orange mécanique

thee and thine || fates

[bolshyarbles]

OOPS...

[bolshyarbles]

The Fool

The Fool: Tell an embarrassing story.

'Thou sloochatted to have a not so dear starry droog of mine eemya'd with Dim, thanks to him being quite the sodding gloopy malchick, like, and after a glorious nochy of horrorshow ultra-violence, the coppers had appeared to lovet wind of us, as long as it took them, thine arrived to the scene rather skorry, like, and as we were all hopping a fence to make our daring escape, Dim got his malenky sharries loveted on a post, and it ripped his yarbles in dva! Well, not quite, but I'm sure odin of his sharries fell out, perhaps even an officer of the law found it.'

'Did you really think the raskazz was going to be about Your Humble Narrator? Thou has no embarrassments at their own expense.'

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To settle into into one of the plush dining chairs around the table takes all of a second, as comfortable as it is. Conversation hardly seems to pause, in fact.

Truth though his admission may well be (setting aside what additional information is blessedly kept within the mind only, of course), Elisabeth’s instinctive reaction is to raise a brow slightly. It’s a fleeting gesture, much as she’s been taught to do otherwise, though her mild disbelief should have been no less apparent: to think that the bagatelle had indeed played on cue the moment of meeting is a lovely thought, if unlikely - by her own reckoning - to have been the reality. There are countless other pieces, after all, and for one so particular to serve as a commonality like this…

Well, by the end of it all, actually, she can only laugh a bit. “Is that so? Perhaps we might have to raise a toast to the genius, then, and to serendipity, for revealing this affinity. Particularly when one might consider the, ah— ‘foot’ - so to speak - on which we’d begun.”

But an invitation of the nature he seems to propose now is a little odd: even she, oblivious to any real serious threat of advances here, can realise so much. Wariness occurs to her, but again, not to the same degree, nor even in the same manner that it probably should. In either case, the gently nagging sentiment has her cast a moment’s curious glance across the table at him before she breaks what silence had barely begun to develop, a small glimmer in her eyes as she folds her hands beneath her chin and leans forwards.

"Tell me, have you ever had the pleasure of attending a concert? Perhaps he has, perhaps he hasn’t ─ she doesn’t mean this as any implicit show of her own wealth and higher tastes; rather, it’s a question as honest as any of her others. "You speak now with an incredible zeal even if not, I must say."

[bolshyarbles]

As mentioned before by Your Humble Narrator truly, thou was quite adept at ponying veshches just by tolchoking them with odin glace of the glazz sharries, so thou skorry viddied the hesitant doubtfulness carved subtly onto her fair plott, and though it made me a bit bezoomy, like, I would keep my metaphorical maskie on tight, yes.

She wasn't so baddiwad, really, but sometimes even the malenky ticks can set a person off, yeah? Especially those doubting my glazz and my own damned mozg, but overreacting and reacting are dva very different veshches altogether, so I'd simply grip the cloth I was once tapping absently against and imagine it was her windpipe, stopping before my knuckles ittied white as if to remain inconspicuous, smooth as a prestoopnik.

'I'd raise my glass to thee and thine if thy wasn't so tragically empty, aha.' I swirled the nonexistent liquid in my glass jokingly before setting it back down, my glazzies running up the silver, silver nozh next to my plate with more animosity than I'd even glanced at this devotchka with all nochy, the red, red krovvy in my rassoodok mingling with the pumping of my gulliver. 

Inviting her to visit my humble home might have been not too horrorshow of an idea, as much as Your Humble Narrator hates to admit it. For my home was just as I said it was, humble, which just might snuff the sophisto persona I had put on for the dama, but then a greater idea than before tolchok me smack-dab in the mozg, yes! I could bring her to Alois' penthouse and pass it off as my own, I'd just have to tug along my speaker system and voila, it would be perfect, all horrorshow. Alois wouldn't be needing it any raz soon, considering the sod had died or something, who knows, who cares, thou was over it, really. 

