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Posted By:
FreelyRenee
FreelyRenee
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February, 2014
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{Your emo post is really emo. Mine was all 'Dang, I don't like life' and yours was all deep and Yuki look what you've done. Also, I've just realized Yuki is Daichi's blond best friend because he's a brunette and, y'know.}


''He's staring at you. He's angry."

"Daichi." The blond's lips pursed almost shyly, submissively, as the whisper escaped. Hazel eyes dulled and softened to where tears seemed as if they'd soon follow. The thin, light locks fell the boy's forehead as he looked up to meet the dark gaze. "I-I'm very sorry, I ask for your forgiveness. Please, I understand that it was rude and wrong of me to have forced myself onto our hostess and—"

The words ceased to flow abruptly as the dark eyes narrowed. Yuki's shoulders hunched slightly, his body seemed to retreat back to the shadows of the tent with that slight movement as to avoid the intense glare. Almost groaning, telling off the younger male and scoffing at the unneeded air of disappointment that one would find with a mother learning of her son's secret revelry, Yuki further pursed his lips.


''Don't make him angrier."

Pale hands lightly reached for his neck, pressed strands of soft flaxen hair away to trace the purplish bruise to where it met his shoulder in reminding himself to hold his tongue. "Daichi, I'm sorry. It won't happen again." He muttered, despite the brunette's loss of interest in casting condescending glares at his hunched figure. Slowly, he stood. "I understand, I'll go. I'm sorry." 

The already faint, ghastly young male then vanished, colours dulled and seemed to blend with the nothingness of air until he'd disappeared. 

                             ▶

"No." The words pressed past his lips roughly, hushed for little reason. Dark eyes traced the ground, following the imperfectly smooth floor to the dark trousers worn by the ghastly figure. Innocently wide eyes turned to slits with a soft scoff that proved inaudible. Yuki hastily mumbled apologies.

The words continued, pleading for the brunette's forgiveness. The image of them laying on each other, locking lips in a sort of sloppy passion angered him, if not aroused jealousy or loneliness or a feeling of slight contempt for their affection. 

The blonde pressed a hand against the back of his neck, the saddened expression painted across his face shot a jolt of guilt through his stomach. Faint hunger aided it. Daichi sighed lightly and looked away as the blonde left. 

"I'm going to rest for now, please don't disturb me." Casting a fleeting glance at that lady, eyes drifting from her face to rest on her disheveled clothing with a pink tint to his cheeks, Daichi found himself curled in a distant corner—awake.

☇ ♛ A l l D r e s s e d U p I n B l a c k & W h i t e


Posted By:
noordinarygirl
noordinarygirl
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June, 2009
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(( Dia, I just realized. This is only the second day in this RP. ;-; ))

A deep red nail pushed the kizami in before lighting it, a hesitant hand drawing the kiseru up to lips that still burned, stung with a broken promise as her chest seized with held breath.

Stop this nonsense. Breathe.

A trail of smoke drifted up in wispy clouds as she released the sigh she had been suppressing. Mag tilted her chin up, staring at nothing in particular. There was a part of her that wanted to hate him for what she knew, the way he acted, manipulated. But there was another part that nearly ached to let him know that there was someone who did care for him and wanted him to be happy. Loneliness had a way of messing with people, after all.

Don't be ridiculous. Breathe.

"It wasn't only him, you know. It was me also, so please don't direct your anger all at him. I was. . .also responsible. So I must--ask your forgiveness too. " The smoke tendrils waned and thinned the more softly her words came, her voice dropping to a quiet murmur. She never turned to face him or bothered to make herself look more presentable. The boy had already formed his opinions about her, and knowing how stubborn she had observed him to be, there was most likely nothing she could do to make him think otherwise about her. After a while, after the accusations, trials, hangings, exile, rumors--it didn't matter so much to her what anyone thought. There wasn't much she cared about anymore.

Then why did his thoughts matter so much?

You're being unreasonable. Breathe.






