Arresto Momentum
quick links
staff
stats
Arresto Momentum

 
Add Reply
New Topic
New Poll

 It's In The Cards [M], Tag: Desiderio Greengrass
SOPHRONIA PARKINSON
 Posted: Aug 10 2016, 09:25 PM
Quote
Ani is Offline

Diviner/Wand-For-Hire
19 years old
Flings and Things
Neutral
22 posts



WARNING
The following thread has been tagged as Mature and/or for Trigger Warnings for the following reasons:

Crude Language, Drug Use, and Sexual Content

Please be aware of the content of this thread and do not continue if you are uncomfortable with the topics listed above.



In the dark alleys, once the sun set or just as it is approaching the horizon, the ambiance of they alleyways changed. It was as if someone flicked a switch off, for as the light went away, things began to spring up and camp down for a singular night. It was as if a sort of nighttime circus rolled into town every time the brightness began to dim, the top of their tents kissing the sky and bidding it a fair well. ”Only for a few hours,” they would whisper to assure the day it would have its time again, planting kisses along the jaw the horizon was as they pushed the sun under. ”Take a rest; let us shadows work too.”

Shadows don't always need light to form, after all.

The bright-haired girl didn’t feel like she fit quite right in the night-life scene painted by the deep, rich colors the shows brought not matching her own personal aesthetic or dressing style- Not that such a thing stopped her. Ha. If something didn’t go alongside the Parkinson way, other things moved. It didn’t matter how long their presence lingered; bugs and pests tended to move away from bright, brilliant things, and it was the same case in the business she set up occasionally.

What folded into a little square into her pocket expanded and embodied an entire alleyway. The antiques and trinkets spotted along shelves, the wooden side tables with their crocheted garnish, the twinkling fairy lights, the burning candles, and the crystal ball never shifted a single half-inch from their respective places. The aura given off was an intentional one: It was very cliché for her branch of business, yet still possessed the elegant nature everything touched by taupe, jewel undertone fingertips did. Her own tent’s edges fluttered around the corners of the buildings next to her, sturdy but billowing gently under the wind’s teasing blows- A reminder that the structure’s existence was just as whimsical as the people who strolled through its flaps.

The scene of a just-opened tent seemed to be found as alluring to customers. It surely wasn’t just another crack along the stretch of buildings (no, the colors were too flashy to be considered such a thing,) with vines and other sickeningly dependent undergrowth seeping through; it was a little slit, like an open letter. Once people walked inside, they were sealed just like their fate. If the girl inside was any sort of plant, it wasn’t a mere brush or bramble; it was a Venus flytrap.

The tent’s opening would beckon people in, and as soon as their delicate legs landed on the carpeted insides, either side would snap closed. The customer, instantly swallowed, found themselves in a sort of daze if they weren’t wise enough. The scent of incense took them to lands far away, and only the cards would be able to tell if they’d make it back again.

The coins were cool when she collected them from the victim of bad news or the fortunate receiving good, their icy texture easing away the slight sweat that came when working in such close quarters with a myriad of all different scented and colored candles. Often her skin and clothes soaked the smoke in, both from the spiced aroma and the sporadic cigarette, should her schedule allow for it. The pores, despite perforated with ancient, out-of-tune strings, able to breathe in the savory concoction and maintain it by not exhaling. It must have been the wire’s lacking tautness; she was lucky to not have that to deal with tonight. A lurking ghost, especially that of her late mother, wouldn’t have done the business any good. Her mind palace was enough of a distraction.

As the night lulled on, as it always did, the customers grew scarcer and scarcer, directly proportional to their sketchy quality. Her wand remained close by, always only a fingertip away. Smacking the pink bubblegum in her mouth, she let the sickly-sweet taste form a sugar-coating over her tongue, reminiscing on similarly once spoken words.

It was on very rare occasion she allowed herself to retreat back into memories rather than a blank canvas or a vacant stage, and never did she dwell too long. It wasn’t a comfortable or homely place, despite it once being such a thing. Before it was a conglomerated, jumbled mess of lies and deceit- Though, as everything the Parkinsons touched or had a hand in, it had a sense of elegance. Calling the disarray a stain glass window would embody the essence of it, but as a young girl, the image hadn’t been shattered yet.

Something always called her back to reality, far from the dark crevasses of her mind. Even safe spaces had unwanted shadows, it seemed.

This time it was another consumer, ready to have his fortune fed to him. They were either incapable of reading it themselves, or lacked the energy. Neither mattered, not Sophronia; she couldn’t complain: This was how she made money. It sure as hell beat the way her sisters gained their profits, even if she did tag along and participate despite undergoing such things breaking some sort of spiritual link she wished to desperately maintain for her own soul and inner being.

She couldn’t lie: The newest fly was rather striking. The slightest smirk tugged the painted lips upward, predominately on the left side of her face. Her eyes subtly, or so she thought, anyway, flickered up and down, quick as turning on and off a switch. 'Yes. Handsome indeed,' she mused to herself internally before beginning up the usual slogan and charade. Rising from her cross-legged position on the carpeted ground, she strode through a partial labyrinth of blinking lights, as if small eyes watching their every move.

”Care for a tarot reading?” It was a little later than she was usually opened, but something deep inside had urged her keep the tarp of her circus up, the flap cracked for any last stragglers. Perhaps fate itself had stepped in and shoved this insect into the open trap that was the breezy, smog-filled tent. Surely it played the smallest part, for what were the chances of anyone- Not just this particular male, but truly anyone- to walk in on a day-time lacuna, but nighttime hot spot?

Words: 1,051 | Outfit | Tag: Journey.

PM
^
DESIDERIO GREENGRASS
 Posted: Aug 13 2016, 04:43 PM
Quote
Nevin is Offline

Potion Master
22 years old
It's Complicated
Death Eater
38 posts



You have got the face that just says,
'Baby, I was made to break your heart.'

The skies were awash with a myriad of colours as the sun began its slow descent towards the horizon, from bright pinks to mellow yellows to a heady red until they all merged together to form the soft orange glow of dusk. It was as if a painter was using the heavens as their canvas and had just brushed a swath of a paint across the slowly dimming sky. Derio stood on the top of the stairway that led to the recently locked Mr. Mulpepper’s Apothecary behind him, a lit clove cigarette dangling from his lips. The day had been peaceful and the shop had been surprisingly quiet. It would’ve been absolutely criminal to let the apprentices stay a minute longer on such a beautiful eve so the pureblood had allowed them to leave, deciding to lock up the doors after him to enjoy the night as well.

Derio took a long drag from his cigarette as he continued to look skywards, exhaling a cloud of grey as the too sweet smell of cloves filled the air. It was far too early to head back to his flat – Demetria would’ve still been at Florean Fortescue’s so it would’ve been pointless – so the young man pulled his leather jacket tighter around himself and continued on to Knockturn proper. Knockturn Alley had a sort of sublime majesty surrounding that the majority of the wizarding populace couldn’t see. It wasn’t all grime and gloom. If you squinted at the right place and at the right time, a spark of something could be seen past the air of despondency and despair – survival. The inhabitants of Knockturn were all survivors in some form or another, clawing tooth and nail for their right to keep on existing in their own way. These people weren’t like the others living in Diagon taking for granted their comfy lives and their comfy jobs until they died a comfy death.

It was a tedious and boring existence, one that Derio hoped he wouldn’t experience.

The pureblood’s footsteps led him down a cobbled pathway branching deeper into the darker portions of the alley, a cloud of smoke from his ever lit clove cigarette trailing behind him like a specter of nicotine and death. The skies above him sighed softly, the colours shifting from light pastels into the darkening hue that was night as the stars began blinking their presence above. After a few minutes of following the winding path, past dealers in dark cloaks attempting to sell their merchandise at anyone showing them even an inch of curiosity, past thugs and ruffians eyeing him down to see if he was worth the hassle of a mugging – he was not – and ending up stopping in an area of Knockturn that he had never visited before. It was a bit lighter here compared to the other areas of the Alley, with enchanted lanterns floating around basking the open space in an ethereal light. There were a handful of tents around this area, with a small crowd of people milling about.

The young man strode forward unhurriedly towards the first tent that met his gaze, a small wooden table next to it with various trinkets and curios that were apparently for sale. He gingerly picked up a tiny music box, intricate designs running down its smooth surfaces. Tentatively opening the box just a smidgen, he listened to the tinkling music that softly emanated from within. Derio placed it back down, running his eyes through the other items to see if anything else would catch his fancy. There were all just a bit too expensive for his tastes and there were other stores near his business that offered the same sort of items for a cheaper price.

Just as Derio was about to leave, a scent of something in the air gave him pause. It was a curious smell, one that he recognized yet couldn’t really put a word to. It tugged on the strings of his curiosity that lay in the back of his inquisitive mind. He began to follow the fragrance, though it was very hard to track it since it oftentimes disappeared or mixed with another odor in the air. His feet led him to a large nondescript tent shoved into a corner of the area, heady smoke that smelled like lilacs and jasmine trailing from the slit of the opening. The tent was located in a very odd place – there basically was no footpath leading here. Apparently the only way to get to it was to simply wander until you somehow stopped by its entrance.

