IP: 86.179.9.23
Posted on October 29, 2011 at 04:44:22 AM by orinthia
with an ire of philosophy,
burning scrolls, in the naked heat,
burning scrolls, in the naked heat,
Name | Orinthia
Gender | Female
Age | Around 18, give or take a year.
Appearance | She's effortless, you think, with her china doll lips curled into an appraising smirk, her eyes are wide and doe-like with thick fanned lashes but nowhere near as innocent - they're animated like bright hazel flames set against the milk pale of her paper thin skin, dastardly and delightfully acerbic. She looks taller than she is, standing an average 5'5, but the tilt of her chin and long, slender legs tell you otherwise, she carries herself elegantly, shoulders back with the correct posture, all prim and proper and goddamn faultless. She's watching you, regarding you with that look that's perfectly constructed with a tilted eyebrow and sloping cheekbones arcing gracefully down the full of her cherry stained lips. You're wondering how someone that looks so soft and girly and innocent with hips that are the perfect curve for grasping fingers to curl around speaks with spitting lips and hissing words, pouring warm breath in gentle pulses against the flesh of your throat. You've heard about her type, fire and brimstone with brilliant good looks and charm wrapped up with poison kisses and quick witted remarks laced with acid and aimed straight at the heart - a faultless shot, and an effective kill.
Personality | She's calculated and cold, delightfully bitter in a way she covers up readily with snide comments behind the flat of her palm. She's classy and arrogant with her pursed lips and haughty raising of her eyebrows, and yet, she's so goddamn soft with the way she trails her fingers up the length of your spine, tracing patterns that were never there and maybe, you think, she just wants attention to make herself feel good but she'll snarl and deny it with spitting words and clenched teeth, apathetic eyes and a cold shoulder, shoving you off like you never were anything more than a warm body to steal heat from. She likes knowing she has a wonderful ability of showing people the version of herself that she chooses, hard faced and arrogant instead of giving people ammunition to use words like vulnerable and lost, pathetically searching for an intimacy that makes her feel wanted with the eager trail of hot lips searching for a pulse point on the cool of her neck.
Sample | The ground she’s laid on is freezing, snow melting and seeping through her coat, through the fine material of her shirt and hitting the paper thin of her skin eagerly, unrelenting and ever present and maybe that’s what makes his wide eyes and the easy set of his mouth much more noticeable - He looks as dastardly as she feels, she thinks. With his dark hair and hazel eyes filled with promises she wonders if he ever kept, inviting and warm and suddenly the twigs she’s pressed into her palm feel heavy and pointless - some childish gesture that she can’t pull off with a smile and easy, forgiving eyes.
The smoke trapped in her lungs chokes upwards like a forgotten memory to hit her in the center of her chest, sharp and taught like the skin of a drum and she’s gasping for breath because fuck, he’s alive and so goddamn tangible next to her, nestled like baby birds huddled together in a nest made of twigs and leaves and barbed wire - cutting herself pointlessly because she’s scrambling vehemently towards him for the security she’s missing inside of herself, anything to make the ache in her gut disappear and it does, for the most part, with the tipping of his frosted pink lips revealing his crocodile smile. Two rows of crooked teeth, and maybe it’s the stuttering rising and falling of her chest in sync with his own, but they’re grinning up at each other with wide eyes and parted lips and she’s ever eager, ever wanting and ever so enthusiastic.
There’s nothing but the ache of breathing between them, delightfully simple and she’s watching him like he’s some riveting piece of film, animated and alive with eyelashes brushing the tips of his ruddy cheeks.
The twigs are out of the palm of her hand, twirling between the pads of his pale fingers, so slender under the light of the moon. She’s mesmerised by it in a way she knows she shouldn’t be, admiring the faint smile on his lips and the ease of his every movement. She feels fragile and shadowed by the light of the moon and the cigarette smoke smell that clings to his skin like paint on a canvas. But he’s tossing them away, cracking his knuckles whilst she casts her eyes down to the ground, to the nothing that surrounds them so pleasantly in a way that makes the cold of the ground underneath her body imperceptible.