Posted By:
noordinarygirl
noordinarygirl
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June, 2009
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(( To my knowledge, this is the first time I've bumped an RP of ours on the actual forum rather than pestering you through comments. I thought it would feel more magical or something. ))






Posted By:
FreelyRenee
FreelyRenee
Member since:
February, 2014
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Status: Offline
Posts: 296
Sharp nails met pale, freckled skin, grabbing at the other's shoulder like a rabid dog, pinching and tearing until the smooth tissue gave way and bright red bubbled to the surface, spilling over his neck and dripping onto long flaxen locks tied back from a sooty, and now bloody, white shirt. The man started to scream, but the brunette shoved the discarded apron laying beside them into the bellowing male's mouth, drowning out the sound lest anyone hear.  It was hard to hold him down, stop his thrashing, but he found his height and how much he ate helped with that. Hazel eyes shone an emerald-brown in the sunlight that peaked through the open window, wide as they stared back at him, glassy and lifeless like a doll. 

It only hit him then, what he'd done. What would happen to him? He needed to run.

Daichi wiped the metallic red from his hands in the other's shirt, glancing around frantically, eyes falling on the open window every now and then in fear. He glanced fleetingly at the unmoving body of the young man he'd so mercilessly killed, guilt bringing tears to his eyes and making his stomach churn until he threw up twice, before he ran out the back door and home to his sisters and Ma. He smiled at the dinner table that night, kissed and caressed Yumiko when she snuck into his room later, didn't give a second thought until he saw the ghastly figure of the blond stare back at him. Even then, he didn't really feel bad, did he?

If he didn't then, he did now.


The brunette awoke slowly, eyes fluttered open to focus on the pointed roof of her tent, felt the gentle touch of the cloth he'd stolen from one corner of the tent and draped over himself, lips parting in a tired groan then loud yawn that spread his lips wide. Hunger pangs settled in, then, contorting his stomach and eliciting a slight shiver that ran down his arms and spine. Sitting up, he straightened out the shirt Changeling had reluctantly gotten for him. It resembled Yuki's, long sleeved and white with buttons and what he thought were faint soot stains, which had probably brought on those memories and that nightmare

Coughing, he stood slowly and with some effort, slowly and almost guiltily wiping the bloody mucus on the waist of his new trousers—he would wash them later. He had planned to leave as hastily as he had come, having sneaked in sometime in the dead of night, not wanting face her or even see her. Undeniably, he was attracted to her, but he was a male in the peak of his youth and she a female at her prime with enough luck to have prominent curves and enough confidence to not want to hide them; liking her looks were a given. Still, there was something about her that made his heart flutter and his body protest at the idea at even being near her, but yearn for her touch just as much as he hated it. And the thought that she probably knew that, knew everything, left him with warm cheeks and an overwhelming need to leave.

That, and how he'd responded to her 'apology' last night, just before he'd left early for his 'show', left him with a dread of seeing her and talking to her and just the thought of her was absolutely— 'I must ask your forgiveness too,' was what she had said, with all the humility and gentleness of a mature woman. Daichi groaned softly, brushing his messy locks from his eyes with the hand without the germs of his earlier hacking and choking. Of course, such maturity had to be repaid with 'keep your feelings to yourself, harlot, and away from both of us,' as this was him, renowned for his own generosity and kind way with words.

She was probably up, because he could already hear the bustling of people just beyond the tent, and he had never been one for waking up early. Another hunger pang left him clutching his stomach, but he tried not to cringe too much, just in case she was awake and behind him and listening to his every thought with an angry frown or, even scarier, a devilish smile. Hesitantly, he turned, letting his chocolate coloured eyes drift across everything and study all the tent's furnishings in detail before finally resting on that lady.

[ Don't tell me it's bad, I know that, but I tried.
Yeah, Daichi did do that. Yes, that is that blond. Not so innocent now, is he? ]

☇ ♛ A l l D r e s s e d U p I n B l a c k & W h i t e


Posted By:
noordinarygirl
noordinarygirl
Member since:
June, 2009
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(( No, no, I love it. It was actually kinda funny at some points. SD, you, you. Haven't written or played OM in a while, so. Am also reading Les Miserables, so expect unnecessarily long sentences. ))

Sit up, keep your back straight. A lady must have good posture at all times.
She must always look presentable and decent. Compose yourself.
She does not have her head in the clouds--this silly humming will not do.
And close your eyes--it's only polite.