Derio took one last, final drag from the dreg of his clove cigarette, the exhaled grey mixing with the sweet smell of perfumed smoke wafting from the tent. He threw it down and crushed the spent butt underneath a dragonhide boot, but he still stayed where he was, not yet drawing on his courage to enter. He wasn’t sure why he wanted to go in. His mind told him to leave but his gut told him to enter – his heart wanted none of this conversation. Shrugging slightly to himself and muttering, “What’s the worst that could happen?” to himself before he pushed back the fabric of the opening and crossed the threshold.

The smell of sweet flowers was heavier within the tent as it seemingly rose up and ran a foggy hand across his face, caressing his brain and almost turning it into mush. The sides behind him magically shut closed, leaving no possible way to escape unless he drew out his wand and started setting things aflame, something that he would rather avoid. Tiny pinpricks of blinking lights filled the confined space, though it still seemed very dark in there. A movement further within the tent caught his eye and all thoughts of finding a way to leave were banished from his mind.

The girl who met him was a pretty one, with bright bubblegum pink hair and smooth alabaster skin the colour of bottled moonlight. She moved towards him like a being caught between awake and asleep, slow and fast, a phoenix in the midst of death and rebirth. The word ‘innocent’ came to mind when he saw her face, but this was Knockturn Alley – no one was innocent here. After all, even the most delicate of roses still had their thorns. The smoke was getting to him, but he didn’t want to show the girl that it was affecting him for some reason.

“T-tarot? S-sure…” His tongue stumbled over his words like a drunk after happy hour. He followed her towards where she sat previously and took a seat opposite of her, sitting cross-legged on the floor, “…Tell me my fortune.”

His blue eyes never left hers.

Sophie | 1124 | ]Tattoos
PM
^
SOPHRONIA PARKINSON
 Posted: Aug 16 2016, 07:41 PM
Quote
Ani is Offline

Diviner/Wand-For-Hire
19 years old
Flings and Things
Neutral
22 posts



Something had been brought in with this customer, some sort of physical presence that perhaps the boy didn’t realize he carried with him. It was dense, and heavier than one might expect- Than she had expected. Her own aura shifted some to allow space for his, despite how large the tent may have been, or seemed to be with the mind tricks she placed all about the shop. Mirrors were the best way to make a place seem more expanded than its borders actually were, passively and subtly allowing a sort of calming air to settle. It was intentional, for it attracted more in to discover every nook and cranny; all they would see was themselves, however; the singular thing reflected back showing just how confused they were.

The look of dubiety upon their facial features was her cue. Onto the stage she would step, their uncertainty becoming a sort of spotlight, for it followed wherever she went, pronounced every action she did with an unknowledgeable tongue that absorbed all she had to tell, truth and lie alike. It was always entertaining to see just how they took the news she spoon-fed them: Sometimes, their eyes would light up with hope, a thing it was clear they had been lacking when they had passed through those flaps searching for something inwardly; other occasions brought about frustration, confusion, and simple emotions like sadness and anger.

Is this how her mother had felt all those years ago? Sophronia couldn’t lie, but couldn’t admit it to herself: The control she had over these people’s lives, however big and however small, gave her satisfaction and pleasure. Perhaps it was because she couldn’t control her own life, didn’t know how to with her puppet strings no longer tugged into servitude. Feelings of lacking in purpose had been residing in her lately, for all she was now was a lonely puppet without a master. It wasn’t as if she could reach up and take over the controls herself, but with these people, these customers she had, she could. For the half hour or so they stayed and gobbled up her every word, they were hers; it was like taking care of children, so full of hope but so quick to take whatever she had to offer, even if it was a sweet laced with something as nasty as nitroglycerin.

With a customer present, she once more gained a solid purpose. The moment he spoke, the girl knew she had him under her spell. Oh how entertaining it was to do such a thing. Sophronia adored the fact that she gained payment for manipulating people, especially because she was usually one too spacey and distant for human connection. People who came into a shop like this, however, weren’t looking for such a thing: They wanted a higher spirit to communicate with, someone to guide their life and then be on their way.

At least, this is what she thought. In the current moment, she took her seat with an exquisite backrest (Siting on the floor all night, leaned over a small coffee table led a girl to develop back pains; it was the little things in life, such as pillows to support her seemingly-ninety year old spine). Adjusting the tablecloth with the utmost precision, she hadn’t the faintest idea just what the cards had in store. Wiggling her digits at a nearby bookshelf, she summoned the very deck that would tell the boy across the table from her just what he desired to know; what he had verbally requested from her. She had found such a thing rather frivolous. What did he think she was going to do with tarot cards? Did he expect her to offer to play Go Fish? Perhaps commence some sort of Bridge came and serve earl grey tea, as if some sort of elderly home?

Such fabricated ideas made her chuckle with only slight humor found in them. Her, Sophronia Parkinson, dressed in a baggy, mold colored sweater with a sparkling visor strapped to her wrinkling and sagging forehead seemed like it would be quite the sight. Pleasantly smirking with nude-painted lips, the deck soon found her fingers after a seemingly tantalizingly slow journey over to the beckoning, fluttering digits. Her almond-shaped orbs hadn’t left his but for a moment to have found them upon the white shelf; had he blinked his eye at precisely the right moment, he would have believed in the fantasy that their stares had remained intermingled with one another.

How dazed he seemed, and yet, he had a certain, specific air to him that gave off the impression he was attempting to keep the fact remaining hidden as to just how intoxicating the pungent air was on his brain. The brunette male seemed to be aware of such a trick- Not that he could help but fall for it. For all she knew, it was what had lured him into her tent in the first place. Markets for the specific type of incense burning in the tent were low in customer population, and for good reason. If one cared enough to get technical, it by all means wasn’t illegal; if one looked into its effects, however, the push to make it categorized with forbidden properties might grow in wanting.

His attempts to fabricate a facade allowed her to find herself in him. Most would call it attempting to connect with another human being on more than just a venue-customer basis; Sophronia would call it part of the business. After all, she needed to see what his interests were so that she could formulate a response and interpretation of the cards picked that appealed to what he wished to know- And with the need for an answer to that question, she spoke for the first time since they had taken seated, cross-legged positions together.

“What is it you wish to know most?” This is where the basic, cluster of customers grew more individual, more memorable. Many had asked many things over her two or so years fortune telling, and while they all muddled stagnantly together after the amount of time she was on the job, there were a select few that remained distinctly above the rest. Would this boy be sorted among them, or was he as simple as the other insects that scurried and attempted to flea?

Leaning in, she allowed his senses to be flooded with the presence she brought along. Before, the massive amount of energy he had brought to the table had been taken passively. Now, however, she was challenging him some. Placing the deck in front of him, their faces all facing downward, ready for his pickings and dealings, for his fingers and wishes to manipulate them in a way she’d be able to interpret. “Mull over it while you shuffle. Follow the natural rhythm your body and soul will take on when possessing the cards. You’ll notice a certain way they’ll wish to flow while you maneuver them.” Her tone was just as hazy as the smog-like air, and as heavy as the feeling gained once in the fog’s grasps- In her grasps- for too long.

Words: 1,194 | Outfit | Tag: Journey.

PM
^
DESIDERIO GREENGRASS
 Posted: Aug 21 2016, 06:37 PM
Quote
Nevin is Offline

Potion Master
22 years old
It's Complicated
Death Eater
38 posts



You have got the face that just says,
'Baby, I was made to break your heart.'

The heady smell of the scented smoke curling up around him like fingers made Derio’s body feel extra heavy, like his clothes were dunked in a vat of molasses and frozen overnight. The pureblood ran a hand through his messy mop of hair in an effort to calm himself down, noting that the action took a second longer than what he anticipated. The girl before him continued to grin her mysterious Cheshire smile at him as if she knew something that he didn’t, making him feel like the fly to her spider as she handled the tarot cards within her hands. He ran his tongue across his chapped bottom lips, refocusing his attention on the stranger with almond-shaped eyes and lips the colour of dusky flesh. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt that an unsaid challenge had been set forth between the two of them when he took the seat in front of the table. That if he looked past that flower-scented candles and the sickeningly sweet smell of smoke, wits were being matched.

Okay, he would play this game. While he wasn’t sure what the rules of the game were, he was a quick learner and could throw down with the best of them.

He would not leave until that pretty, smug smile of her was wiped clean off of her face.

Divination had always been one of Derio’s more hated subjects when he was in Hogwarts. Maybe it was just his Inner Eye needed to have a checkup, but whenever he looked into those teacups or rolled the bones, all he saw were soggy twigs and old remains. The pureblood preferred subjects like Charms and Potions, where the outcomes were exact and he didn’t have to deal with the probability brought forth by the location of Mars and Mercury on a given Sunday. Tarot cards, while he didn’t know much about the art, belonged in the same boat as bone and tea reading. After all, if a seer can’t nail down the exact future to a ‘t’, a piece of cardboard wasn’t going to be any different.