'Ah, yes, I have, with élan, too. Thou attended a recording of the Emperor Concerto at the Kairos' Philharmonic, quite powerful hearing lovely, lovely Ludwig's last piano concerto right in front of you, like. The Philharmonic here is quite superlative, my hands must have been reddened from applause, if thou haven't attended a concert there already, which is doubtful, you should attend one the twinkling you find the time o'day. And I would hope so, for Beethoven deserves fervor upon fervor, truly.' 

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Granted that a…slightly outdated (some might venture to say) preference in music shouldn’t be so great an admission, much less one which ought to induce a tone of bashfulness or shame: it’s one of those trivialities, silly, really, to worry about even that little bit. Still, when even she’s aware that a good portion of - though not undoubtedly all - lasting acquaintanceships owe at least some part to common interests, it is in truth difficult to confidently imagine she might find the same affinity in another ─ unless, perhaps, this other were cut from the fine cloth as she herself was, though this she fails to consider as though in some way of secretly wanting to escape the barely-company she’s had for practically all her life.

This to consideration, it should be small wonder that her eyes betray something of a similar upon catching that glimmer of glee. She’s not to take so— elitist a stance when it comes to the matter, no, yet to even so find a common penchant (least of all in one met only this evening) comes as a relief of sorts, and certainly serves to strengthen what good opinion - however mistaken - she has of the lad. 

But, in the meantime, she’s inclined to accept this particular polite gesture as she had all others before it. Not before offering a decisive nod and a soft murmur of thanks, then, the young lady slips arm through arm and bids he lead the way with a little wave of her hand.

She continue but a second after her own interruption, “Anyway ─ yes. I suppose you may think it something of a disappointing answer, one not quite complete as you might have hoped, although I nevertheless should say I’m one to generally favour the Romantics, myself.” There’s a pause here, seemingly for reflection on her answer; indeed, after a moment or two, she breathes out a sigh of a laugh, as if in some modest disbelief of herself. “Yet… Call it a touch of narcissism, if one will, but I’ve found I’ve always had something of a soft spot for Herr van Beethoven’s ‘Bagatelle No. 25 in A Minor’.” (All spoken in a light-hearted flourish, a self-aware sort of pretentiousness.) “’Für Elise’,mm.”

[bolshyarbles]

Your Humble Narrator was actually very open with his choodessny tastes in tuney-tunes, and he was quite proud of it, too. So proud that on a few occasions I had even tolchok a chelloveck for disrespecting it! That chelloveck being a chelloveck droog o'mine, unfortunately, which then spiraled down into a climatic betrayal. I quivered in rage at that particular flashback before regaining my composure, wouldn't want to embarrass myself in front of this horrorshow devotchka.

Thy's elitist opinion on the musical matter at rooker was due to the fact that thou had once ever-so shootishly kupetted a pop-disc in soviet to impress these dva nadsats I had wanted to bed, and let me tell thee it was a real sorry waste of pretty polly, like. Although the threesome that ensued after was okay. horrorshow, like, if thou was being kind. Thou then began an according gooly with the dama, leading her to an unoccupied table before pulling a chair out for thee, rocking my heels on the tiled floor below as I did so, aye, only taking my seat once she took hers.

I skorry readied myself for what could either be an answer that would render this nochy calamitous or make it all the more improved. It turned out being the latter, the returning glint in my glazzies noted. 'Ludwig Van is my favorite composer of all time as well, and your favorite piece of his is rather a coincidence, for Für Elise dubbed over my mind when I first saw you, you really do fit the piece, yes.' I wasn't lying, really, that tune swished in my gulliver like the sweetest of red drink as I first gazed upon thee, and then of course the music was out matched by her gromky, imaginary moans. 'I own all of Beethoven's works on record, yes, perhaps you should come over sometime if you really consider yourself an enthusiast and listen to it with thee, I have quite the speaker system, if I may add.' I tapped my fingers on the finely clothed tables, my toothy smile quite apparent now. She really was the perfect specimen.

