-=[freeform, newark]=-
(michael)
There is stillness that permeates the near-empty lounge, like the catacombs patiently withstanding time beneath the greatest of Cathedrals. Filled with memories, filled with sorrow, filled with what would only seem the everlasting dead [and drunk]. That is until the soft sounds of the grand piano begin filtering into the smokey air, lithe fingers tickling across keys to coax out the armies of Retributive notes to reign through the air like some Holy Fire wafting down from the acoustic heavens. His eyes are closed to the visions that would lay themselves as pilgrims before Meccah. Moonlight Sonata drifting listelessly against the near-deaf ears of those too drunk to even stumble towards a cab circuiting on the streets outside. Perhaps he will later make use of that - but now? He is absorbed in the seraphic symphony that plays within his mind to accompany pianist fingers.
(alexandra)
she drifts in swathed in the shadows that make up her soul a dark figure of alluriing beauty. dressed to impress. the buisness meeting over she licks her lips ever so delicatly before popping a breath mint. will not do to breathe the sweet metalic tang of blood into someones face.
the sound of a piano, draws her on draws her in. heels marking the soft clicking rythm of her passage.
(michael)
His head remains bowed in some strange Reverence he is the only one to understand, the classics leaking from fingers as though he barely gave a thought to the concentration the music required of him. His thoughts seemed to be elsewhere. Curling waves of dark hair dangle towards the ivory, swaying gently with the movements of his torso in time with the slow, haunting song played in what may even be one-half the time. By the curve of barely blushed lips, there is a pleasure found in the music, something that would sooth the soul of the Beast laying in wait so deeply within his young body.
(alex)
and sooth the beast it does. as any beautiful thing can. she likes beutiful things she wishes to posess them. cntrol them own them. cold and merciless the woman her hair up in a tight bun curled at the back of her neck held there by stratigiclly placed fan of chopsticks. her dress. black and gold. with just the hint of red done in a blend of traditional chineese and modern dress. arms bare to show of the priceless ivory skin. a porcalin doll that comes to rest not far from thepianno wathcing listening to the haunting tones that along with the blood she just ingested placate the hungry animal that lurks deep in her blackened soul.
(michael)
Something draws his attention from the reverent introspection - her scent, the touch of her presence upon the air, the strange heat seeping into the distance between them that is not hers, but it serves to disturb the whorling haze of smoke just enough for dark eyes to sleepily open for but a glance at the wicked black and brilliant gold with just the hint of lifeblood's red. His fingers smooth across the ivory keys as they would tantalize their touch across her porceline flesh.
"Does it please you?"
Words slipslide from his throat as if created of the very smoke that hangs thick in the lounge's quiet atmosphere. Attention wandering until it focuses on the woman, head tilting until lips still into what could be a pout, but it seems an expression so much more mrecilessly vile.
(alex)
what dark creatures lurks behind those eyes. so brown as to be black she sinks slowly into one of the leather chairs.. sinks slowly into the deepening shadows. seperated only by a few feet yet the distance seems infantesimal as if the abyss itself stretches between them...
what cold killer lurks behind those dolls eyes. "is it for me you play?" her voice an afirmation that she is real and not some statue a sign of life in an otherwise still form. is soft and sensual as beutiful as she, and just as hypnotic.
(michael)
A sudden clash of Beasts - the Seraphim playing for the Morning Star herself. To the answer of the cold killer the young man only allows the smile to further curve his lips [so sinisterly] cherubic.
"Only if it pleases you."
So soft spoken are his words, no hint to the scorched earth wrath he holds just beneath the careful trigger touch of fingertips, and one song ebbs into another. Beethoven smoothing into the nameless song played by Lestat in Interview simply because he finds a blessed irony to harmonize with this sudden game of predator and prey, man and woman, angel and devil. Or at least, the game of sheer temptation.
"If it does not, then I must strive harder."
(alex)
and the heavens did open the (un) holy chorus did sing. blood tainted (lipstick i swer) lips twist ever so slightly in the parody of a smile. when predators smile this is how it would look. beautiful seditious promising and just a little bit deadly. "prehaps then it pleases me."
(michael)
A dark brow lifts heavenward, slow and sure like the rise to Salvation.
"And what else would please you?"
(alex)
hands move slim ciggarette and black tipped with silver holder removed from purse. holding it delicatly between fingers she leans forwards ever so slightly
"a box of those matches there"
nodding towards the glass bowl full of matches placed ontop of the piano. the name and address of the bar printed in a dull green upon white cardboard box.
(michael)
The smile widens further - forgiving to some, devastating to others. Then the song reaches a point in which the depression of a pedal sends it lingering into the darkness of the lounge in faint echo. Manicured fingers reach to pluck a single white and green box from the oversized brandy snifter serving as a bowl, and the young rises. Gravity pulls the loose [expensive] slacks to buckle around his ankles [fall to your knees and worship me] and the untucked silk shirttails flutter about his hips. In his passage across the abyss that separates them, a single matchstick is procured from the box held between nimble and lithe fingers. Deft movements send if flaring to life - orange flame reflected in dark eyes [Firedancers Fanatacism] and with magician's granduer he holds it before her in [sacrificial] offering, sheilded with his other hand from drafts as it would serve her alone.
"My name is Michael."
(alexandra)
ruby lips curve once more into a smile a soft sweet relaxed smile ciggarette holder is placed between lips. the tip touching that delicate flame. flaring to life for a moment only as she inhales.
"alexandra"
her hand held out not so much to shake but as a queen would to her vassal. taken so gently in his soft lips play over cool/cold skin greetings aside she leads him gently by the hand drawing him down drawing him neer. into darkness deep embrace "come sit, by me" moving over in the chair so their is room for him.