“What I wish to know, huh?” Derio questioned, his voice losing that sleepy quality that had inhabited it before as he sharpened his focus to a knife point and cut away at the tendrils of perfumed smoke that had wrapped his mind in a tight hold. The pureblood stared down at the well-handled deck of tarot cards that the young woman had placed down on the table before him. He made no move to retrieve the deck as of yet. Derio was certainly in no rush and he figured that the girl could afford to spend some time waiting.

Making a show of stretching his long, thin fingers, Derio reached within his pocket and retrieved the half-spent carton of clove cigarettes from within his leather jacket pocket. Ice blue stared into chocolate brown as he flipped open the lid and picked out one of his clove cigarettes sitting alone at one end of the pack. Leaning over to one of the burning scented candles atop the table, the pureblood hovered the end of the cigarette over the open flame until it was lit. He then brought the burning cigarette up to his lips and took a calming drag, exhaling his own sweet smelling smoke and watched it waft up high into the air and mixing with the haze within the room.

There was no hint of a pause within his actions, not bothering to ask if she allowed cigarette smoke within her tent. He was a Greengrass for Merlin’s sake and he was going to bloody act like one! His family belonged to the Sacred Twenty-Eight and they did not act like some misty-eyed first year in the face of strangers. Derio took another inhale of tobacco and cloves, letting the smoke trail upwards from between his lips before exhaling gray.

“I hope you know that I think this tarot stuff is all bullshit,” Derio bluntly stated as he held his cigarette limply between his pointer and middle finger. There was no hint of anger or derision within his words, only the neutrality of stating an opinion. The young man leaned across the table towards her as the ends of his lips curled into a cynical smile, “Maybe the muggleborns or half-bloods without a lick of sense can fall for such tricks, but I assure you that you find none of that with me.” He leaned back into his seat and smiled sweetly at her, “But I do admit, the smoke and the candles are a very nice touch. Top points for you, love.”

He leant down and took the cards within his hands, making sure to handle them with the upmost care – Derio for some reason would not want to see how the card reader would react to him treating her cards like some sort of fumbling oaf of a troll. He began to shuffle the cards gingerly, his clove cigarette hanging from between his lips, “Fuck it, I’ll play this game of yours. I can’t really say no to the company of a pretty girl and the cards do look rather nice.” Derio shuffled the cards for another moment or so before placing it back onto the table, pushing it gently towards her while making sure the deck didn’t topple over.

“What I wish to know…” Derio let the word linger in the air for a moment or so between them, his eyes never straying from her own before finishing his statement, “…I want to know how this night ends.”

Sophie | 932 | ]Tattoos
PM
^
SOPHRONIA PARKINSON
 Posted: Aug 26 2016, 05:18 PM
Quote
Ani is Offline

Diviner/Wand-For-Hire
19 years old
Flings and Things
Neutral
22 posts



The response, a paraphrasing of her own inquiry, from the question she spewed so confidently was reverberated back in a tone that cut like a knife. The condensation and fog that was usually causing a thickness in tone as she dealt with a client by this point in their interaction was wiped clean by some cloth she hadn’t a clue he possessed. It was as if some kitchen utensil freshly washed was wrapped in a towel that quickly, yet with utmost precision, wiped away the residing droplets of a worker’s hard and time-consuming effort. This aura, aided in sweet-scented aroma and supported by the flickering of candles, had taken a copious amount of hours to perfect, to produce the affect on people and their frames of mind so that they would be more susceptible to swallow what she spoon-fed them.

Needless to say, his resonance had caught her off guard. It was only the way he spoke, however, and so her recovery was seamless. Besides, it seemed to have been more of an rhetorical question anyway, and it seemed pointless to answer or give energy to such bombastic rhetoric. The only reaction it had produce had been shock initially, and then mild vexation. His lackadaisical nature, however, allowed a slight worry to take up in the pit of her stomach. The time in which he decided to allot for his actions seemed to never cease, a swinging pendulum on a steady pace that was just too fast for his tastes.

What did he know that she did not?

It wasn’t commonality for a client to endeavor in taking away her higher position. This was her territory; this was her place of expertise. What on earth could this pathetic, pseudo-punk boy know about something as delicate as tarot cards, or anything at all pertaining to the frangible art of reading the future? She, in that moment, promptly understood the presence that was introduced alongside the mundane, physical form and his toxic comportment: It had been his colossal, rather elephantine, nasty ego.

The revelation caused her to crinkle her Grecian nose, as if she had smelled something rancid, like a putrescent body. Her distaste was clear, any and all sorts of previous thoughts of or relating to any sort of attraction to the boy disappearing out the tent’s rigid flaps. They had taken on a shape able to fit through the thinnest crack, for his initial allure hadn’t been but a second thought. There wasn’t any feigning that it hadn’t been anticlimactic, but surely her facial features would reveal more disapprobation than disillusionment.

Once he decided to partake in at least some sort of movement, her orbs, the deep ebony pupils emulsions among liquid chocolate, were drawn to the subtle movement of his hand. Her gaze not ceasing even for a moment to press the curled and painted lashes against one another with the delicacy of a butterfly landing upon either flora or fauna. It seemed to be the intent behind his actions, entice and capture her undivided attention. Her interests were peaked, she couldn’t be deceitful about him being slightly successful, but it was more her curiosity. Did this show he was putting on account for his attempt to one-up her? Surely he didn’t believe such a thing was possible; how childishly naive it would be to assume such a conjecture.

Everything he did had a purpose, a clear intent, and it seemed to be aimed at harming her, the reliability of her set up, and the very tasks she preformed here. Why he decided to venture in if he held such a position was unbeknownst to her, and while usually she would’ve dismissed the customer without guiding them through the murky, turbid, gunk-filled waters of the sea of life, he was clearly invoking some sort of challenge. Sophronia wasn’t ever one to back away from a challenge- Unless she saw it potentially fatal to one side or the other. While the boy across the way may have possessed a certain tone and air, it was only his overconfidence, a bark that she knew more likely than not held no bite behind it.

The barks filled her ears once he had taken a drag of his sweet-scented cigarette, something she hadn’t showed any sort of reaction to, leaving him to only assume she was neutral with its presence. The pink-haired girl held intentions of not letting him get under her skin, mostly because the person under the epidermis was not a thing customers wanted to come across on a daily basis. She knew this all too well, and so she didn’t so much as allow the sharp stream and bundle of comments to pierce the seemingly-impernitrable layer. The words buzzed in her ear like that of an annoying pest, and he had attempted to land on her arm and stick an appendage down in to draw blood.

Her volleyed comment would be the hand coming down to smack the mosquito out of existence, out of the competitive race to deny him even a sliver of hope of the cake sweet victory was.

“You’re just as pathetically dense as the rest of them,” she said with ease, leaving the deck be for the moment to dedicate her full intention, allowing a droplet or two of her previous disappointment to be soaked into the words. It was often she let her hopes get sparked, but it was even less often that they didn’t go tumbling down into an abyss. She knew how to deal with it, but in the moment, she wished to make him feel a little guilty, especially after his injurious comments that she wouldn’t admit to herself they were.

Reaching across the table- Something she wouldn’t have ever done for it broke the boundary between semi-celestial creatures such as herself and lowly mortal customers- Sophronia allowed her elongated, narrow digits clasp the coffin nail dangling from between thin lips. She brought it to her painted lips and took a deep inhale, allowing the smoke to fill her lungs as she expanded her bijou bosom, her accenting, attenuated collarbones growing more couloiresque as air and smoke alike passed through the ravine-like passageways of her throat, her bloodstream adopting the nicotine tossed into its circulating coulee. It brought enlightenment upon the girl, and the lips that clasped a cigarette effortlessly between them curled into a smirk before she brought it away and exhaled, her chin jutted slightly upward causing the stream to fill the space between them and accumulate slowly, bound for the pointed roof of the tent. Shifting so that her frame rested more against the cushiony support, she took another drag, waving her hand as she did so to allow the top card to flip over, much like an acrobat off of a balance beam.

The card landed facing him, depicting an angel floating above a steam, clad in snow-colored robes and pouring water from one goblet to another, allowing the glancing person to allude that the heavenly creature had gotten it from the body of water below. “Present position,” she would inform him after a moment of silence and a steady exhale, her taste buds tingling with the sting of nicotine, a sin she hadn’t given into in quite some time. “The temperance card represents capability and control, and promises a desired wish to fruit.”

Leaning forward to counter him, she detracted the white stick from her mouth, not a single splotch of a gentle pink from her lipstick staining any part of the filter. She spun the burning twig-shaped holder of a intoxicating substance so that it too was facing him, then deposited the borrowed object back in-between the lips of its owner. “Let us hope it embodies your abilities and the possibilities of the night,” she’d mumble into the narrow space between the two, her eyes locked with his, a dangerous glint in the two windows to her soul.

