes it took him to forget the tone of it on her tongue. A thought that saddened as readily as it was accepted.

"Everything hurts them, thin boned and precious. Such delicate little things so easily broken," her smile was fond, gaze far way and thoughtful as she recalled a story of a sparrow once told to her-- "You remind me of a boy I knew once upon a great while ago, a boy who thought very little of himself when he should not have. A delicate little thing who wanted so badly to soar," the expression on her face was sorrowful as she glanced to Drew, she'd attempt no smile, it'd have been marred and muddy with grief and she knew better than to offer such lies to others. "A precious boy who'd never fly, so easily broken... and always best, by himself,"

Sighed the air from her lungs and filled them next with smoke, curled it into her lungs all sweet and peppered, like this would soothe her and the lost boy she'd lost in truth some decades later.

Her voice was far away when it came next, wrapped in smoke it took actual shape and she'd watch it like it held answers it did not. "I never presumed you were not aware," and of course he was, he was aware enough to know when to smile and when to lie, terribly but lie nonetheless. Drew Hunter knew exactly how much mess he was but that still did not change the fact that no one loved a mess for long enough to straighten it. Ophelia wouldn't push her agenda, for once more, what did her words mean to him anyway? They shouldn't and they wouldn't and they certainly didn't.

It was then that his energy would change, shifted into something almost animated and where the calm had been serene for the bird his chaos would see her leaned back a bit further as if in a fluster. Green eyes round a bit and she'd shrink, the straight of her back never waning but she'd yet shrink, a manner of personality and presence that shrunk her away from so many questions all at once, as if they had actual weight that bared down upon her shoulders.

"Yes, I've met her," she'd start at the end, the one that was left the most prominently and posed the most threat. "She... has your energy," Ophelia wasn't sure how to describe her run-in with the girl. "Though she is far less delicate than you seem to be, and very... tactile, once she climbs over her wall of shyness." She'd never had someone fuss over her hair so much upon initial meeting, braided and rebraided. Though she wasn't often hugged in any great measure either so perhaps Eileen's affinity for this should also be taken into account. These weren't things Drew was looking for though. "She was perfectly sweet and carefree,"

A quiet hum would shift from her throat next as she pondered over the other questions. An arm would lift, all delicately boned and slender, its insides bared to reveal a flurry of little dots that showed as tiny pointed stars if examined in depth. "Only one. The Phoenix. And yes, I do, though it's not a place someone like you should get lost in. The fae realm is scarcely safe enough for the likes of me, let alone you. Though.. perhaps some day, you and your angel both, hmm? Wander the gardens and sit with the cats while we-- well, I don't know if you've the constitution for quiet peaceful moments, but tea and fragrant gardens of fruit and flowers are but a short stint away, anyhow."

It wasn't all of them though she dared leave the count of her life to rest, likely he'd forget it and not bother over it anyway. Not when flower and fruit gardens and tea with cats were there as distraction.

--------------------
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Drew Hunter
 Posted: Apr 28 2017, 11:34 AM
275 posts
puppeted by Eien
Drew
GMT +1 he/him
job
kitchen help + cabaret singer
species
human
group
n/a
sexuality
bisexual
status
single/shipped
age
30
mature
yeah~
I won't compromise, I won't live a life, on my knees. You think I am nothing, I am nothing, you've got something coming, something coming because (We are indigos)
sweet sooty muffin



It should not have worked and yet oddly it did, this mention of a harshness she just confirmed-- and added, it won’t matter much, will it?

At that moment, Drew wanted to hide behind something. And peer from behind it like a child scorned and incapable of more. Build a glare though not make it too harsh lest she snapped-- like a twig stepped on in a fit of wrath. But he didn’t. Say anything. Of course he wouldn’t, and yet he recognized the feelings at his chest as offense. She should not have implied him a lost case, though she had by a choice or accident, and he sat there, overwhelmed by a touch of wrath that soured outwards and exploded. Had they not moved on, maybe he would have lashed out as he did. A man who didn’t really get mad getting mad. It was better to assume he’d have discussed his displeasure.