”That was a present,” she mutters slowly at him, pouting into the sleepy darkness, it’s hurried but painfully genuine with her drawling voice and smiling eyes. It’s a little pathetic and she lapses into silence quickly, she doesn’t want to speak, she’s swallowing thickly and pressing her hand into the grounds, pads of her fingers turning white like the snow as the other freezes against his cheek, and oh his hand is covering hers, cold and smooth and almost frail looking but it’s so solid and sure as his eyes closed and he’s guiding her fingers away from his cheek to place them surely in the pit of her lap and he’s letting go, pulling away from her and she stares at the hand pressed into her stomach and for the briefest of moments her feelings disappear and she’s just a girl with wild hair and cigarette soaked breath.
Nothing but a chest that rises haggardly with each grating breath her lungs capture and fingers with mud under the nails.
But he draws her back into herself without speaking, it’s the shift of his shoulders and the silent creak of his bones and she lifts her gaze, watching the way his eyes are alight, and the kink of his lips makes her think of fire and brimstone and she’s catching herself a little and her fingers curl into delicate fists and it’s her turn to bite her lip now, looking up at him through her lashes, and she looks goddamn innocent if not for the subtle quirk of her lips and the hint of heat in the blue of her eyes.
His hair is soft and fragile like strands of spider’s webs, clinging and tickling the slope of her cheeks and the ridge of her nose, and the light curl of his fingers on her shoulder makes her freeze and her lips part when he catches the corner of her lips, painting a trail of warmth along her jaw mercilessly and she’s leaning into him, craving his touch and the sense of peace it creates with the churning in her gut. It was always the same, heated kisses at midnight to quell the sickening need to be wanted and made to feel loved if only for a few brief hours before the reality of the frivolous nature of any single meeting or relationship she’s gotten tangled up into with her fragile smiles and rough words whispered hotly into ears.
There’s no running now, enveloped entirely in his sweet faded smell of peppermint and liquorice weed coated in thick smoke that’s so very familiar and she’s breathing hotly against his skin, almost conveying silently just how much the beaten up heart thudding in her chest was craving the attention he was giving her with the insistent kisses, lips against crumbled paper skin and scratched bone.
”Gael...” she’s whispering slowly into his hair, hand curled around his neck with no intention of letting him go, and she wonders why she ever breathed his name in the first place in her wispy voice that’s a little throaty and little bit thicker than she would have liked it to come across as. She was unravelling without realising, ever eager, and ever so enthusiastic.
ooc | Estrella
---------------------------------------------------------// orinthia
Gender | Female
Age | Around 18, give or take a year.
Appearance | She's effortless, you think, with her china doll lips curled into an appraising smirk, her eyes are wide and doe-like with thick fanned lashes but nowhere near as innocent - they're animated like bright hazel flames set against the milk pale of her paper thin skin, dastardly and delightfully acerbic. She looks taller than she is, standing an average 5'5, but the tilt of her chin and long, slender legs tell you otherwise, she carries herself elegantly, shoulders back with the correct posture, all prim and proper and goddamn faultless. She's watching you, regarding you with that look that's perfectly constructed with a tilted eyebrow and sloping cheekbones arcing gracefully down the full of her cherry stained lips. You're wondering how someone that looks so soft and girly and innocent with hips that are the perfect curve for grasping fingers to curl around speaks with spitting lips and hissing words, pouring warm breath in gentle pulses against the flesh of your throat. You've heard about her type, fire and brimstone with brilliant good looks and charm wrapped up with poison kisses and quick witted remarks laced with acid and aimed straight at the heart - a faultless shot, and an effective kill.
Personality | She's calculated and cold, delightfully bitter in a way she covers up readily with snide comments behind the flat of her palm. She's classy and arrogant with her pursed lips and haughty raising of her eyebrows, and yet, she's so goddamn soft with the way she trails her fingers up the length of your spine, tracing patterns that were never there and maybe, you think, she just wants attention to make herself feel good but she'll snarl and deny it with spitting words and clenched teeth, apathetic eyes and a cold shoulder, shoving you off like you never were anything more than a warm body to steal heat from. She likes knowing she has a wonderful ability of showing people the version of herself that she chooses, hard faced and arrogant instead of giving people ammunition to use words like vulnerable and lost, pathetically searching for an intimacy that makes her feel wanted with the eager trail of hot lips searching for a pulse point on the cool of her neck.