“Seeing as this is 'all bullshit', as you so eloquently put it,” Sophronia said as she leaned back her elbows resting on the table as her arms fell to rest neatly one upon the other, her moves very precise and almost feline, “then surely even an ignorant villein such as yourself will be able to conduct the rest of the reading- And without the aid of someone skilled in such a useless and frivolous talent. Allow me to simply be a pretty face for you to consult dumbfounded once you’ve realized your blunder.” Her smirk appeared once more, one that was so heavy with self-satisfaction that the shadows cast by the flickering candles made it seem as if the words had taken a physical form and were dripping down her facial features. She tilted her head, as if to question whether or not he would take the stacked deck she had handed him, her confidence glinting as bright as the burning flames scattered about the room.

Words: 1,488 | Outfit | Tag: Temperance.

PM
^
DESIDERIO GREENGRASS
 Posted: Sep 1 2016, 10:48 PM
Quote
Nevin is Offline

Potion Master
22 years old
It's Complicated
Death Eater
38 posts



You have got the face that just says,
'Baby, I was made to break your heart.'

All pretense of friendliness and courtesy had disappeared from the young woman’s features once Derio had started stating his skeptical opinion on her line of work, cut down like low hanging fruit. Who would’ve thought that lashing out at someone’s choice of livelihood like some snobby fifth year Gryffindor with a superiority complex was going to be taken in such an unfavorable manner. Just as the jaundiced words slipped out of his lips and settled in the perfumed air between them like some sort of cloud of scorn, Derio immediately wished that he could reach out and drag the statement back into his moronic mouth to swallow it whole. The pureblood wasn’t exactly sure why he said such terrible things. It must’ve been the volatile mixture of both the sweet smelling fumes and outright cynicism that affected his judgement. He usually minded his ‘p’s and ‘q’s with strangers he met, but there was just something about the pale girl before him that infuriated Derio.

Infuriated and… something else.

He wasn’t sure what it was, but it was certainly worth looking into.

The somewhat amiable expression on her face melted just as easy as butterscotch ice cream underneath the scorching summer sun, pooling until all that was left of it was a frosty glaze of irritation sticky with disappointment. Gone was that mysterious smile that truly made him question his own motives as to why he was there, replaced by a look of revulsion as if purposefully wafted some sort of foul-smelling material under her nose. Her body language told him of a story of clear distaste, a far outcry from the charming mannerisms that had been soaked in her skin beforehand. The thing that was most telling were her eyes though – pits of chocolate brown stared out at him, looking as if she was staring at the most miniscule speck of dust that had ever fathomed the courage to dirty her tent.

Derio had been idly turning the idea of apologizing to the girl, worried that he may have laid it on a bit too thick in regards to his feelings on tarot as well as Divination as a whole, but merely glancing at her pitiless depths wiped the few traces of remorse that had been building up within him. An ‘apology’ was certainly not going to coming from him anytime soon. The pureblood had dug his grave with his comments and he would dig a bit deeper if push came to shove.

“’Dense’?” The pureblood questioned her, blue eyes shining with amusement as he leaned back slightly in his seat as if reeling from her piercing words, “More like ‘heavy with insight’, love. Please don’t lump me in with the other cretins you call customers. I deserve at least that.” The edges of his lips curled into the slightest of smiles as he brought his cigarette back up to his lips, the nicotine sending tendrils of pleasure down his limbs. Derio wasn’t sure why he was receiving such a thrill by goading the young woman in such a way. His words were mostly teasing with just a hint of gravitas behind them. After all, he found it terribly hard to talk about tarot cards as well as divination without rolling his eyes and leaving. It was a credit to his will that he managed to keep even the tiniest semblance of discipline in the face of such a ridiculous subject.

His train of thought derailed and crashed into a fiery inferno of discarded ideas and burning notions when the diviner leaned towards him without a word, a pale, slender hand reaching towards the ever-lit clove cigarette dangling from between his lips. Her eyes were penetrating, like she was staring into the core of him, looking through all the little bits and things that made Derio who he was. He watched as she took the thin stick from his lips in between her fingers and brought the object up to her nude-tinged lips. There was just something downright enticing with the way the young woman smoked, a succubus that just oozed out a ‘come hither’ attitude without even trying. His deepening eyes wandered the image before him: the subtle curve of her bust swelling up as she inhaled the thick, sweet-smelling smoke of cloves and tobacco; the slender contours of her neck as she exhaled a cloud of grey, her porcelain skin looking quite inviting in the dim candlelight, causing his snake tattoo twist mindlessly across his wrist; smoke coiling past long bubblegum pink hair that the pureblood just wanted to run his hands through, gripping and pulling until she mewled in pain, pleasure, or maybe both.

Derio blinked.

Where in Merlin’s name did that come from? Maybe the perfumed air around him was still clouding his mind...

Shaking away the cobwebs that had built up in his mind, Derio stared down at the lone card that the stranger placed down before him. The image within the card was a winged angel dressed in white, her hands holding two golden goblets as she transferred water from one to another. The card was rather pretty, but he still had no idea on the meaning behind it. The young man listened to her words as she began her explanations on the card, “Capability and control, huh? That’s far from the specific answer that I wanted.”

Blue looked into brown as she placed the cigarette back into its owner’s awaiting lips. Derio took a tentative puff, drowning his nerves in nicotine and tobacco. Why was this person setting off his anxiousness in this way? Dealing with the complexities of his family wasn’t as nerve-wracking as dealing with the stranger before him, “I’m a very capable person so I have no qualms whatsoever of it embodying this night…”

A smug grin crept silently up to his lips as she threw handfuls of coarse words across the table, letting him know that his statements certainly had stabbed at one of her sore spots, “There’s no need to discourteous to me, love. I was merely stating an opinion with my statements. I assure you that I meant no disrespect with my brashness.”

Certainly not one to back down from a challenge, Derio tentatively took a card from the waiting deck upon the table and presented it, placing the card next to the once she indicated as Temperance. The card that he picked out was a skeleton clad in black armour riding a pale horse, a flag within its grasp. He wasn’t sure why but his heart skipped a beat at seeing the Death tarot card though he banished such a feeling away easily, “Hmmm, I’m assuming that doesn’t mean a good thing?” He tore his eyes from the card and looked back up to the diviner, “Maybe it means a death to my enemies or to those that bear ill-will towards me? See, this stuff isn’t that hard.”

A smile.

“So how does this bode for my future, Miss... Sorry, I don’t believe I caught your name. I’m Derio by the way. Charmed, I’m sure.”

Sophie | 1179 | ]Tattoos
PM
^
SOPHRONIA PARKINSON
 Posted: Sep 11 2016, 09:59 PM
Quote
Ani is Offline

Diviner/Wand-For-Hire
19 years old
Flings and Things
Neutral
22 posts



It seemed the border, a common wall kilometers high and placed between her and others wasn’t as strong as it usually was. Parts of her were leaking through to the other side, which was only realized as he commented on her volleyed response. Her emotion had seemingly slipped through the tightly packed bricks, and desperately she moved to patch them up, not wishing for him to be able to collect it, soak it in, and use it to his advantage. There was no option to let him think he had any sort of upper hand, because, in most cultures, it was considered rude to lead people to a false truth. He had mistaken her for ill-mannered, and even if she had been, he found no importance in looking inwardly and taking culpability. By the end of the night, she’d be sure he would be.

He was a little fly struggling in a massive, adherent web. He who had so willingly flew right into her clutches was now stuck upon the intricate, paper-thin tendrils, sans hope of escaping. Perhaps if he glanced at the situation from her perspective, the true perspective, he would be choking on his words; maybe if he discovered the darker side to her abilities, he would’ve already dashed off and taken for the hills like a spooked child on All Hallow's Eve. It was entirely too late now, and she knew it all too well. His eyes were on her with an intensity even she could feel lingering behind his bright sapphire eyes. There were places they’d be drawn to by default, for he was of course a mere male mortal, but perhaps if she drew back her petals, he’d find other things to distract himself with.

If only he knew the card first drawn’s meaning, what power was suddenly his now that that card had been played., and if only he knew she’d be so willing to offer herself up. While there wasn’t a massive amount of time since the last time she had divulged in the simplistic, yet powerful actions, there was something about him, about his bold aura and leather jacket, that had her still considering. There were plenty of men that had given her similar glances, perhaps some even more obvious and goo-eyed, but the cards never lied: He possessed a capability of taking this further. If only he would lie off the utter arsehat personality and truly opened up to her. She wanted to see his weakness, to see what made him beg for no more; peel him back and strip him of his defenses, of that horribly large ego and discover just what lied at bay underneath; apply copious amounts of skin-crawling pressure until he crumbled with exhaustion. What she would give to see him in such a state, and oh how she would adore to be the one who put him in it.

Remaining poised and not allowing her lustful thoughts to seep outwardly into her semblance, she glanced at him with a lackadaisical gaze that didn’t give him her full attention, not yet deeming him worthy of the full intensity of her stare. Instead, it was as if a veil had been lowered over the orbs, a sort of film that was just another layer, another boundary, another line of defense. What sort of person didn’t have these kind of precautionary actions put in place with tons of reinforcements in the rear? People who hadn’t gotten hurt, who had spent their entire lives happily going along like some sort of skipping bunny with rainbows and butterflies. Sophronia hadn’t ever had that sort of life, the very thought made her skin crawl and her stomach feel sick to its stomach, as if she had consumed her maximum capacity on sweets. This boy, however, seemed laced with sweet-talk and raspberry-flavored glances that made her stomach churn. She may have despised the after taste and the symptoms she was stuck with, but never did she back off how much she indulged, how much she devoured. It could almost be classified as an addiction, and there weren’t any warning labels that were going to stop her.