Argued, too, and then elected to prove her she was wrong, and place himself in the middle of the world where she was wrong, and he right, and if he thus lived responsibly and safely then so be it. It was hard to picture. Not right in offering a realm where he knew responsibility, where his first duty was to own safety, and then to the joy of others. Not rightly possible either and yet as his mood shifted, from A to B and through C and D to E, he found himself blinking, uncertainly, suddenly, if the life of a man who’d do that mattered. If he deserved attention, and love, and adoration, or he was doomed to live without them for his brazen attitude. Drew slipped himself into a bad mood, replaying some words: you’re a lost case. She’d not said that. His mind would have fought you so strongly you may have not heard it. You’re a lost case. She’d said it, surely. He was dumped to the bottom of bad moods he for once recognized as a fluctuation. Drew snapped himself back, like he could puppet the chemistry in his brain. Sparrows. He grimaced at that.

Began to wonder where on his body did he hold a sparrow, and if he was ever getting one if he didn’t find his answer. He wondered about this boy of hers, and god forbid he’d loved strawberries and had eyes that made ice cold women warm up with longing. He wondered, and ended up drifting off in his thoughts, the shisha forgotten once more. He snapped himself back once again, on the topic of sparrows, and daughters, and ended up giving a pale grin that was more reminiscent than he’d admit. It was still warm.

“Mhmm, I can ask her to stop hugging you. Or I can suggest it to her. I’m sure she knows it startles you, but if she didn’t know you didn’t like it, she wouldn’t do it.” A smart child, of course she observed people a lot, learning how to behave and talk via a copy mechanism, but it prompted him to often notice details and mentions that adults presumed she wouldn’t process. Children did, and always had. Precocious and sunny, this young girl can’t have continued with her hugs if she didn’t feel a motherly touch in his boss, and in that had learned something interesting about a woman who wouldn’t rightly share it much. Similarly, he didn’t live responsibly, and as long as bad-choice-making was an option, he’d take it and Ophelia wouldn’t stop getting hugged by children.

He smiled, knowing, and quirked his brows. Good mood may not have been his at all and yet Drew thought that as she named herself and then talked on, leaving him to build a world truly not for him and his sort, little misbehaving boys who stuck their hands down the jar on purpose, that this was pending curiosity. It needed exploring like a voluptuous woman. And so he cooed, “Eh?” back to his mischievous self as the hose was rested at his lips, and risen in a few taps. Tap tap. And then he was chuckling, saying, “Oh, I don’t know, I’ve been told I look quite peaceful when asleep. Or was it adorable? Although I do suppose taking it from a guy who low-key watched me sleep before fucking me is a bad example.” He sat his chin on the palm of his heel, and finally realized this was not what he was supposed to be telling his employer.

And thus, going red from surprise, he tsked, “Oh, no, what am I saying?” Or rather who am I saying to? Frowning, he rested his forehead into his hand, and grimaced, forcing his amusement. Christ, running my mouth again. “Well, that’s a great way to impress your employer,” he said, chastising himself. With a sort disapproving hiss he rested the hose into the crook of his elbow, and glanced at Ophelia, neutral and thoughtful. “Seriously, back on the topic, I have the capacity. Technically, I shouldn’t even have to do drugs to attain it.” He observed the hose once more, imagining it turning into a sterile needle. The sight concerned him only because it didn’t entirely worry him. He glanced back at Ophelia, with a frown. But it didn’t last long. Smiling, he tapped the tip of the hose over his cheek, and said, youthful and warm, “Besides, I’m not unfamiliar with tea and its benefits, it’s just that I don’t normally drink it. Oddly, I don’t drink coffee either.” He mock cringed. “It has a really bad effect on me.”

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Ophelia Nazari
 Posted: Apr 29 2017, 07:55 PM
133 posts
puppeted by Sarah
Oph/O
PST She/her/hers
job
Owner @ Up In Smoke & Model for Blood Silk
species
Fae
group
Seelie Court
sexuality
Pansexual
status
Professional life avoider
age
1308
mature
Ye'h bitch
We bear no fruit, no flowers, no life. And we get sick but never die. Walk with me to a place of trust, Death will no longer silence us.
sumptuous snack



"No, no, it's quite alright," there was a lack of offense in her voice as she stated this, soft and wispy as it always was it did hold a small modicum of fear at its edge. Oddly it was over the prospect of breaking a little girl's heart, one which was so keen on hugging everything in her vicinity once she'd determined them worthy. It wasn't something she was particularly opposed to so much as it came as a startle to a mind no longer equipped too handle such things in a casual occurrence. People simply did not hug Ophelia, not those she didn't expect it from or those who didn't preface the embrace with a warning that it was coming. Even still she'd likely find the edge of herself and set herself there without hesitation and in a shudder.