Sample | The ground she’s laid on is freezing, snow melting and seeping through her coat, through the fine material of her shirt and hitting the paper thin of her skin eagerly, unrelenting and ever present and maybe that’s what makes his wide eyes and the easy set of his mouth much more noticeable - He looks as dastardly as she feels, she thinks. With his dark hair and hazel eyes filled with promises she wonders if he ever kept, inviting and warm and suddenly the twigs she’s pressed into her palm feel heavy and pointless - some childish gesture that she can’t pull off with a smile and easy, forgiving eyes.
The smoke trapped in her lungs chokes upwards like a forgotten memory to hit her in the center of her chest, sharp and taught like the skin of a drum and she’s gasping for breath because fuck, he’s alive and so goddamn tangible next to her, nestled like baby birds huddled together in a nest made of twigs and leaves and barbed wire - cutting herself pointlessly because she’s scrambling vehemently towards him for the security she’s missing inside of herself, anything to make the ache in her gut disappear and it does, for the most part, with the tipping of his frosted pink lips revealing his crocodile smile. Two rows of crooked teeth, and maybe it’s the stuttering rising and falling of her chest in sync with his own, but they’re grinning up at each other with wide eyes and parted lips and she’s ever eager, ever wanting and ever so enthusiastic.
There’s nothing but the ache of breathing between them, delightfully simple and she’s watching him like he’s some riveting piece of film, animated and alive with eyelashes brushing the tips of his ruddy cheeks.
The twigs are out of the palm of her hand, twirling between the pads of his pale fingers, so slender under the light of the moon. She’s mesmerised by it in a way she knows she shouldn’t be, admiring the faint smile on his lips and the ease of his every movement. She feels fragile and shadowed by the light of the moon and the cigarette smoke smell that clings to his skin like paint on a canvas. But he’s tossing them away, cracking his knuckles whilst she casts her eyes down to the ground, to the nothing that surrounds them so pleasantly in a way that makes the cold of the ground underneath her body imperceptible.
”That was a present,” she mutters slowly at him, pouting into the sleepy darkness, it’s hurried but painfully genuine with her drawling voice and smiling eyes. It’s a little pathetic and she lapses into silence quickly, she doesn’t want to speak, she’s swallowing thickly and pressing her hand into the grounds, pads of her fingers turning white like the snow as the other freezes against his cheek, and oh his hand is covering hers, cold and smooth and almost frail looking but it’s so solid and sure as his eyes closed and he’s guiding her fingers away from his cheek to place them surely in the pit of her lap and he’s letting go, pulling away from her and she stares at the hand pressed into her stomach and for the briefest of moments her feelings disappear and she’s just a girl with wild hair and cigarette soaked breath.
Nothing but a chest that rises haggardly with each grating breath her lungs capture and fingers with mud under the nails.
But he draws her back into herself without speaking, it’s the shift of his shoulders and the silent creak of his bones and she lifts her gaze, watching the way his eyes are alight, and the kink of his lips makes her think of fire and brimstone and she’s catching herself a little and her fingers curl into delicate fists and it’s her turn to bite her lip now, looking up at him through her lashes, and she looks goddamn innocent if not for the subtle quirk of her lips and the hint of heat in the blue of her eyes.
His hair is soft and fragile like strands of spider’s webs, clinging and tickling the slope of her cheeks and the ridge of her nose, and the light curl of his fingers on her shoulder makes her freeze and her lips part when he catches the corner of her lips, painting a trail of warmth along her jaw mercilessly and she’s leaning into him, craving his touch and the sense of peace it creates with the churning in her gut. It was always the same, heated kisses at midnight to quell the sickening need to be wanted and made to feel loved if only for a few brief hours before the reality of the frivolous nature of any single meeting or relationship she’s gotten tangled up into with her fragile smiles and rough words whispered hotly into ears.
There’s no running now, enveloped entirely in his sweet faded smell of peppermint and liquorice weed coated in thick smoke that’s so very familiar and she’s breathing hotly against his skin, almost conveying silently just how much the beaten up heart thudding in her chest was craving the attention he was giving her with the insistent kisses, lips against crumbled paper skin and scratched bone.
”Gael...” she’s whispering slowly into his hair, hand curled around his neck with no intention of letting him go, and she wonders why she ever breathed his name in the first place in her wispy voice that’s a little throaty and little bit thicker than she would have liked it to come across as. She was unravelling without realising, ever eager, and ever so enthusiastic.
ooc | Estrella
---------------------------------------------------------// orinthia
Replies:
- accepted - By equilibrium October 29, 2011 at 04:53:23 AM
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