Her skirt was rumpled, her hair still twisted into its nightly braid except at the ends, which were somewhat undone, as if she had begun to comb it out with her fingers but had moved on to more pressing matters, such as finding something to wear. The chosen garment of pitch and crimson was thrown carelessly on her tired form, resting almost lazily over her shape. She hadn't cared to smooth out its wrinkled fabric or finish tying the ruby-colored ribbons lacing down her back. Waking up had been a difficult task on its own, much less washing and dressing herself. She padded around the tent with bare feet, singing quiet snatches of songs that centuries in the troupe had almost faded from her memory, had she not held so tightly to them with such ridiculous hope. Scarlett had hated her incessant whistling and humming--"You drive me mad, you never stop," was what she would say, hands clamped over her ears, sometimes getting so irritated that she would send the smaller witch off so that she wouldn't have to deal with the pesky child--and sometimes Mag wondered if that was the only reason she kept her music, if the songs themselves lifted her spirits or if the memory of her mentor's constant vexation did.

She was a mess, bruises, tangles, and unkempt clothing, though she had been raised as strictly as if training for the day she would dine with royalty. She would kill me if she saw me now, though many years before, the older witch may have been almost proud.
They had been rather successful when they had started; children and adults alike were drawn in by the magic spectacle of it all. There was never a day when the grounds weren't full of people, especially at night, when the show was only beginning and the sky was lit up like no one had ever seen. The language sometimes presented a tricky barrier, as her accent was thick and her vocabulary minimal, though she quickly learned and was able to contribute more than a silent nod and unsure smile to conversations. Though her favorite time was after everyone had left and the troupe had gone to sleep and it was only the two of them, huddled together, drinking and enjoying the velvety black serenity of whatever new town the circus had settled in. And they respected her--they knew she had been there the longest, that he favored her and had granted her a high position as a result, and she treated them well in return. She was fond of all of them and especially loved the children, providing guidance and company for the little ones who had been rejected for their oddities and had found their home with the rest of them.

And now here we all are, she couldn't help but think. All deceived and bound under that devil's contract. How could she have been so blind? She had eventually realized his true motives, but too late, and not without being reduced to her current circumstances. As he "did away" her, the rest of them eventually forgot about her, even the ones she had practically raised as children. But that changed when a small, rat-like infant had appeared one day and was taken under Renfield's wing, one who was not happy to play second to anyone, especially another female. That's where that rumor had sprang from and undoubtedly many more that tarnished her name further--though she never changed it, as many circus people had. That was how they forgot who they were, how he controlled them--and Changeling, poor Changeling, who probably didn't even have a real name of her own except the one from Renfield and had no identity apart from him. Sometimes she felt complete and utter loathing to the pink-haired child who hated her so much, though other times she couldn't help but feel pity and guilt concerning her--perhaps if she, instead of Renfield, had cared for the little one, the shapeshifter wouldn't have grown up the way she did.

And the necromancer--he was sleeping heavily at present, breathing deeply--he had fallen in the same way many of them had, lacking the necessities to live another day and had come here looking for home. It was a foolish, inevitable mistake that she herself was not blameless of. And he was still so young and innocent--perhaps not sinless, but naïve without a doubt--that it was much too easy for Renfield to trap him. She sighed softly as she turned to face him while he slumbered on, unaware. It took everything in her to leave him alone as he had requested. Caring for him had become instinct even though he had been in the troupe for a mere two days; she had found herself taking an extra plate for him when she had gone for breakfast and scooping her leftovers onto it. There was something a bit more than responsibility she felt for him that he may have also felt for her, but he was just a child yet and she experienced enough not to make the same mistake twice, and so she trusted the both of them not to act on irrational impulses--though she trusted him more than she did herself.