Drew would speak of his peace, a thing that apparently came when he slept and Ophelia would be none to surprised if that was the only points he ever was. Even as he sat there, he seemed animated to her calm, fidgety in some small respect that she would bet went unnoticed by most. Small things but even still, as she sat calm and quiet, her movement shifting the hose from its rest upon her thigh to the crook of her mouth and back again, he fidgeted and shifted about.

His choice of example left a lot to be desired, crass as it laid itself between them like fog she'd wander with the quirk of her brow. His correction would come with a flush of his cheeks and she'd note it as assuredly as she noted the movement he took next, always moving and shifting. "I'm no stranger to sex, Drew, but I will dare to say that your example leaves a lot to be desired in creating a solid case for your ability to sink into either quiet or peace." Stated simply, the touch of pink against her cheeks was faint, less embarrassment for herself and more in empathy of his own.

"Good," a soft mention tacked onto the end of his explanation in not needing drugs to attain his inner peace. The phoenix watched him for a long moment as he sat thoughtfully regarding the hose in his hand. When his frown shifted to meet her, quickly turning into a grin, her mouth would mimic in a softer influx. Likely a smile he knew well enough as it held little truth to itself, more a reaction than it was a genuine show of care. "Bad, how so?" Brow quirk as a soft frown slides over her face. Regardless he was the last person she'd readily feed coffee too anyway.

A soft shift of her fingers, a quiet splay of them through the air and she'd settle once more. "Tea it is then," decided. As if this hypothetical thing would ever come true anyway. Perhaps with her and the boy she sat with though she doubted his daughter would ever rightly be included. "She doesn't live with you, does she?" A curious cant to her head would shift her gaze across his face. "You speak of her as one who rarely has the pleasure," a parent that wasn't privy to days of tantrums and crying, wasn't subjected to the whims of children on a daily basis. A quiet frown pressed into her features as hallowed cheeks fill with smoke. Thoughtful she'd hold it, let it wash over the inside of her mouth before she released it in a huff. "I had a boy once, I speak of him the same, that tone is easy to note in others if you know what you're looking at," her smile was faint and saddened as her dark green eyes slid elsewhere. Wandered the bar in thought.

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Drew Hunter
 Posted: Apr 30 2017, 02:43 AM
275 posts
puppeted by Eien
Drew
GMT +1 he/him
job
kitchen help + cabaret singer
species
human
group
n/a
sexuality
bisexual
status
single/shipped
age
30
mature
yeah~
I won't compromise, I won't live a life, on my knees. You think I am nothing, I am nothing, you've got something coming, something coming because (We are indigos)
sweet sooty muffin



No stranger to sex, huh? That made him sit his chin into his hand. “Are you sure about that?”

There was nothing offensive about that statement, innocently wrapped, but still he cringed, and mustered an honest, drawling apology, “Jesus, I’m sorry, it’s not that you’re un… at-jesus, I mean.” Flustered, he chuckled to force his words, but it didn’t work. Stilted like just new to language, he struggled with how to express it, before saying, lamely, his gaze bowed, “I mean, and I do want to stress I know you’re not my mother, so there’s no issue with that, but I did make the comparison so hearing that you’re no stranger to sex is just--”

His voice turned too strained towards the end, and he just couldn’t finish the thought. It was like stumbling across his mother spread out and pounded. Mortifying. He shuddered a little, not enough it would be noted, but he knew, and that mattered. He didn’t even realize (and wouldn’t for another while) he’d dropped a mention of his less than preferable sexual encounters, at least anyone of a wise mind would be sure to frown at him, and say enough was enough. Right, don’t fuck strangers, don’t let them throw alcohol in your home, he knew. It didn’t mean he’d do it but he knew. He reached for the hose simply as a point of distraction. Inhaled, though almost too fast, the sweet fig flavor souring, and prompting him to release the smoke in an angry hiss. Disappointed with himself, he eyed the hose, before Ophelia’s question ensnared his attention, and he quirked his brows, his small smile toothy for a while. “ It just really winds me up, for some reason. Body chemistry.” He shrugged it off, his tone light, dismissive and so the topic would die with the mention. The other did not.

“You had a son?”

That soft echo came with its own point of marvel, and he watched her, yet to react emotionally, yet to feel curious before--

“Ah, makes sense.”

He smiled.

