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Private  - the rose and the viper

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Played by Offline Avis [PM] Posts: 20 — Threads: 3
Signos: 175
Vagabond Peddler
Female [She/Her/Hers] // 7 [Year 497 Summer] // 15.2 hh // Hth: 15 — Atk: 5 — Exp: 11 // Active Magic: N/A // Bonded: N/A
#1

come a little closer,
why don't you hold me a little tighter



What happened?

Why?

What did she do?

She paced the spaces of the hall before her door, the red rose painted across the wood seemingly more dull than usual as her mind raced and her heart felt like it would overflow with emotions she didn't often hold onto. If she could scream, if she would allow herself to scream, her shriek would have expanded down the halls and shattered glass, raise the hairs on even the most solid statues. She was confused, she was angry, but even more she torn; what happened in their letters? What had she said that turned him away so quickly, so subtly, in such a manner that he wouldn't even tell her? She had felt like maybe he was someone she could rely on, someone she might have given her heart to... but cautiously, for she was not one who dove in to the deep end so recklessly. But from their first meeting, the first moment she saw him against that countertop at the Scarab, her heart had skipped in beats in ways unknown to her, new patterns that wrote songs she was unfamiliar with. She knew love, of course, she knew the desire for pretty things and to be called loving names, each one a curse added on top of the one before it, but she hadn't known what heartache could be drawn from the depths of things she didn't understand. It wasn't possible, then, for her to work her way through the thoughts that overwhelmed her in that moment, steps hard as concrete against the carpeted floors.

She was trapped, effortlessly, in all the ways that he spoke and moved, all the letters that had be scrawled once so neatly, and then the slightest shift in scribble and tone, perhaps to others indistinguishable, stark and bloody in her gaze. She should have burned them, burned every single one of them, left them and him behind on her path to vengeance. But they consumed her, both body and soul, and she couldn't release herself from the torment of not knowing...

Why?

She had to leave--it wasn't her fault, it was never her fault. If only he knew why, if only she was able to tell him all her secrets and expose him to the world she was consumed in. But she couldn't, not fully, for both the reason of trust and fear of turning him away. Surely he wasn't the best of their kind, and neither was she, but the thought of losing him so quickly after making his acquaintance, after allowing her heart to pound those notes, was not a question she would consider answers to.

And so she moved, her legs twisting and twirling at the end of that hall, mind racing and wondering if she should retire, if she should let it all go, let him go, and put her heart in someone else's hand to hold. He wasn't going to show, might not have even received the last of her notes sent so delicately to him: find me.

A shadow passed over the backlit stairs and for but a moment her heart calmed at the outline that appeared there. Her crown wavered on the verge of concealing her, holding out hope that perhaps she would find what she was waiting for.

Tou?
CREDITS


@/toulouse for the bby <3





TO LIVE MY LIFE THE WAY I WANT
TO SAY AND DO WHATEVER I PLEASE
click for character page

(Please tag me in every post)

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Played by Offline sid [PM] Posts: 55 — Threads: 9
Signos: 120
Dawn Court Citizen
Male [he/him/his] // 8 [Year 496 Summer] // 16 hh // Hth: 10 — Atk: 10 — Exp: 22 // Active Magic: N/A // Bonded: N/A
#2


the blood on my teeth
begins to taste like a poem

H
e could see the rose painted on her door when he closed his eyes, each stroke as vivid as if he had been its painter. He remembered everything - the dark red color of her drink, the softness of her shoulder against his. It had only taken one trip for Toulouse to memorize the way to her door, and only one taste of her for him to become addicted.

He was not in love, he told himself.

Was he even capable of love?



He thought not.

But she was the closest he had gotten. He knew he should never have followed her at the bar that night, knew that if it had been his brother in his shoes instead then this would never have happened. But Toulouse was not one for feeling regret, and considering all of the “what if’s” of life was simply too exhausting. It was not much more fun to see where the night would take him, and go from there.

When she had suddenly disappeared, and her door did not open when he came to knock upon it, he had  hardly been surprised. Disappointed, but not shocked. The waiter he asked - the same one who had first told him her name, the one who had warned him about the Red Rose - had only laughed at him. Toulouse’s blood had run cold at the sound, and he had had to leave in the middle of the server’s fit of humor, or else he might have left a very bloody, very public mess in the middle of the Scarab’s lounge.

And so when the server had come running out after him, Toulouse had almost missed at first the small white letter that he carried with him.

It hadn’t been much, but it was still something.

A hurriedly written excuse, one that stopped just short of being a true apology or explanation, and a promise that the Scarab staff would get their letters to one another.

If he chose to write, she had said. But did he really have a choice, when it came to her? He had never thought twice before writing back, his letters equally short, equally vague, maddening inadequate. It was all part of their game. And despite how little she had written in that first letter, he had hung on her every word, and became determined to make her do the same.

When the letters had stopped, he’d told himself it was nothing. You’d think a spy would know better than that, but Manon had a way of compromising his thoughts.

It had been long enough that he wasn’t expecting another letter when the next finally came. But ohm the surprise made it taste all the more sweet when he read those two, carefully written words: find me. And then, the realization had sunk in. The Red Rose had returned at last. Toulouse would deny the way his heart skipped a beat for the rest of his life, just one more secret he would carry with him to his deathbed.

And now he was fashionably late, of course, as he slowly and deliberately retraced his path to her door. Each step was carefully planned, so that by the time he reached the top of the stairs his demeanor was perfectly controlled. He couldn’t let her see how excited he was to see her, after all. Because he wasn’t in love.

But he could be.

She was waiting for him outside. He didn’t even have to knock.

“Leaving notes is bad spycraft.”



His voice is smooth and rich, carrying over the carpeted floor. Words meant only for her, and her alone. His eyes are sharp and bright, but Toulouse does not smile, not yet. That would give too much away, and it was a delicate game he was playing. The same game they had started that night when she left a rose for him at the bar, picking up exactly where they had left off as if it had never stopped.

He takes a step closer, his scarves feeling like wine against his sides. And then -

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?”



He has no doubt that she will.


@Manon | "speaks" | notes: clearly he has 0 idea what his brother has done haha
rallidae






i'm stuck in the sunshine, riptide

dancing all alone in the morning light
you came in like a wave when i was feeling alright

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