Changeling had even stopped her that morning on the way back to the tent, Daichi's plate in hand.
"Whatever you're trying to do, you better cut it out. Renfield's got him already. Just because we managed to get you out of the way doesn't mean you have to go messing things up for everyone else, so leave the necromancer to us and stop trying to get your filthy hands on him. You're too late anyway."
The shapeshifter was about to do something else, maybe tack on her (and Daichi's) favorite insulting name at the end of that sentence, but one hard look was enough to warn the rat not to. As the child scampered away, she was grateful that she still had enough authority to be able to scare the other off like that. But there was one thing Changeling was right about--she was too late. A quiet groan from the ground made her pause in brushing her hair, alerting her that Daichi was awake. She allowed herself to briefly imagine what she had once seen, his dark hair messy and deep eyes heavy with sleep, before resuming her previous task.
"Good morning. Breakfast is on the table, and you would do good to eat it before it gets too cold. Your presence has also been requested by Renfield as soon as you are finished. He doesn't care to run late, so please don't delay."

And the necromancer--had she failed him too?  

(( . . .Egh. Tried to explain a bit of the plot and it turned into this. It's terrible, I'm sorry. ))






Posted By:
noordinarygirl
noordinarygirl
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June, 2009
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(( Won't let me edit, excuse the typos. ))






Posted By:
FreelyRenee
FreelyRenee
Member since:
February, 2014
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Status: Offline
Posts: 296
Chestnut curls shook lightly, settling in messy clumps against his pallid skin, as his head jerked in a slow and deliberate nod reminiscent of a bird's sharp tilting. Daichi let another soft, pathetic groan of reluctance to fully awake escape him, his deep noise ending in a puff of warm air condensing before his eyes as he sighed. Mornings were dreadful, terrible things, and spending this one with that lady was hardly enticing. His hands, numb and stinging with early morning cold, ran roughly through his dark brown hair and pressed it away to reveal eyes narrowed to thin slits and lips spread wide in a loud yawn of lethargy and hunger. As he finally pursed his lips, the boy let his gaze settle on her, then fall to her back and he ran his tongue over dry lips in what he convinced himself was desperate hunger. 
 
Ruby ribbons laced across her back as if frozen in a graceful dance, resting loosely against pale bruised skin he imagined was soft and smooth to the touch, teasing him with their clever and intricate pattern that hid all but small snippets of her skin. The criss-cross of the cloth stopped abruptly where femininely narrow shoulders met her neck, as if she hadn't bothered to finish tying them or was seeking to drive him insane. Despite the faint red that crept onto his cheeks and left them oddly warm, he found himself slowly, but surely, forming an image of the rest of her back — the fading bruises, some freckles, her bare skin framed by untied ribbons as he tugged them open. His stomach stirred and fluttered, as did whatever lay behind his ribs in his chest, and he had such an odd sensation of fear and heaviness that he hurried to forget what he'd been thinking. He was scared at the thoughts that found themselves resting in his mind, afraid she'd shun him for yesterday's ignorant words and his silly lust for her, the feelings that just that bit of her skin aroused.
 
Limbs heavy with tiredness and head throbbing from the wine he'd downed last night, the boy lurched forward with one large step and grasped the dangling smooth red cloth with all the gentle care of a man at war filled with insatiable hatred and blood-lust, dragging them tight as he clumsily tied them in the best way he could, then yanking on his spider-web tangle of the crimson ribbons to loosen them, finally noticing how they had dug into her skin. He fleetingly glanced over her once more, before averting his gaze and releasing the breath caught in his chest as a deep sigh, pursing his lips as he tried to will the blazing colour from his cheeks. Slowly, what he had done dawned on him, and a soft mouse-like noise escaped from him as the boy backed away. "S-sorry," Daichi whispered, tongue heavy in his mouth and slurring his words, emphasizing his stuttering. "I, uh, well. Y-you, I, um. S-see, I-I. Uh, well, y-you f-forgot t-those, a-and it's c-cold, so."