Settled an elbow on the table, which did force him to sat up properly, and then promptly ruin it with a slouch. There he sat his face into his hand again, giving him a look of contemplative gentleness. His mind drifted away.

“A boy, huh. Nah, Eileen doesn’t live with me. Even if I was her only living parent she wouldn’t be trusted into my hands. I’m just not a good parenting figure. Two suicide attempts, history of alcohol abuse. I mean, it is what it is. Emma basically lets me meet Eileen as a favor to me, and because Eileen wants to. But the entire family disapproves.”

He took another drag, this time calmer. Watched as the smoke unfurled from his lips, a thin, nice veil. It threw a film of white over the world. “Hmmm… what does it matter? Children grow up and scatter.” It was said with an idle, disarming grin, wrapped in warmth oddly as his fatalistic topic made appearance. But there was fondness on him, poignant, and warm, as he discussed this-- as he said, tone just for Ophelia’s ears, “And Eileen will be a big girl soon and I’ll, I don’t know. I’ve considered having a child, like a child child, someone I could genuinely parent and be there for, not when the toughest period is over and the kid’s all grown up and knows how to tie own shoelaces.”

His grin faltered, and turned a bit crooked.

“But why would I do that to anyone, eh?”

Parent them?

“You had a son, right? Or someone in your life?” Drew fixed her with a lazy, soft look. His smile was a ghost. “What was he like?”

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Ophelia Nazari
 Posted: May 2 2017, 09:44 PM
133 posts
puppeted by Sarah
Oph/O
PST She/her/hers
job
Owner @ Up In Smoke & Model for Blood Silk
species
Fae
group
Seelie Court
sexuality
Pansexual
status
Professional life avoider
age
1308
mature
Ye'h bitch
We bear no fruit, no flowers, no life. And we get sick but never die. Walk with me to a place of trust, Death will no longer silence us.
sumptuous snack



His cringe and his thought process on sex when it came to the fire-haired bird, amused. Enough that her throat would trill with a soft sort of laughter, a sound that was never meant to be for long with the quality of a babbling brook, all soft and quaint and lyrical. The song of a morning bird that would drift off with the breeze like powdered colors flung into the air. Stained the ears but was never destined to remain long whiles. When it stills some seconds later she'd sit there looking as soft and pliant as she was capable, warmed and delicate beneath it. So easily felled, a creation made of warmed ash, surely she'd crumble beneath simple touch. "I understand, if it eases your thoughts any, I am well over a millennium in age. So my time before being compared to your mother... was incredibly vast." She'd doubt it but if nothing else the number would likely stagger him as it did most that weren't privy to such lifetimes.

Give him something else to think on than his 'mother' and her sex life.

She'd hum thoughtfully as he spoke of coffee and what it did to him, a tone that carried and lingered as he questioned her about a son. A soft nod is offered even as her hum persisted, dying off a moment later to listen as he spoke of his daughter. The vapored smoke that curled from the crook of her mouth smelled sweet and decadent beneath its heavy hue of tobacco. There was a soft tinge to his voice she couldn't quite place. It was slightly hurried and didn't quite belong where it was. Furrowed her brows as she attempted to make heads or tails of it even as he spoke of suicide and alcohol abuse, things that would frown her lightly though she'd not move to soothe and interrupt.

He looked so strangely delicate then, as she watched him smoke and speak of children with such exuberant love and care, such things he clearly awarded himself none of. She couldn't imagine why. Had half a mind to ask but it wasn't her place nor the time to pry into such delicate subjects. "Life has an amazing ability to offer us all second chances," her mouth would smile, a softer warmer thing, genuine and quiet. "And second chances for our second chances. I'd urge you not to give up on yourself so easily. While life can always be worse, so to does it have the capacity to be equal parts better." Her tone and its encouragement was maternal as she sipped the hookah vapors from its nozzle like fine wine.

"A son, yes. Jude."

Her voice more than her expression, shook, trembled so gently that its infrastructure might have been deemed shoddy and unstable.

What was he like?

"I honestly don't know."

So soft it might as well not have been spoken at all save for its ability to taint the air with its physical smoked presence. "It was many lifetimes ago, and shortly thereafter--" a sigh as she set aside her nozzle, placed it carefully and coiled around itself upon the table. "It's a long story, and it's late," of which she was sure he'd ask after, the curious little thing he seemed to be. A glance at the clock not far away, perched upon the wall would frown her a bit in recognition of her words before the expression smoothed and her dark green eyes returned to the boy seated not far away. Regarded him like she were trying to make up her mind on a subject delicate and precarious. "If you've nowhere else to be--" a pause as if she'd expected him to have all the things in the world more important than this, hanging out with your 'mother'-- "I'll take you there, to the fae realm. To my home. Though I can't-- Hmm, I might be able to get you back before morning. I have extra rooms though, so staying won't be an issue."

