July 08, 2002the madness begins [raffaella giovanni]Bitch. Whore. Ice Queen. If it has a negative connatation, she ahs been called it at least once, and here has been no exception to that rule. She walks with grace, in beauty... she is a part of the night, though those lips rarely smile. Acascade of curls fall (perfectly) down her back, over her shoulders, and eyes pierce with the intensity of one who knows.... the most intimate secrets are nothing, and she will not hesitate to use them against you. Silken tanktop, under a vest top a thighlength skirt. Heels click but under the lights and noise of the boardwalk, each step is unheard. She is unhurried, yet purposful in her walk... Gaze searching for.... something.... but what?center of the wide horizon
focus of the.....galaxy.....
sweep away your expectation
recognize your....enemy...the words slithering in the recesses of his senses, a lulling whisper that tickles across cocaine nightmares, the dregs echoing in a soft smile beneath distant eyes
you're always lookin for affection
and always a......possibility....
your senses searching for attention
a burgeoning of.....gravity.....it pleases him, to hear such things, perhaps picked up from the open (open door! open door!) club or bar down the 'walk
a tease
the whisper of the muse like fingers running backwards through spiked fur, sending chills through the expanse of nerves crackling beneath his skin, washing as it pumps and thumps through his veins
blue eyes, one dark, one light, cast themselves out to sea, elbows battling the splinters of the railing to watch the rise and fall of dark (legions) waves
Her exploration of this... place... this new (order) possibilitiy that perhaps will become yet another new home (Home is where the heart is - however, if you have no heart?) is done with the same.. boredom.. cold calculated percision that colors (blandly) her ever day (night) life. People are ignored, and they cut a path for her (as she will move for no one) as she continues, steadily, down the boardwalk....I think you think you're someone else...
the air, cool, scraping across his cheeks, lifting through short hair.... the moonlight shims off the waves, and if he looks at it right, whatever it is that swims, taunting, beneath the water suddenly meltsdown, evaporates, scurries away as if someone let loose a handful of oil in the dark waters
You've got to learn to save yourself
it brings another half smile, a half laugh, caught somewhere inbetween a rational (?!) emotion before his lungs fill, chest expanding to overwhelm his senses with nourishing scents
what is it the night brings him, what are the gifts rising once more from the darkness
steady steps, take her to a railing - perhaps near that choked laugh, perhaps not. Hands clasped behind her back as she looks out over the water in the same bored indifference that she greets everything.. eyes seeing nothing, yet missing nothing either....perfume charges through his olfactory nerves like an angry stallion, anchors of his eyes pulled from the dark waters, breaking the waves to drag themselves to shore once more
to her
a shiver, a chill, runs up his spine, a quelled (lust) emotion, slash of lips twisting in errant sneer, a pretty (perfect) toy
will she be the one to peel the scabs off my unspeakable dreams?
Does she notice? Perhaps.. does she care? not likely, boy... not likely at all. Statuesque, strong, arrogant.... she simply continues looking out over the water - the watcher garnering not a single reaction.
would he care if she were unwilling? would he care if she never saw his face? remembered nothing but the screams and growls?
not likely.
a body (perfect) a toy (calling, begging, writhing) - he pictures how his talons would look raking up the thighs that hide beneath the dangerously fluttering hem of her skirt
She tilts her head, slightly, and arches a brow as she turns and looks at him - unerringly, gaze napping.....
...and simply looks away. Dismissal. A turn on a well placed heel, and she resumes walking along the boardwalk again....
his laugh (hyena) lilts softly on the wind, as if it were never there at all, a mockery of her dismissal, the jester that controls the queenthe cockroach whispering within her ear, it's laughter a tongue thrust, raw, against the drums buried so safely within, smacking the maddening beat
he imagines the sway of her hair with each step licking at flames, encasing her in an inferno of stench riddled flesh, the warm glow of enlightenment
but satisfies himself with only the mad laughter that seems to her only a memory
Ah, but no one contols this queen.. and his laughter - too bright to be a memory, too stench filled to be anything in her past (but him.. and this is different then Familia stink). Eyes flash, and she pauses, and turns to him, arching a brow slightly.
"Si?"
Oh but the ice that drips from single syllable....blue eyes, one dark, one light, one seeing the past.... but what does the other see?
past her, indeed.
though he pretends to be looking at her, slight smirk tilting those lips
"You know..... most people start the alphabet with A."
whispered in the same lilt of the echoing laughter, through her mind, gnawing at her ears like metal scraping over metal, he knows she's speaking Italian, but it seems to matter not, a new game, now, to see how much it takes to irritate the ice queen
Lips curl into a smirk, and she lifts a brow.
"I am not most people."
Oh no, she is not, and she has kept her cool in far more... irritating... circumstances then this. She merely....waits.another slow breath, filling his lungs with the scent of her perfume, shampoo, blood... and the always present sweet decay
"You're not even human."
The slightest lift of the corner of her lips could have been a smile - but so quick there is barely a mark of her amusement.
"So?""Right now, you....."
a lick of his lips, a tilt of his head, and those eyes draw away, cast back into the ocean like ashes spread in the remembrance's wind
".... are speaking to someone that doesn't even seem to notice you..... the couple on the bench over there finds it quite amusing."
for all they knew he was watching the carnival lights behind her, as not a word escaped from his lips so what are the consequences of making the queen appear the fool?
She arches a brow, slightly, and turns away again, beginning her walk, ignoring the couple who seems so amused... You cannot make a fool of one who cares not what others think..
"good for them."
Dismissed. Again.
she would stay and enjoy the game, if she truly didn't care what others thought, surely a fool such as he can be humiliated and cast aside like trash..... not the one left standing."I wonder what those that watch you think..... when they see you speaking to the air as if a kook, and then not caring.... that perhaps you are no longer fit to be in the position you hold so dear...... and place you accordingly."
if he speaks in riddles, or if he truly knows..... all that follows her now is the hyena giggle chittering in her memory, for it is his turn to give her his back, cast aside and dismissed like trash as he wanders down towards a Casino
Perhaps, perhaps not... its all in the perception, and she percieves that it isn't worth giving a damn. She merely keeps walking.
Posted by asher at July 08, 2002 12:00 AM
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