Twiddling his fingers, trying to force away the warmth that lingered annoyingly on his fingers, the brunette gradually hunched in on himself as he tried to force away the thought of her voluptuous figure, poised and pretty as she brushed her long dark locks. "T-thank y-yo-you," Daichi lowered himself to the floor, grasping the plate as he went down, pressing himself into a corner and letting his back rest against the strong dark cloth of the tent, letting himself get lost in eating to forget about that woman. At first, each bite he took was carefully chewed and pressed into his mouth from the cradle of the fork, until he did away with manners and the wooden utensil altogether and gobbled down food with his hands, taking care to not drop crumbs and licking the oil and gravy from his fingers and palm once he'd cleaned the plate. 

Food—food was amazing, food was tasty and fulfilling, and the feeling of uncomfortable heaviness in his stomach was somehow something he liked. Still, he found himself looking back at her with the same fear and anxiety. He reminded himself to sit up straighter and stop licking his hands, shoving his palms back into his pockets as he stood with another "U-um, I-I."

☇ ♛ A l l D r e s s e d U p I n B l a c k & W h i t e


Posted By:
noordinarygirl
noordinarygirl
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June, 2009
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Dark eyes widened in response, her lips parted slightly in a remark that didn't quite surface, though her stunned expression was fortunately hidden by an obsidian veil of hair. "Weren't you the one telling me to stay away from you?" Her eyebrows arched with mock surprise as Mag shifted to face him--or, rather, look up into his face and somewhat to the left of it. Her finger plucked the red tangle of satin resting on her back, loosening it a bit further. Was he so easily tempted? He had restrained himself, at least. "How silly of me. It seems I did, thank you."

Though she could see him no longer, she already knew his hair was settled in an untidy crown, his chocolate eyes nervously downcast, and his cheeks, she wondered--she had to know. He had instructed her not to touch him, but she reached out, placing her cool, ivory hands on either side of his face. "You're blushing, aren't you? Look at that. You're as flustered as a schoolboy, you're blushing." The tips of her thumbs met the corners of his thin lips as she outlined its expression, the right corner of her own painted mouth claimed in an amused smirk. She felt the heat bloom on his skin like red roses as she slid her thumb to his chin. "Like a schoolboy indeed. Would you like to know how old I am?" She let a soft, humored laugh escape as she released him, tucking her hair over one thin shoulder. "I like you better this way. We could just move on and forget, you know."

Even though she knew what lies he told, what secrets he kept, what shadows followed him and whose skeletons rattled in his closet, why was he still attractive to her? She knew exactly what he thought of her, yet she still couldn't deny that he was somehow dear. It may have just been her sense of duty, her tendency to look after younger ones that she was mistaking for something more, but it was becoming gradually apparent that that was not the case. It was useless, anyway. Both of them were trapped and it was impossible to be granted any sort of freedom under Renfield.

"Come along, now. He doesn't care to be late, I've told you." She slipped her feet into a pair of worn black boots as she gently nudged him past the tent flap, following behind with her cane grasped in her hand. She may not have followed any of her mentor's advice, but the one maxim she adhered to was straight posture. It was more of a means of being attentive rather than poised, though being the size she was it was never a bad thing to give the impression of extra inches, and if she drew up her height she could almost reach the boy's shoulder. She frowned slightly at this apparent difference in stature, entering Renfield's tent with obvious irritation.

"What is it you're after now?"






Posted By:
FreelyRenee
FreelyRenee
Member since:
February, 2014
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“N-no.”

Fingers, smoother than his own work-battered, bruised and callused touch, clammy and soft as they molded against puffed red cheeks—bisque-red skin fading pallid, thickly painted with an unnatural scarlet, Mag’s fingertips felt scalding like boiling cabbage soup on a hot, sparkling fire. The morning air felt damp and humid, even as the light breeze whipped at the tent’s thin fabric, sweeping jolts of cold up his spine. Dark fabric still left the tent more comfortably warm than the outside world’s bare cold, like sips of tea on a cold September’s day, as your sisters and mother huddled under a heavy wool blanket ‘too small for you to fit’ in—still, ivory hands, paler than his own ill colours, felt icy, and leeched the warmth from him, only to bestow bursts of unnatural flame-like burning in trade. Hot. Hot. Feverish. Sick. The male’s stomach did uneasy contortions that forced him to swallow mouthfuls of rising bile, groaning as it scratched at his already dry throat, tasting of the breakfast that he had only minutes ago been engrossed in, yet had high trouble remembering. Darkly polished nails tapped at his jaw, hands lingering, and lingering, and urged his skin to burn ardently with knowing coyness. Boy, did it work.