Sliding to stand herself she'd move herself through the motions of disassembling things. She'd not blame him if he refused her, wandering into the fae realm with a woman made of chiffon and paper, she was hardly person enough to keep even herself safe. Though perhaps the prospect of stories and tea in a realm not made at all for him would push him to cast aside this world that had clearly offered him so little thus far, beyond a girl perhaps though even she was only partially his.

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Drew Hunter
 Posted: May 3 2017, 12:04 PM
275 posts
puppeted by Eien
Drew
GMT +1 he/him
job
kitchen help + cabaret singer
species
human
group
n/a
sexuality
bisexual
status
single/shipped
age
30
mature
yeah~
I won't compromise, I won't live a life, on my knees. You think I am nothing, I am nothing, you've got something coming, something coming because (We are indigos)
sweet sooty muffin



She laughed! She actually laughed. He could listen to it forever. Such a coy, but nice sound, and Drew didn’t even want to use big words; let’s not get fancy on all things grand and cute, since at times, tacking on more just lost the word: name it shy, and coy, and short, and humble, and ten other words later you didn’t even remember the actual word-- had it been something random being described, something important? Surely not.

She laughed, and he smiled at it, and shrugged, just a tiny bit, but some jump in his shoulders and then those bright (though not in color) eyes. His eyes shone with amusement and fun. “I think I can accept that,” he said, “grandma.” And gave her a cocked glance at this, kind of to tease uh-huh, you were totally asking for it. And who’d blame him? Other than everyone? She had hardly asked, but he had hardly offended. Amusement trilled at his core, evident even on his features; call them youthful. De-aged, and devoid of the strain of his trauma he tended to carry on himself, like a darker veil over his face.

Gone.

Just fucked off.

Possibly hadn't existed at all. She was over a thousand years old and Drew began imagining what sort of bygone eras she’d been born into, and what world she’d seen, what changes to man and what development. She must have been around when kings were still kings and supernaturals an insult; anyone suspected of witchcraft was burned, if not torn alive. At that instant, Drew realized he actually knew nothing of what had happened to any man or woman in the past that appeared different. Death, likely, if he considered how modern times had hardly shrugged off bigotry and ignorance. At the instance of stepping out of your comfort zone, the world around you proved a lot less pink and a lot redder than was assumed; wherever you looked, people struggled. The few white and safe places merely awaited their turn.

She must have seen that, too. And the natural decline of the human mind. Man had evolved to be smart, though not so much kind. Man had forgotten so much. Drew thought that, but even as then, so valiantly proclaimed into his thoughts, it felt dishonest, and lacking.

Man… was kind and sweet.

And beautiful.

People were.

Shit-lords.

And yet beautiful, amazing too. Drew’s face softened. Ah, and there, right there as he entertained that thought, all jigsaw pieces fell back together; they rang, honest and true.

People were gorgeous.

He smiled.

Stopped picturing a woman who was, in fact, there, and listened instead, to her words that almost suggested to pass his bullshit down on a child and raise it from babe like a true father. A terrifying thought, if he considered his situation. Sometimes he looked at Eileen and dreaded to explain to her that daddy had bad blood. There was no way to easily blame himself for every wicked mood swing she may experience. Rather, no easy way to explain. Drew’s eyes widened, by a fraction curious like a child told something important.

“You have a son… Jude…”

Even if she didn’t know much about him, the reality alone sufficed to imagine her somewhere in a warm, safe home, topless with the veil of her hair tastefully down her chest while she cradled a boy to her breast. It was all too picturesque. He blinked and--

“Will you tell me the long story?”

He stood up.

“Are you serious?” Was she actually asking him?

He frowned.

“Let’s go.”

He couldn’t contain himself. Tingling from warm energy, Drew stretched on the spot, his long arms over his head and his mannerism for a moment so very cute, like he wasn’t capable of nonsense. Slouching in a huff, he lazily smiled at her, all red-cheeked and squinty-eyed. He rubbed his right cheek, raking his fingertips along it, and looked just amazingly sleepy. But that persistent, wild light in his eyes claimed otherwise.