Currently, the sweet milk chocolate-haired boy was struggling, squirming uncomfortably like a fish out of water. He was wise enough to know that the Death card was just that, but his explanation would allow her nose, the Grecian sloped appendage, to turn upward in slight distaste. Her lips, however, smirked at his failed attempt to read the card correctly. Maintaining her higher composure, she tilted her head at the perfect acute angle, her eyebrows raising just enough to induce a quizzical look, challenging his interpretation wordlessly before she decided to put him out of his misery.

“Present desires,” she informed him, her words soaked in the liquidized superiority she possessed, that she knew now that she still had. How silly she had been to doubt her ability, to think that some bloody-minded child could ever have any sort of power over her. Her previous words, unlike her worries, had proven true: He was incredibly, piteously dense. “Despite what most believe, death doesn’t have to signal the end of a person’s life; it more likely than not will instead be the end something significant. Similar to death, some sort of major event shall be approaching with post haste, signaling a change in your day to day life.”

She allotted him time to process just what this meant, her almond-shaped eyes scanning him to see how much his ego would inflate before she armed herself with a needle and popped it. Once she felt he had had enough time to be built up, she exercised a small clearing of her throat before continuing. "The consequence, however, will be something valuable being taken away from you- Perhaps by your own undoing.”

The boy had mused for the possibility of gaining the knowledge of her name, and while usually she wouldn’t have, she decided to lead him on a little bit, give some life into the mouse before her feline ways would put an end to him. "My name is Sophronia, and I can wholeheartedly assure you the pleasure is all yours.” A pleasant smile formed on her lips before she would glance to the white, twig-shaped object in-between his fingers. “Do you mind sharing again, Dabber-Boy?” A bold move indeed seeing as the male she addressed so patronizingly would end up paying her for her future-reading services, but he surely seemed like the type to be able to take a few prods here and there. After all, she wasn’t going to allow herself to be gathered up by some man who couldn’t even endure a couple of ego strokes.

Words: 1,119 | Outfit | Tag: Death.

PM
^
DESIDERIO GREENGRASS
 Posted: Sep 22 2016, 10:36 PM
Quote
Nevin is Offline

Potion Master
22 years old
It's Complicated
Death Eater
38 posts



You have got the face that just says,
'Baby, I was made to break your heart.'

The tarot cards continued to stare up at him in their inanimate impassivity from their face-up position upon the cloth-covered table, the mocking smile of the yellowing skull of death sending an uncomfortable shiver rolling the curve of his back. Despite the obvious lack of knowledge he had in regards to topic of tarot, it was still fairly obvious that it wasn’t particularly good. After all, what sort of world did any sign of Death mean something beneficial to the viewer? Derio leaned forward and studied the card more closely, idly brushing away the wisps of hair that drooped into his sight, unsettled by his sudden movement. His chocolate eyes flickered towards the other card that had been drawn – Temperance. An angel and death; life and decay; creation and destruction. The cards drawn concurrently had to mean something as a pair, but the pureblood had no idea what to make of the two. It was his fault anyway for not paying any sort of attention in Divination class back during his earlier years at Hogwarts after having written it off as a useless class even early on. When the subject turned to tarot, Derio had been already checked out.

Fuck.

“Doesn’t signal the end of a person’s life, huh?” Derio repeated the young woman’s words as he leaned back further into the soft cushions of his plush seat. Regardless of the assurances that the foreboding card didn’t have to mean death, her statement did not reassure him, especially taken into account the recent changes within his life. His left forearm flared with a sudden tingle, something that didn’t quite cross the threshold of pain but it certainly wasn’t a pleasant feeling. He felt the robin tattoo shiver upon its position on his neck, suddenly reminded of the tattoo newly emblazoned upon his body. The Dark Mark – that vivid red brand the colour of freshly spilt blood across pale flesh. His tattoos knew better than to cross into that section of his arm, terrified of what would happen if they mingled with the magic of the Mark.

Maybe the Death card knew that about him, knew that his life didn’t belong to him now. Death was a part of him, whether he liked it or not.

Derio shook his head, dragging away the dark thoughts away by the scruff of its neck to an unoccupied corner of his mind to be beaten until unconsciousness. He was here to get his fortune told by a young, pretty lady, not have his mood dampened by silly cards that didn’t mean anything in the long run. He was in charge of his own life and little thin pieces of cardboard weren’t going to change that.

The young man needed to wipe this sort of topic away from his mind, and he knew such a way to do it.

“Maybe a little self-medication will bring some much needed clarity to this shindig...” The ends of his lips curled up as a devious grin emerged. Derio tossed the spent cigarette upon the floor, idly crushing it with the heel of a boot. Retrieving his cigarette pack once again from within his jacket, he brought it up to his lips and muttered, “Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds.” When the young man opened the pack this time, it wasn’t cigarettes that greeted him. Tightly packed joints lined up like little soldiers standing at attention looked up to him, the fresh aroma of marijuana hitting him almost instantly. Derio gently lifted one of the precious commodities and leaned forward to light the tip from one of the girl’s many burning candles. Bringing it up to his lips, he inhaled deeply, letting the harsh burn settle at the back of his throat before exhaling.

“All this talk of something valuable being taken from me and getting undone is ruining my good mood. Let’s move away from it for the time being. The cards can certainly wait...” The feeling of elation and euphoria came quick, one of the many benefits of purchasing high quality cannabis. The hard edges of his mind seemed to soften, being rounded out by the faint buzzing emitting from his head.

“Sophronia. That’s a pretty name,” he stated, chuckling slightly as he took another hit from the illegal substance between his fingers. He repeated the name once more, slowly this time as if savoring, letting it stretch out like sweet taffy coiling around his tongue. He was all for odd names; after all, his name was Desiderio. He always felt a sort of camaraderie towards those that had odd names.

He stared out at her, mind addled by the earthy tang of marijuana smoke, eyes wandering yet somehow never drifting from her own.

A wolf’s smile this time, one filled with teeth and the gnawing ache of hunger that lingered in his stomach until it gravitated away towards other unsaid extremities.

“Earlier you said something about present desires, right?” He asked, a ghost of grey haunting his lips until he exhaled. He leaned forward towards Sophronia, lust lurking behind the depths of chocolate brown, a hint of tongue peeking out as he offered her the joint in an outstretched hand, “Would it be too crass for this ‘Dabber-Boy’ to say that one of his present desires is to bend you over this table, hike up that pretty little dress of yours and fuck you silly?”

His words were meant to shock, to cause a hint of red to colour her porcelain cheeks.

But the desire was still certainly there, obvious and growing.

Sophie | 926 | ]Tattoos
PM
^
SOPHRONIA PARKINSON
 Posted: Oct 2 2016, 04:49 PM
Quote
Ani is Offline

Diviner/Wand-For-Hire
19 years old
Flings and Things
Neutral
22 posts



Actions were not taken without a precise meaning behind them, and as she sat across the low to the ground table, her nimble mind was easily able to pick up upon the small signals his actions spewed. His pupils dilated as they skimmed the card, a parasympathetic reaction used in an attempt to soothe him from the inside out. He shook his head as if to clear his thoughts of something lurking, something heavy and oppressive. He claimed to need clarity with a voice that mocked confidence, outwardly diffusing his ego in an attempt to cover how he was feeling internally.

The boy was nervous.

It brought a smirk to her lips, the realization that he was truly on his toes. To think just a few minutes before she had been worried about him gaining the upper hand made her almost allow an audible laugh to pierce the atmosphere of her nude lips. How silly she had been. There wasn’t any way possible that this self-infatuated scum could ever possess a single ounce of power over her. He was flying by the seat of his pants, and she enjoyed watching him struggle, watching him squirm.

Soon he would get bored with her if she didn’t interact back. He threw himself at her, and unless she showed at least the slight interest, he wouldn’t continue to be so willing to do so. His attention was something she yearned to keep. Sophronia had had many a man look at her in a similar fashion, and always they offered her endless possibilities. If she had asked, they would’ve sprawled themselves out across the ground over a puddle to assure she wouldn’t have gotten her shoes wet. By the end of her taming session, his savage ways would crumble, and he would succumb to only short bursts of attention and the occasional ruffling of his feathers.

Out came the “medication” he spoke so highly of, his maneuver with the paper cigarette box intriguing her only for a brief moment, the popular culture reference soaring high over her head. Her childhood home had possessed massive, thick wooden doors that kept out most things, such as the top hits of the time. Only a few things managed to percolate through the typically impermeable, hinged ligneous planks, and they were usually stuffed into handbags or hidden under sweaters. Drugs had indeed been one of them, varying in amounts and type, and so as the earth-toned aroma flooded her senses, she welcomed it with a gracious smile.