No, please.”

Thoughts, if one might name them such, churned slowly; this might have been the work of a mischievous, idle imp, and Daichi likened the feeling to cotton balls doused with bucket-fulls of milk forced through his ears and into the hollow his loving momma often complained about on his ‘slow days.’ This, it seemed, was such a day, and dark orbs widened painfully, stretching warm skin too tight, as he pursed gaping lips that seemed to have understood before him the words he had seemingly spewed. The echo of his utterance, ‘his voice,’ bubbled to the surface of his tangle of odd feelings and ideas, plopping onto a cushioned seat in his mind, garnering the attention of busy thoughts frantically forcing themselves to sort into simpler, smaller opinions on the curvaceous siren with her hands plastered on his chin and heart. It had been a long time, maybe too long, since Daichi had heard himself that loud. A dumb groan cemented ideas that he sounded deeper, more mature, ‘manly’ even, than he remembered—was it not yesterday that he had giggled like his twin, spoke just-enough-deeper than the young girl next door, thought of himself as any other hooligan flying down the path between dismal painted houses? When had he become him? When had he become the sort of person who would feel so entranced by someone, a lady nonetheless, for reasons he struggled to call? The sort of person who could barely hold her blank, light gaze, who slipped so shamelessly into staring where he shouldn’t? The sort of person who simply could not slap her hands away like he had so easily before? Was it months ago? A year? Years? Hours?

“I. Ugh. Sick. I feel—hah?

Around him, gentle breeze slid across a smooth, plastic-like fabric that seemed to huff its chest and scream of its worth (which Daichi assumed was more than every part of him put together, add a few more of similar low value) as the wind fought against it. It only dented the smooth mass of thick cloth, the tent standing steady and tall as it had since he had been there; this was, apparently, sometime ago. The breeze tickled his ears with noises that tempted him outside, where he would indulge in a much needed deep breath of fresh morning ear, thin and devoid of the heavy atmosphere he felt weighing on his chest. That sensation, however, lifted with the passing of a few violent hacks and coughs and mumbled ‘sorry, I’s and more blood smudged into the waist of good trousers he was sad to ruin. Against the backdrop, a man he solemnly recognized as the-person-he-hardly-needed-to-see-right-now eyed him, almost, curiously, in a way that elicited another bout of coughs. Panicked, the brunette glanced over every trinket, every expensive little beauty stuffed in the corners, desperate to get away from either blank gaze. Either appraising look. Either glare. Yes, they were glaring at him, he could feel their piercing looks through his shirt, on his back, digging holes into his bone and muscle. Why was he here? He wasn’t meant to be here? Seconds ago, only seconds ago, he was.

“I’m going to throw up, I—“ The brunette glanced frantically around, feet carrying him slowly, but surely, back towards the flap of the tent. Leave, just leave. He couldn’t bear to deal with this, deal with the questions, deal with the disgusted grimaces. He couldn’t.

“Oh. Ah, it’s been a while.” Arms raised in a stretch, joints clicking satisfyingly, and a louder, more poised brunette groaned similarly. Narrowed eyes rested on a small, yet almost pretty woman, all dressed up in ribbonish red. Curvy, and surprisingly so. “You are?” He mumbled, though hardly waited for an answer, hooking a finger in her sleeve and yanking her towards him, letting his lips meld with hers.

It burned, like an unrestrained summer loose on his tongue, slipping into his throat as he sought to deepen their kiss. That was new, but it hurt a bit too much to be worth it. Still, he smiled as he pulled away. “Ages. It’s been ages.” A quick, fleeting appraisal of the tent revealed they had a bit of an audience, one he found himself too excited to care about, old men rarely made good victims.

He was up for fun, and there ought to be more interesting beings outside their little covering. 

☇ ♛ A l l D r e s s e d U p I n B l a c k & W h i t e


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