“Let’s go? Oh, wait. Help. Do you--?”


And if she asked him, or permitted him to he would help, obviously not unfamiliar with the motions she was going through, though he couldn’t recall doing them ever with her. Either or, things would be disassembled, the hookah turned off (or put out? better?), and Drew backpedaled, literally bringing his form to the exit point, waiting on her until they could walk out together.

Outside, onto the wide and vast mid-world.

“I’ve never been to the fae realm,” he said, bright-eyed, grinning, his hands in his pockets and his gaze staring off, imagining it. He couldn’t. He’d definitely fail to. He hoped to be wrong on every level imaginable so that once he got there, it’d be better than predicted. Or worse. Or more beautiful or as terrifying as a monster, but he wished it, intently, honestly, a desire throbbing along with his heartbeat. It painted him so alive like he’d never had this much fun. He looked at her. That rosy stain on his cheek, he was like a boy permitted entry to all the jars, and he brightened, his hopeful, radiant express turning all the way up as he asked, his tone awash in excitement, “Ooohhh, what’s it like? What’s the fae realm like, Ophelia? Also, do you have dogs? Or cats? I’ve never considered that, but do fae also keep pets?”

He laughed, warmly.

"And why wouldn't they, right?" He looked away from her. Looked down the long, dark street lit up by the lamp lights-- he'd never found the view as charming as he did now. It brought a fond, glad light in his eyes.

It was so good.

Being alive.

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Ophelia Nazari
 Posted: May 4 2017, 12:29 AM
133 posts
puppeted by Sarah
Oph/O
PST She/her/hers
job
Owner @ Up In Smoke & Model for Blood Silk
species
Fae
group
Seelie Court
sexuality
Pansexual
status
Professional life avoider
age
1308
mature
Ye'h bitch
We bear no fruit, no flowers, no life. And we get sick but never die. Walk with me to a place of trust, Death will no longer silence us.
sumptuous snack



You have a son. His words would ring in her ears and yet she'd do nothing to correct his tense. She had a son. Left it be as it was, a simple mistake she'd not dampen his eyes or squint them back from their slightly widened state with a correction that needn't be given. Nodded instead, a movement that continued as he questioned her about this story. She'd make an offer and in that moment she almost dreaded that he'd say yes, as much as she dreaded that he'd say no. The quiet smile that spread across her face was warm as it curled ever so slightly as she stood to gather and put things away.

His insistence was charming, that boyish excitement at something new would insist her mouth a little deeper into its convictions of this smiling business.

Their motions were quick and known as they shuffled things back where they were meant to be, cleaning the area that had housed them only a moment before. Hookah sorted and nozzles placed into the steam washer to disinfect, table wiped and they'd be out the door in a gathering of personal effects. Doors locked behind her with keys that would hide themselves back into the fabric of her skirts to jingle softly against her thigh as she walked, a persistent noise easily associated with the bird. His voice would easily fill the space between their footfalls. Cheeks bunching gently as they wandered, the soft bow of her head would ponder a moment. How did you explain the fae realm to a mortal mind?

"It's not all that different from this plane, we have cities all of our own. The greater populace of the fae actually do not reside on this plane at all, but rather there. It's more primitive, we don't rely on your transportation – cars and buses -- but rather portals. We have castles still, instead of capitol buildings, and little villages straight out of the medieval era. Thatched roofs and everything, though mostly we are as modern as this world is."

Conversational she'd banter, tone soft and carrying as they crossed a street and she piled them into the back of a car. No instructions were given but they were on their way without ado, headed towards the large sprawling park. Dropped at its edge she'd thank the driver and confirm his being there promptly at eight the following morning. A dainty little spelled parasol made of pained silk is shaken out to spring itself to life, a combatant for the fog as she wandered them up the forested park path. Its lamp posts all lit in soft glowing yellow light, washing their silent footfalls.

"The sky is still blue and the grass still green, most assume it purple for a reason I've never been able to grasp. The colors are deeper and richly saturated and the temperature fluctuates very little. We have storms and the like but never for long, not with so many species that can control the elements. I will caution you though, be careful where you wander and try not to touch things along the path. Where your flowers--" a gentled hand sweeps to the side of the little park path to a sprig of shaded bluebells just off to the side, dainty little flowers that made her smile soften a bit-- "are beautiful and harmless, most of ours... well, are not. Everything in the fae realm is built on deception. So mind your feet and your fingers."