He was stalling. She knew exactly what his intent was before the words slipped from his mouth. He’d been eyeing her for sometime, the bejeweled gaze honing in on places she knew he’d be drawn too. All male mortals seemed to have a singular fatal flaw in common: A woman’s body. It drew them in and made them susceptible to many a thing- Torture, if one was subtle enough. Sophronia had quite a few plans in store for the boy, and so she allowed his fortune telling to be prolonged. He was unaware of the power her enlightenment possessed anyway, and, in terms of the cards, his wish was her command. After all, he was still a customer, and sooner or later, he would pay her.

How he went about it? Now, that was her choice.

“Certainly,” she assured him to the cards’ patients. The painted, thin sheets had all the time in the world to spill their secrets concerning his singular, taunt string. He was so simple that it was hardly even a game, and it was why he only possessed one. Sophie was full of them, the cord of life. They had been sewn into her skin since she was young, pulled and knotted over the years to keep her pores only filled with what her mother wished. A puppet on strings, unaware until no longer controlled. Now, she looked for any source to expel her emotions, to distract her from her pain. It seemed he was willing to offer it up for an exchange of goods, and slowly but surely he became ever more interesting.

His words were layered, with titillating desire facing one way and bawdy intent the other. It was easy to see the common ground between the two, and so as he passed the joint to her, its dirt coloring similar to that of her irises, including the small flecks of green here and there, her lips were drawn into a smirk. He possessed not a single clue what he was asking for- What he was really asking for. The instant she would spread her legs for him wouldn’t be a moment of freedom, but instead, the exact incident of capture.

“I believe if you have to ask if something is too anything, then you already know the answer.” Her tone had eased some, her alluring chord of self-credence changing octaves as a smile worked its way in. Perhaps it was her attempting to draw him closer, or perhaps it was her defenses lifting some with the disarming presence of the umber stick between her fingers.

Deeply she inhaled, taking a long drag before exhaling, only allowing the rolled marijuana to distance itself a few centimeters from her lips before it was once more brought back. The earthy scent filled her senses and passageways quicker than his similarly spoken words had, but if she was asked which had had a more powerful affect over her, it would’ve been the latter. It showed he had fallen right where she had wished him too. Letting his words settle over her, her relaxed brain took a few moments to spew back a reply, and it was paired with her handing the inebriating substance back over.

“Most boys would at least offer me a meal first,” she mused, deeming him a child rather than a man to continue to demean him and keep him in his lower, inferior place. “Maybe suggest heading back to their place and intrigue me with some frivolous quality of the home.” Her legs unfolded from their crossed position, spilling to the left of the table as she allowed herself to grow more relaxed, the substance and his prolonging of her job granting her the freedom to so such a thing.

His eyes seemed to stare into her very being, but whatever it was he saw was wrapped with tendrils of protective wiring, concealing what was really inside for both of their sakes. Had he seen what really lay at bay beneath, he may have been more cautious. Instead, he leapt right into the ocean; the poor boy didn’t even know how to swim or navigate the body she was. Even a valiant effort would mean drowning, but he had done so willingly. The ocean swelled as her longing did, wishing to consume yet another to feed the dwellers underneath that would’ve sent grown pureblood men running for their mothers.

“Yet you put it all aside. No sweet talk, no hiding your salacious glances. I rather like you, Dabber-Boy.” A smirk played at her lips, her almond-shape eyes turning feline in their devoted attention. He was a mouse that she wished to catch and play with for awhile, and he seemed to want, or maybe even need, to be played with himself. “Say I was one to enjoy being fucked silly, but not having my expensive dressed creased. Do you think you would be so kind as to appease my own desires?”

There. Ever so her figurative legs parted and allowed him to slip in if he so chose. From her poised, lounge position she had rose and leaned to be only a few inches from him, her elbows resting upon the stout table’s surface. Her eyes were unblinking, the curled lashes not breaking the dilated pupils’ state.

In a single moment, she opened herself a small sliver. If he was fast enough, he’d be able to slip inside and prevent her from casting him away.

Words: 1,331 | Outfit | Tag: Death.

PM
^
DESIDERIO GREENGRASS
 Posted: Oct 8 2016, 11:31 AM
Quote
Nevin is Offline

Potion Master
22 years old
It's Complicated
Death Eater
38 posts



You have got the face that just says,
'Baby, I was made to break your heart.'

The joint did its job.

With every deep, purposeful pull from the illegal substance, Derio felt his world begin to slow its spin down to a lethargic crawl. Each second crept by far too slowly in his mind’s eye, a handful of infinities gone by in a quick blink. The pureblood didn’t often partake in such activities, usually only when certain situations became too stressful for him or if he wanted that zen-like insight that could only attained at a bottom of a glass or wrapped within the warm arms of marijuana smoke. Despite the nebulous feeling that enshrouded his mind like a soft blanket made from the finest cloth, the pureblood felt an odd sort of lucidity wash over him. The young man became suddenly aware of the young woman smiling impishly before him. It was like a veil that had covered his luminous blue eyes had been lifted away and Derio was now able to see Sophronia’s true nature.

She was a predator.

Darius was no fool; he had been a Slytherin after all. Behind those coy looks, painted lips, and dark eyes laid a spider, one of wicked legs and poisonous fangs touched by death. The tent was her webbed lair, the tarot cards the wriggling bait that she laid in the middle of her parlour to attract victims too curious for their own good. A couple of hooded stares, a handful of brief, tantalizing flashes of bare skin, combined with the heady scent of jasmine-infused incense clouding one’s mind would’ve made even a chaste monk putty in Sophronia’s hands. Derio would’ve certainly crumbled had it not been for that moment of clarity that had occurred mere minutes into meeting the pale, young woman before him. Despite all his arrogance and hubris that had wafted out of him like some foul smelling cologne, there was one thing that he bet had slipped past Sophronia’s ‘all-seeing eye’.

Derio was also a predator, not prey.

A wolf, all snarls of tooth and fang. He wasn’t just another chump that had wandered into her tent like some wide-eyed tourist wishing to bring a fanciful tale about a pretty fortune teller and her mysterious cards back home. A wizard of his caliber – a Greengrass, especially – was not about to take her unsaid challenge without contest. She would be sadly mistaken if she thought she was toying with some young buck whose mind was solely on the act of coitus to bring forth that release that he so desperately sought. Granted he was all that and more, but there was still a sharp edge in him that cut through the fog of lust that lurked in his mind – he held just as many cards as she did in this game of theirs.

Plus –

What was a spider to a wolf?

“Most boys would have no idea how to handle a girl like you…” A hand reached out slowly and took the offered joint back into his hand before bringing the illegal object back to his waiting lips. No longer was he trying to hide his hooded looks sent over her way as he took a deep hit from the substance, the earthy taste strong upon the back of his tongue. Eyes of the coldest ice – icicle sharp – traversed down the smooth, creamy expanse of her long legs, the pale skin of her thigh – a hint, a whisper, a promise – peeking out from underneath her dress as she uncrossed them slowly, the girl quite methodical with her actions.

Cheeky.

Well, despite the fact that she was certainly trying to send him past the edge of rational thought and into a slavering beast of needs and wants, Derio was certainly not going to avert his eyes away from the image.

Looking was free, after all.

“While other girls would enjoy being brought back to one’s residence to be wined and dined, I figured you for a person that would be awfully bored in that sort of scenario,” Derio continued, leaning further into the soft fabric of the plushy cushion his back rested upon as he dragged his reddening eyes away from her lovely legs. The body high that the pureblood experienced felt heavenly, the drug making it feel like his head was a few seconds away from detaching from his neck and floating up high into the spacy roof of the tent. The feeling enhanced the other complex emotions that were crashing against the pit of his stomach like roaring waves brought forth by a tempest – pride, aggravation, attraction, arousal, lust.

Fuck.

It was driving him crazy.

It was like an itch that he couldn’t scratch, that sheer need to dive into her, to consume her while flesh pressed upon flesh with mouths nipping and biting and licking and hands that scratch and pull and explore and wander. Derio felt that snake tattoo of his begin to spin dizzying circles around his wrist, its own desires reflecting off his as it hungered to sate its passion.

“Sweet talk gets in the way of all the action sometimes,” he said, the young man’s words almost sounding like a husky growl as Derio took another deep inhalation of illegality. A wisp of grey smoke trailed from between his lips like lit incense, smelling both sweet and earthy. “I can’t make any promises to the safety of that cute little dress of yours, love. I tend to rip and tear such things away to get into the juicy center of what I want, but then again that’s what magic is for. A swish and flick with my wand can make that all better.”

A chuckle.

“And I’m really good with my wand.”

Derio leaned forward as well, placing his own elbows upon the sturdy table. The pureblood curbed the desire to push the tarot cards onto the ground and instead gently reached out to cup her cheek with a warm hand. His frosty eyes met her challenge as he stared back at her, tongue peeking out to wet his dry lips. He then ran his thumb down the smooth skin of her cheek as he smiled at Sophronia,

“Want to see?”