(michael)
"Alexandra."
After the match is cast into the ashtray, it's usefulness expired, her name is repeated, murmured over the soft cool skin across the fine bones forming her hand as if some Enochian incantation spoken by ancient Prophecy coming to life by the mere presence of [useless] breath. The Queen bequeaths a part of her seat to the Soldier, and the warrior sinks to accept the honor.
"What has brought you to me, tonight, Alexandra? Was it only the music?"
(alex)
and with such a simple geasture she raises him not from soldier but rather to station of prince. fine boned and delicate fingers. so perfectly shaped draw slowly across his ski in relenquished grasp to rest upon lap. another inhale of that fine french ciggarette (sometimes to pretend at life is an advantage) "prehaps. prehaps not.who can say why ones paths may cross? and what chance will bring importance to the meeting of strangers. "
(michael)
His laughter rings soft and low, drifting from his lips as the smoke weeps from hers, joining the wisped clouds already inhabiting the lounge's night sky. How she pretends to breath by smoking the cigarette, and how he pretends to still have the necessity of breath by drawing deep draughts of her blooddrenched scent into his all but forgotten lungs. Words lain at the Queen's feet in revenenant hush.
"I think there is importance in all meetings; it is just the meaning of which that is not always overtly clear from the beginning."
(alex)
"yes but what is important to me may be trival to you, or vice versa.p we each bring our own perceptions to such meetings. therefore it is chance alone that marks them as important to both or all parties" a smile as he watches her a calculating look behind those cold eyes. "do you think that this meeting is important" my cherub my angel my sweet prince?
(michael)
What is it that she calculates in those dark eyes. He wonders if she pictures him relieved the burden of his flesh, or perhaps destroyed in some other way, or would she surprise them both that the calculation brings pleasures instead of personal tragedies. It is a wonder if she, then, looks to him as he does to her, merely another pawn in this Endless War.
"Of course. Something will prove important one some level to one of us, hm?"
He is comfortable in such closer quarters with a near absolute stranger. His body was the first weapon in his arsenal, and as such, he has learned to master it. Each movement flawless, even if it seems so negligent a gesture as absent wave.
(alex)
the idea of personal space is such a human thing so worried about the invasion of thier privacy as if only lovers or friends should be allowed near them. such a strange idea. yet one she probably posessed so long ago... this close where she can but reach out and touch him. from this distance she can have a stake in his heart before he blinks from this distance she can see his every move every geasture and enjoy them all the more for thier sensual beauty.. do you wonder how loud i would scream if left to greet the sun? do you picture my heaven buring down around me? do you see me steaked out before you? "i think yes there is something of importance in our meeting"
pawns on a chess board . yet does the hands that direct them play for the same team or do they sit apposed to each other?
(michael)
Oh, the Blessed things that he envisions of her.How she would scream beneath his abilities. How she sould scream to greet the Aurora's first dawning kiss. He just as easily finds her within his imagination writhing in his beloved flames and bathing in life-giving blood. Knowing so intimately he could find Rapture in both. Beauty is such a flickering, ephemeral quality, and he can [so willingly] force it from both agony and ecstacy. All instigated with but a touch they each taunt each other with, but never grant.
"Grace me with your thoughts, Alexandra?"
(alex)
i wonder what you looked like hung up as the martyr tnailed to the cross like the massiah. waiting for dawns first kiss. how long before you cry before you scream. i wonder what it would be like to place you in a cell with but a slit for a window. i would watch the video as that light slowly crept up your skin as you crawled and huddled looking for an escape from your inevitable fate. i wonder if i could drive wood into your heart then snap it off. case you in plaster and then cell you as a statue. what would you look like tressed up like a pig rotating slowly over hot coals the radience of red as it glowed against your burning flesh and seared bone. or encased in your own shadow trapped in the darkness unable to move unable to see but knowing i draw forever near ready to take your life your blood your soul... "i am simply wondering why one of your talent would choose to play here?"
(michael)
He knows she thinks it. He can feel her thoughts as if they were a marquee across her porceline face, with nothing but the smoke from the silver holder to mar the perfect visage. There is an expression that crawls across his own features, a deepening of his smile, a glitter of challenge entering his eyes. Invitation even enters his posture, the set of his shoulders and straightening of spine. She thinks it, craves it, and absolutely dreams it - but does she dare try it.
"One cannot fight the war every night, there must be some time for contemplation and repose. Perhaps my music can be seen as a prayer to those that watch over us, an offering for our efforts to be blessed."
One hand reaches out, fingers nimble and soft to gently grasp her hand [when he could so easily crush it] with brows raising in query.
"Now, perhaps, you will grace me with your presence for a last supper before we retire?"
(alex)
would you test her strength? do you wish to know who is stronger? who is faster? who is more deadly? which of them can reep the most exstacy from pain? "this is true, yet the war will always go on" is this truce between them a standoff? an understanding? or prehaps an alliance? "it is nice however to escape from it once in a while"
letting herself be helped to her feet. the darkness seeming to give her up reluctantly as she once more slides from the shadowy depths of the couch to once more cross the lighted parlour of the lounge. letting her arm rest ever so lightly upon his. an gentlemanly escort into the night.
she does not fear him. fear is an emotion that she does not have time for. and tonight is a night for prayer and food not a night for war. she wonders just how best he will fit into her plans and how the moves he makes will tilt the game. will it be in her favor or against it. "let us feast before the blessed night ends"
Posted by archangel at March 08, 2003 12:00 AM