Spoken like a mother as she taught her child not to touch the snap dragons that actually snapped back.

"I have cats, two. It's not a common practice among fae who remain in our realm, but those who frequent both, do often take reminders of your realm back with them."

A quiet nod as they strode around a corner to a little fenced off gazebo. The whole of the area was a wash of pale silver light though there stood no lamps, rather the shimmering portal that stood at its center lit the area itself. A soft shake and her parasol would see it closed. The little picket fence gate was opened and shut behind them and while the misty portal looked nothing suspicious it was an alien thing that should have been colored differently in her own opinion, something ominous and detracting.

Deceptive, even in this realm.

A hand would shift to clasp around his elbow, fingers pressing to the soft beat of his heart at its inner bend. The hold is light, feathered and dainty as she steps them up the stairs. "Mind your feet and fingers," and with that she'd step them through.

It was yet dark on the other side as their feet touched down on a wooden gazebo floor just like they'd just left behind. The rush of cool air that washes over them is left behind as she releases his elbow and wanders them down onto a path that looks like all the others. "Time here is faster, not by much, but enough that too much back and forth can wreak havoc on your internal clock." Several minutes later the trees would give way to a meadow and in its center sat a little village, a small town rather, the larger city miles off in the distance is ignored.

"Not so different, no?"

It rather looked like a child had dumped over a bucket of primary colors, everything was deep and rich and vibrant. The grass a spring, emerald green even in the low yellow light of the lamps. The path would lead them down the center of the little city, the sidewalks all carefully cemented and without the modern mess of man, gum and newspapers and overflowing trash bins. Clean, and crisp like a movie lot. Rounding a corner she'd slide them up a little residential block with sprawling yards and carefully manicured hedges and fences. The little Victorian house she steered them towards, various shades of olive green with its bright red door, would see them through a fragrant flower garden upon little laid stepping stones. Keys jingle from her hip as she moves to unlock the door.

Its insides would open and welcome them, Drew first followed by the phoenix who'd shut and lock them inside the warm inviting space. Clean and bold, it was mostly all monochrome and shades of gray, spotted by deep rich royal colors and decadent adornments sat on shelves and tables. The tinkling of twin bells saw long-haired gray and orange cats at their feet. "Mind them, they're not the brightest creatures. Tea?" She'd not stop to wait for an answer as she sloughed off everything nonessential beside the door and wandered barefoot towards the kitchen, a flurry of skirts and trailing felines.

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Drew Hunter
 Posted: May 4 2017, 02:16 AM
275 posts
puppeted by Eien
Drew
GMT +1 he/him
job
kitchen help + cabaret singer
species
human
group
n/a
sexuality
bisexual
status
single/shipped
age
30
mature
yeah~
I won't compromise, I won't live a life, on my knees. You think I am nothing, I am nothing, you've got something coming, something coming because (We are indigos)
sweet sooty muffin



They had cities. Primitive? But why? Why didn’t they pollute their world with cars and ringing phones, blaring horns and scaffolding around the buildings, making even the widest of boulevards feel small? Why not? Did they value their world enough, did the world appear too alive? Was it that their world, unlike the mid-world, was one which punished every sustained scar? In truth, Drew supposed that it made altogether too much sense as she warned him against flowers, and by then they’d enjoyed their taxi drive and he’d given it all a thought, plunged into imagined worlds. It made him regret he’d never been into gaming. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t recall a single triple A title that had been making the news. He didn’t even know what games were, simulators, RPGs, what-have-you’s filling the market and he wouldn’t know which one to pick for the right experience.

So that he could open his narrow, ignorant world to what lay possibly beneath if only given the choice. And the fae violets were dangerous murderers as though to create an exact mirror image of this world. This man, this human, plain and mundane, thought of it with such a marvel he’d perhaps never look at violets in the same way; the innocence of theirs made them feel rare.

Drew looked where they walked, and then wondered, even as his gaze appeared glued on the approached portal, if the trees they passed and if the shrubbery they passed, if this hard, cement pavement walked upon and the branching out beaten off paths, if this world, this green and gray world of grass and other nonsense, if he’d remember them the same, if he’d appear disappointed by the life here. Or if he would look at them, everything changed. If the beauty of this mortal world didn’t lie in its innocence. He wondered if they’d feel the same the next time he touched them.