Sophie | 1037 | ]Tattoos
PM
^
SOPHRONIA PARKINSON
 Posted: Oct 19 2016, 08:24 AM
Quote
Ani is Offline

Diviner/Wand-For-Hire
19 years old
Flings and Things
Neutral
22 posts



The presence of the cards had slipped her mind entirely, as well as the pricing and payment that was rightfully due. They were out of sight and out of mind; her cavernous, darkening gaze was on the glinting sapphires his was and the game the two were playing was all that was on her mind. The nicotine from his shared cigarette had excited her system, sparked the idea of any illicit activity drawing out their exchange into the hours of early morning, sparked her taking him in with slight interests. The marijuana from his shared blunt had dulled her original recoiling thoughts, softened her harsh view of him, and confirmed the amplification of their session, adding in a dash of something she hadn’t thought she’d offer him:

Intimacy. She wanted him in her arms, yearned for his hands in her hair, fancied their legs to be intermingled and their skin against the other's. What lied under a leather jacket and a pair of jeans peaked her interests. Did he have scars? Did he have tattoos? What people had in their skin, in their pores, so often displayed what was lurking below.

People who had stretch marks were worn, used, abandoned by something that left them no longer strong enough to remain subtle. Tattoos represented a commitment issue, no matter how many liked to think the antithesis; ink could always be drawn out from the skin, after all. Scars were those damaged by themselves, another, or maybe both, and so often they had similar markings on their hearts and brains.

Sophronia, she had strings in her pores. They were loose, waiting for a new master to take up the task of manipulation. Invisible to all but herself- And sometimes even her, if she willed them away strong enough- the boy wouldn’t ever see what he had coming. Even she was unknowledgeable in her handing over the wooden boards nailed together in the shape of an ‘x’, as if it marked the spot of control over her.

The good thing was, though, that she was guarded enough to snatch it away just before he’d ever get his grubby little fingers on it.

The girl remained poised in her readied position, her weight on her elbows as if an arachnid ready to pounce. Her smile was liquidized if one looked close enough, teeth dripping venom she was prepared to inject into his neck and any other bare skin he was willing to show in the next half of their endeavor together. He would be hers by the end of the night, that much Sophronia was aware of.

The fact she’d be his wasn’t an outcome she had prepared herself for.

Derio spoke words of the sweetest honey with the crunchy comb still inside the jar, the syllables slowing her processing as they stuck, as they resided in her mind. She suppressed the urge to roll her eyes, it was too late in the game to play it standoffish anymore; now it was about luring him in. They could say whatever they wanted, about a game of cat and mouse, but that wasn’t Sophronia’s style. Glances were directed where she wished them to, invoking a tease, a peak.

He was only coiling further into her web, but she was enticed by his call. It dipped into a register instantly noticed, a shift taken by her person as she picked up upon it. They were very quickly nearing the point of no return, that point that would be met where they’d both strip themselves of their egos, set them aside for a few hours or so, and result to their purest form sans social standards or individuality.

And then he did something so unexpected, even a future-seer such as herself wasn’t capable of predicting: He touched her. He put his tainted fingers on pure, delicate, alabaster skin. She could feel his mortality attempting to seep into her semi-celestial aura, to get under her skin and break the facade that ran deeper than a thin layer of make-up and a drying coating of nude lipstick- And yet, for some odd reason, she found herself leaning into the gesture like some pleased house cat; for just one moment she let her eyes pressed closed for a second longer than a blink, enjoying a touch with sentiment she had been lacking for the past few summer months.

Then the chocolate eyes flicked open with a different glint to her eye than any previous glances she had sent his way. It was full of her passion and desire, of her wanting to give in to something she hadn’t in what seemed like so long. Her drugged veins rushed intoxicated blood up to her brain, making her act in ways under their and some hidden force’s influence. “I want you to prove it,” she muttered into the small space between them in a low, feminine tone, the words almost as heavy as the air between them with static and weighing smoke.

She let a moment pass by in silence with no action and no words, nothing but glances and the sound of their own breathing. The room spun before it balanced itself upon the two’s shoulders, and once she saw the opportunity, she didn’t hesitate. The fact she was initiating it broke her usual system, but there was that craving of an addiction not given into in months with a more than ample source in front of her.

Sophronia was on her feet, the dress with its buttons running down the back exposed to him, a side he hadn’t seen before. Across from a table, she must’ve seemed two dimensional; now she would have angles, curves visible due to the new view. They were proportional to petite for a girl of her height and genetics, the patterned cloth clinging in a pleasing way to where she wished for eyes to be drawn to. The girl opened the towering wooden chest of drawers with a clear intent behind each of her actions: She was reaching for her coat and bag, ready to be whisked away to wherever he called home.

“Let’s get out of here.” Her words had an excitement to them that had lacked throughout their conversation. She hadn’t been engaged, or had been cooly distant in an attempt to be coy- But all of that was thrown out the window. Fumes where the only thing she was running on, and their was a burning fire in the pit of her stomach. Every time he spoke, or casted her a glance, or touched her, a piece of firewood would be added. The smoke from him clouded her vision in a way she had attempted to utilize the same substance for a similar purpose here in this very tent.

Sophronia shrugged on her coat before she glanced back to him. There was another piece opening up due to him: A smile. The genuine parting of her lips was subtle, small, didn’t expose her teeth- But it was there upon her pale features, looking almost foreign. Her lack of cheeks due to high bone still bunched slightly, and even though it gave away the cool and unbothered appearance she had been going for throughout the entirety of their interaction- Which had been legitimate until five or so minutes ago- she didn’t quite care.

All she cared about was getting her venom into another victim- Or at least, that’s what Sophronia was telling herself.

Words: 1,241 | Outfit | Tag: Death.

PM
^
DESIDERIO GREENGRASS
 Posted: Oct 22 2016, 11:40 PM
Quote
Nevin is Offline

Potion Master
22 years old
It's Complicated
Death Eater
38 posts



You have got the face that just says,
'Baby, I was made to break your heart.'

The game that the two played no longer took any precedence within Derio’s mind. It was a far-off memory, pushed away by the hazy hands of Mary Jane and burned to a crisp by his fiery craving to have Sophronia pressed up against the hard edge of the table in front of him, her long, smooth legs wrapped tightly around his thin waist, his hands wound tightly in her soft bubblegum pink tresses as he edged the two of them together off the precipice of desire and into that waiting abyss of needs and wants, the maw gaping with an appetite for skin touching skin.

All of his emotions quieted in bated anticipation with his pride being that only nagging voice warning him in the back of his mind. What was once a strong outlier within his head was now a quiet murmur, barely discernable from the deep thumps of his beating heart and the fogginess that still clouded his thoughts and actions. It urged him to find temperance, to coax his sleeping self-restraint into wakefulness so he wouldn’t simply rely on his baser instincts. It told him that he was falling for Sophronia’s trap, that he was tangled within the framework of her intricate web and that he was mere moments away from being snatched up to be devoured by her waiting fangs and toxins.

Derio listened to his pride for a single second before he batted it away like some inconsequential mosquito, annoyed by its frantic buzzing. His fervor for the pale woman before him took control, grabbing his pride swiftly by its collar and shanking it until it stayed dead still, abandoning it in a dark alleyway within an unoccupied corner of his mind. Common sense was no longer a welcome idea in the tent.

All that was left was pure, unadulterated abandon.

The half-spent joint dangling ever so precariously from his slack fingers continued to trail a thin line of heady marijuana smoke from the smoldering tip, tiny bits of pale ash flaking off from the ember. Derio had used the illicit thing as a way to calm himself down, a foolhardy attempt to appease the snarling wolf inside of him, but now all it did was raise his hackles, urging him to race towards that silky oblivion that waited anxiously for the two of them to reach their crescendo. Still in a daze brought forth by the drug, the young man brought the thing back up to his waiting lips and took a long draw, coughing slightly from harsh pull. He further sank into the softness of the cushions, his eyes watching the dreamlike, almost phantasmagoric scene of the girl before him as if he was staring past the haze of heat on a blistering summer afternoon. His heart thumped a rhythmic, heavy tattoo against his ribcage, his palms warm and just a shade into sweaty. Derio wiped his palms on the dark denim of his jeans, making sure to be extra careful with the remaining roach he still held in his hands. The pureblood certainly didn’t want it to go flying off with the motion; there was nothing sexy about accidentally burning down Sophronia’s place of business due to his idiocy.

His eyes widened at the young woman’s reaction to his forward attempts, his hand cupping her soft cheek, a thumb running down the creamy expanse of fair skin as she pressed herself closer to his touch. The purr that rumbled at the base of her throat reminded Derio of a cat deep in the throes of heat, the edges of his lips curling into a lascivious smile as the mere sound of her sent wanton shivers running down his stomach and further south. While the sound was wonderful and all, what almost set him off was the suggestive, salacious gaze she sent his way, their inebriated stares meeting in the candlelight dark of the moment. There was something unsaid that passed between them in that one glance, something both sensuous and hedonistic at the same time. A feeling of hunger and yearning and lust and just the sheer need of it all wrapped up in one tight bundle, shared between them in that one momentous moment – a connection. The silence that followed mere seconds after it was deafening, leaving Derio with the feeling of tightness in his jeans as all the blood occupying his limbs felt like it was traveling down to one important area below his waist.

