THOSE ARE YOUR ONLY OPTIONS. PICK ONE.
No.
Independent Dersite Human Diamonds Droog. M!A: None
I doodled a Madame Snow
“[Ah, you would threaten me with pikes on our next outing? One shouldn’t lie, Droog; it’s common knowledge you’re only packing toothpicks.]”Prickling in her skin and stars, she could feel it, the angry memory tinted with desire, and it irked her. Sipping at the new round, she matched Droog’s gaze. And it hurt. She felt in that instant that her interest was far better off vested elsewhere, but, ah. He was arrogant.
And she was prideful. There was no way she would back down from their burning stares.
“[Why do you badger me so persistently, Droog?]”
Ah, that wit of hers. It was amusing and infuriating at the same time. He smirked, keeping his eyes locked on hers, sipping his scotch as he watched her sip at her drink. He could tell something was bothering her from the heavy silences that fell between them, but she was far too prideful to let her weaknesses be known to him.
She questions him, and he gives a slight shrug, leans back a bit in his seat.
“{Because I’ve seen the looks you give me at times. Something about me bothers you. And not just in an “I aggravate you” way. Something more…regretful.}”
Of course, were Snowan entirely her own, she would have broken him. She would have held him in space, crushed his spine with so little as a flick of her fingers as space conformed to her will. Diamonds Droog would be in the next day’s obituary, and she would sleep like a baby that night.But that would be godmodding, and is frowned upon in most societies.
“Then I hope your curiosity has been sated, Droog. Know that I was off my game and was not anticipating any attack from you that night.”
Drinking deeply, she put the glass back on the counter before cutting her eyes to him.
“[The next time you try to harm me, you are liable to end up with a pike skewering you right up the middle.]”
“{Normally I save the dirty talk with my dates until the second date at least, Madame Snowman.}”
Droog smirked a little, taking his drink and finishing it off, ordering them a second round. She was a quick witted one, with quite a temper to her. Though no longer a Queen, she held the air of a noblewoman, a leader to her. She held her head high and her back straight. She was beautiful, Droog had to admit. She reminded him of his own Queen, gasping and struggling as he had wrapped his hands around her pretty pale throat, rage turning vision red as the guards came to remove the Dignitary from their Queen.
He shook his head, bringing himself back from his thoughts, taking up his new scotch and taking a sip. Blue eyes locked onto her, gaze intent and tinged with just the slightest hint of murderous lust.
He wanted her dead.
And yet…
He couldn’t help but want her alive.
motherfucker of course i’m the only person who wants to show up for fucking work so i get called in even though they gave me the morning off for working two twelve hour shifts in a row
fuck
“No,” she said flatly, “I merely am a woman with some frail scrap of dignity and taste.”The romantic air of the restaurant aside, she spoke acerbically. Of course she was still angry. This man has shivved her and sank her down to the slickened slit of the city’s reservoir. As far as she was concerned, her anger was warranted; anyone else would be pretty miffed, too.
As things were, she sat beside him, her back straight even in repose, for there was no rest around him. As things were, she did not reach out and snap his neck, but reached out for an Alizé that was at least triple what it went for on the other side of town.
“Why did you attempt my murder?”
he sipped his scotch, looking at her over the glass as she took a glass of Alize, questioning him. He smirked, relaxing a bit. Not enough to be taken off guard if she attempted an attack, but enough to not look like they completely disliked each other.
He set his glass down, pondering over it for a moment, before speaking.
“I wanted to see if I could.”
She felt the way his eyes moved, wandered. Hesitated. It was as though with lascivious intent; it didn’t match his face. Well, not his face. He was just a little different, a stronger jaw, sharper eyes. He was not soft at the seams; he stood up right and filled his suit in sharp angles.But the combination of such a gaze and the face he so resembled… he would not have looked at her like that. Not with the same sharpness.
Nevertheless, she led him away, touching his shoulder just long enough to fold space over itself, a foot of wooden flooring condensing several miles as she walked onto the street, just outside the finest bar in town.
Oh, he was about to pay, alright.
With an apathetic glance to her escort, Snowman offered him her arm. It was custom to be guided in by a date, was it not? Yet, as she looked at him, she only felt a clawing, melancholic hunger.
The evening had scarcely begun, and already she wished it done. Perhaps there was something strong in stock.
She led him away, to the nicest bar in town. He arched a brow, smirking a bit. Oh yes, she was still angry with him. He took a drag of his cigarette, exhaling the smoke and allowing her to hook her around with his as he guided her inside, finding them a seat. It was “romantically” lit inside of the bar, lights dim, and with a warm glow to them, rather than the cold, antiseptic light of a fluorescent bulb, such as in a hospital or some such. But he was getting off track here.
He ordered a scotch on the rocks, allowing Snowman to pick her own poison, leaning back a bit, blue eyes locking onto her violet.
“The nicest place in town. You really are still angry, hm?”