The gazebo approached, the gate opened and then closed, and he walked in, already awed. Quiet all throughout and his gaze flickering where it could to make the most of the view; he’d remember it forever, in truth; he would recall how he’d walked, and how light he’d felt. That Ophelia’s hair had looked brown in the diminished lighting. That the world had smelled faintly of the trees that surrounded them. He’d remember all the little pebbles he’d stepped on, ten, ten exactly, ten which he’d felt embed into the soles of his shoes before left behind with his step forward. He would remember, too, almost like he’d astrally projected for the view, that he’d not looked mirthful at all as he stepped through the portal. He’d not looked happy. He’d looked gentle, and staring. But a child meeting something foreign, but a man making a staggering, impossible discovery. But someone facing their potential end and then, oddly, deciding to meet it anyway-- despite the choice to walk away.

He’d remember that.

They walked through, and his body gasped where his voice did not-- that brief tightening of all muscle that made him wonder if he was sick, if he was having a cramp all over. He straightened, relaxed as they walked. The anxious beating of his heart soon put a stop to that sensation.

They walked out on the world that was exactly as par Ophelia’s description. A world that, for the lack of other words, was something and then not. Wrong and right too. Off and yet the most logical state of things imaginable. Drew spun on the spot. Turned his gaze all the way up at the blue, though not black sky that wasn’t purple as he’d been warned, but he smiled, that breathless and lost way that didn’t emote much but couldn’t help itself.

He looked around himself.

Looked, and kept spinning every moment, too much energy and too much curiosity and every tenacious capacity to act on it. He felt like a boy. De-aged and truly so innocent. Her wayward son Jude rediscovered after a while. Back by her side and trying to recognize the world he’d once loved. And the city felt polished and in that wrong, and at the same the dark swept sky above them added an eerie presence. And that, that little hint of danger, the wrong in a thing too clean or symmetrical, that made sense.

They entered her home.

He lost his shoes and jackets, leaving them where she left hers. Walked in. Looked down at the cats that had decided to trot about, convincingly feline though Drew was ready to doubt that too. But this doubt, normally a burden, lifted his gaze straight up, and he relocated to the kitchen, there waiting for her appearance. In her absence, he looked awfully out of the place, too tall, too still, too motionless.

But when he spun to face her in a sudden motion, he wore that:

A wide, and awed expression.

Gentle.

He tried to soften it with a smile. Looked at Ophelia, lips parting--

“... Tea will be good. Just a cup.” He slowly smiled bigger. “Just a cuppa.” And then he shuffled to relocate himself into one of her chairs.

It looked so normal. So out of the world. Such a fine fit here whereas the mid-world would treat it like a reenactment of the once beautiful era that didn’t deserve half of the attention garnered. Drew sat on the spot, silent for a moment. When he believed enough time had passed to worry Ophelia if he’d fallen sick, he looked up at her, wearing that shy, humble smile and that relaxed expression.

“I’m sorry, I just…”

The cats wandered.

“Huh.”

He grinned.

Slouched forward, bringing his elbows on his knees and hanging his arms in the space between his legs, admiring the cats. There they were, appearing so.

So normal.

Such a mundane sight and yet--

Yet.

He sighed. Took a shuddering breath and closed his eyes.

“So what happened to Jude?” He smiled as he looked up at her. “If I sense reluctance then you have every right to deny me the answer. I don’t mind. Unlike some people, I can’t be arsed to get angry when rejected. You know, shit happens.”

He straightened, and then stood up to wander by her, annoying her by the act of being too close; like that child bad at sitting still, and so he’d approach. At her side and looking down to observe her very mundane set of actions, he noted in a tone still somewhat awed, “You know, this reminds me of my siblings, and I actually cannot tell you why. Sister’s a leather-wearing dyke off in her trailer where she lives with her girlfriend, who, by the way, I accidentally married at some point. And then there’s my brother who’s a chapter in and of itself. I’ve never met a man as complicated as and Mack and I never will.”

Drew leaned down and nibbled on the material covering Ophelia’s shoulder, like a puppy that needed attention.

His hands were clasped at his back.

He smirked. “Whutcha doing?” he asked in a warm, soft tone, in a lazy timber that didn’t almost bother with emoting. Too much energy, huh? “You know what we should do? Go out and run naked in the rain. Only gross, after so many mom parallels I think I’d just get myself a shrink-- a second shrink. No offense. It’d be the worst.”

He blew into her hair.

Chuckled.

“I’m sorry I’m being such a child.”

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