He wanted to take her.

He wanted to ravage her.

He wanted to make her experience la petite mort until all sanity was lost.

“I’m certainly all for proving it. If you allow me, that is.” His words were just as low as hers, throaty and gravelly from reefer smoke. Coffee eyes drifted down to her slightly parted lips; full, tantalizing, and seemingly waiting for his next move. All Derio wanted to do was just push forward that last few inches, ending the dangerous game between them and capturing her lips in a heated kiss. The thought was banished from his mind as Sophronia stood up, determination and intent within her actions as she turned to an oaken chest nearby. The dress that she wore clung onto her tightly as she began to rummage through her things, arousing delectable thoughts that had been swimming within his mind throughout the encounter. The young woman wished to leave, not wanting to defile the place where she conducted business.

There was only one problem.

Derio didn’t want to leave.

Leaving would be exposing himself to the sobering air of a cool August night. There was a chance that such a thing would bring wakefulness to his system, granting a clear-headedness that would certainly banish away all impure thoughts and icing his libido. It would at least make him rethink this whole scenario, something that present-Derio did not want. In the here-and-the-now, only present desires mattered.

And he desired the fuck out of Sophronia.

Derio stood up slowly from his sitting position as the diviner began to shrug on her knee-high navy blue coat, his hooded eyes wanting. He strode over towards her as she just finished putting one arm in, his hand dropping the forgotten joint onto the floor. Derio wrapped his own arm around the slim waist of Sophronia, his lips a mere inch away from her ear, his breath warm and wanting.

“I don’t think I can wait any longer, love.” The pureblood whispered to her from behind as he pulled himself closer to her, his aching need pressed up snugly against her backside. Derio ran the tip of his tongue slowly down the nape of her neck, planting small butterfly kisses down the trail afterwards.

“I need you right here, right now…”

Sophie | 1127 | ]Tattoos

PM
^
SOPHRONIA PARKINSON
 Posted: Oct 28 2016, 11:13 PM
Quote
Ani is Offline

Diviner/Wand-For-Hire
19 years old
Flings and Things
Neutral
22 posts



Parkinson was not always a name associated with possession of virtue. They were dirty, cruel people who manipulated all that stood in their way- Including each other. Their faces lit up when they saw others writhing in pain; they slept well in their beds after a long night of torture and killing. Sophronia was the lesser among the evils, the one who felt a slight pang of guilt over a persecuted soul. Sleep wasn’t always welcomed with open arms, and there were nights she tossed and turned and never got a single wink.

He was different. Yes, she had engaged in playing a nasty, wicked game with Derio for a majority of the night, but she hadn’t realized the consequences that would result when she grew too involved. Both of their desires were clear, hers only hidden better because of biological favoritism. She was able to mask it, bottle it up and wait for it to all be released. It seemed like the longer she waited, however, the more the wanting for him expanded. If Sophronia from the past had seen her now without seeing the steps that were taken to reach this precipice, she’d shake her head and scold her. Perhaps if she had everything would become clear.

It had simply been so long. She wasn’t the type for self-indulgence. Her religious beliefs revolved around minimums, and how better one’s life was with just the bare necessities- But everything she was wanting was nature’s gift. It was a base human need to be felt up and touched every once in awhile. There was nothing wrong with giving in, not when she had waited her fair time and found someone so utterly willing to offer himself up. There was a reason there were so many people born on earth, and there was a reason there were protective means. It did not possess a singular purpose; there was never a singular definition that meant to pro-create. Intercourse was a release, one that Sophronia seemed to have built up for not just the past few hours, but the past few months.

He would be nice, she knew. He would be entirely worth breaking her devoted chain. The boy was a bit on the thinner side, but at least he seemed skilled in the act, and he seemed just as engaged as she was. Perhaps he had undergone fasting as well. She was trying to sate a thirst that had lasted for months at a time, but she was attempting to push herself to the limits of how much longer she could go. Everything in her screamed to let him make good of his words before, of hiking up her dress and fucking her silly. So what if she was in her place of business? She had no boss but herself, no other workers. No possible thing could disturb them, not once she made the zipper from the tent’s flaps disappear and not allow an entrance for on-lookers.

Or allow a certain fly to escape.

No. She was virtuous, even if her name did not often attest to such. There were clear signs of a defiance to his wish, and a clear stating of her own to be taken elsewhere for their evening of satisfaction and fulfillment. Surely he could read signals if he had done this more than once; even the simplest of men understood what putting a coat on meant. Perhaps he understood what she meant and requested, but possessed not an inkling of care. Had the male already crossed over and fallen deep into the cavernous arms of desire? So much so that he had turned into a mere thing of want and need?

It seemed she wasn’t as out of it as she believed she ought to be after months of cleansing. The sheer idea of what she could accomplish if she allowed herself to be more active brought a devious smirk to her features. Her fervent imagination swirled with the scene of boys much like the one currently in her tent, in her predatory web, crawling and drooling over her, similar to the brunette male. If they all put up the kind of fight he was able to, it’d prove to be rather entertaining.

The pink haired woman was set upon leaving her tent, and she assumed he’d follow right along and lead her to his chambers with the promise of her purest form against his. Most, if not all, of the boys she had been with would’ve taken that achievement and run for the hills, laying out their jackets or themselves for her to walk over, if she so desired. Yet, nothing seemed to be good enough for Derio. He seemed set in his ways as well, and even on the teetering slope of desire, he was able to summon up the audacity and courage needed to challenge her and her virtues.

She had said it earlier in the night: The cards had laid out the spread for the night, and they had placed the power in his hands and his alone. He had the capability of pushing her past where she typically drew the line; he had the control over her to get what he wanted if he acted in particularly difficult correct way.

And oh did he.

He knew her one weakness. With only one trial and error he had found it. She caved when it came to touch. It was the singular thing that held a higher precedence over the act itself. Derio wrapped his arm around her waist and the whole world spun, and perhaps time stopped for a second. She closed her eyes as she felt the sparks fly, as if metal touching against metal, the result an unstoppable warmth spreading throughout her body, it’s origin point exactly where his fingertips had met.

Then his breath was on her ear, warm and an almost-pant that revealed just how need-oriented he was. Her chest tightened as she felt some sort of guilt, but it was easily pushed away as he only pressed himself more against her. There was absolutely no denying now that he needed her, and sadly, the same could be said about her.

Sophronia needed him- And she needed him that very instant. His teasings of her neck simply sent her crashing. With one arm still in her coat and one of his still around her, she took the smallest step away to allot herself some space in which she’d be able to remove her coat and face him in one solid motion. Her shoulder rolled backwards, the navy material falling away seamlessly as she spun around to look at him. One of her hands reached up to rest on his bony, but sturdy shoulders. Her affection-filled umber eyes finding the darkened, yet shimmering sapphire eyes without a missed beat.

“Prove it, then, Dabber-Boy.”

Only she gave him no time. No. This was her place of power; this was her web and she was the female who got to devour the male after they were done. She pressed her lips to his with the heated passion she had felt from his touch, intensified by a few moments of no taken action. There wasn’t any shame at this point, no conditioning lost by her finally letting down her defenses and making the leading move.

Her head buzzed with the sensation. He tasted of the earthy tone shared previously, of the sharp nicotine rationed before it, and of something her excited brain couldn’t identify. Her knee found his leg in an attempt to nudge him backwards. He had seemed rather adamant about using the table as their primary space of mutual worship, a wooden alter on which they could venerate the other, and so she showed her desire to make his wish come true.

Oh was she ready for this to be a night of true, unadulterated decadence.

She led the two over to the table and physically suggested him to sit down first. The pale, thin girl would then seat herself straddled upon his lap, still maintaining all of her elegance and grace, even at the forefront of desire. Her lips pulled away from his before tucking them into the crevasse of his neck, her eyes falling closed as she had now secured their position. Gently, the girl began to passionately maul his neck, the cool tip of her nose contrasting the warmth behind her lips. Her fingers ran through his hair, the manicured nails occasionally digging into the tentative skin and the cluster of nerves that resided under it just at the base of his skull.

Urging herself closer, she pressed herself more against his thin frame. She had yet to pluck at a single item of his clothing, instead involving herself with the delectable flesh that was left uncovered and revealed by everyday wear. The boy had two hands, and surely he knew how to use them if he wished to aid and speed things along.

Sophornia certainly prayed to any higher being that would listen that he did.

Words: 1,509 | Outfit | Tag: NEVIN, let it END already.

PM
^
1 User(s) are reading this topic (1 Guests and 0 Anonymous Users)
0 Members:

Topic Options
Add Reply
New Topic
New Poll


 


 

Affiliates [ View All | Link-us | Apply ]
RPG Rating CTTW Candyland Shadowplay Infinite Arms Bombarda Maxima: Personified Trischool Potterverse Miami Lights Keys to the city Star Trek: Frontiers Gossamer Definitely Maybe Lochland Grove Make Way For Tomorrow Confringo All Things Roleplay Ravenclaw Pride Law of the United 
 

skin made by mstx at cttw, shine, & atf
toggle sidebar by subdevo and custom forum structure by black