'Ahem, my favorite of his pieces happens to be his Symphony Of The Ninth, perhaps one of his less obscure works, but for good reason, nonetheless. Bliss is how I describe it. Bliss and heaven! Oh, it's gorgeousness and gorgeousity made flesh. It's like a bird of rarest-spun heaven metal or like silvery wine flowing in a spaceship, gravity all nonsense now... Mm, Please excuse my rambling, yes, I just get oh-so piqued at the prospect of someone sharing my tastes.' Now share my bed, you beautiful soul. 'Especially someone as fair as you, if I may add, oh-so shallowly.' I let a small smeck escape at that, my gulliver canting to the side before snapping back into it's normal position when the chuckling subsided.

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'The sod who spent a good number of hours teaching himself how to dance': not precisely how she herself perceive the (still alleged) gentleman, in the higher regard that she holds him, but the bit of modesty inspires a small titter all the same. On her own part, she's more than pleased with the first partner of the night, coming away from the dance not only without her foot having been stepped on, though also - as honestly stated already - quite delighted with the observed fluency.

Whether the night overall, let alone this first foray on the dance-floor in particular, is to remain in memory more prominently than all similar engagements is yet to be seen, needless to say. At the very least, if these first while is any indication, the night is a promising one.

Talk of music now is nothing especially surprising, bearing in mind the likely trigger of new conversation the ambience of the event serves as; even so, the heiress finds herself regarding her companion for a few contemplative seconds as she prepares an answer, head slightly canted to one side. “Well, I… I must admit to being fond of the classical more than anything else, actually.” It’s somehow felt to be a faintly embarrassing admission, particularly to a peer in age: and she’d probably be all the more ashamed to admit she knows little of modern music and artists (or little for one of her generation, anyway).

She seems about ready to spare an afterthought before something of more apparent crosses her mind. "Ah— Perhaps we would do best to find a table, so that we might conduct the rest of our conversation seated?" That said, "I shouldn’t want to— to force my company on you in any way, of course ─ but if we are to indeed continue, finding somewhere to sit would do our feet good."

[bolshyarbles]

Oh, honesty was klootch in relations -- a relationship, was it not? I had slooshied that from a particularly whiny devotchka once, like. That malenky tidbit of sorts humanized me, made Your Humble Narrator a bit more relatable, yes? More easy to get attached to. You had to be in soviet to get with a dama of this stature, which I had now wanted to do, considering Alexander The Great was always up for some conquering! I did like a horrorshow challenge someraz, and this seemed like quite the interesting odin, but hopefully there was more than just the thrill of the hunt, for thou was looking for some bolshy pleasure.

Thou had always slooshied myths of devotchkas who were graceful on their feet and bezoomy in the sheets. Perhaps that was a bit hound-and-horny, but I did always sneety of finding that horrorshow cheena some raz in my jeezny, and maybe, just maybe, this was my lucky day -- nochy. Her slovos skorry tolchok me out of my fantasies however, and surely she could viddy my glazzies all a-twinkle beneath my maskie-mask. A devotchka around my age who slooshies music that isn't pure and utter cal? I might be capable of love after all. I could have creeched right then and there, yes. From this point forward, I, Alexander DeLarge, promise to bed this beautiful malenky veshch some raz.

'Classical, mm? Thou is pleasantly surprised, for I really did think I was the only youth in this city with taste, considering the things I heard blaring from other's speakers down the road, aye. Who is your favorite classic musician?' If she govoreeted lovely, lovely Ludwig Van I might just strip thy platties off here and now. 'I would love to have a nice sit down with you, yes, my feet are aching but thankfully my vocal cords are not. Your arm?, if I may, of course.' I then popped my arm out to the side as an invitation of hooking the pair. 'I'd be happy to lead the way.' 

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For quite how long that one dance lasted, Elisabeth cannot say she really knows. The proper amount of concentration was owed to the steps and the direction of the music, but that accompanying piece is concluded seemingly so soon— Well, ‘time flies’, so they say ─ and so she supposes. The small kiss on her hand is received with as slight a dip, in customary thanks for the dance, before the conversation is returned to the side of the floor.

She can believe easily enough that the flattery is self-taught, if only by virtue of the difficulty she finds in imagining the contrary. Courtesies can be taught and learnt, as she herself knows full well, but there feels to be (to her, at least) something additional in the outright sugar-coating of words which one must learn…for themselves, mm. It could come naturally to some, so the case seems here with ‘Alexander the Great’ ─ in the mind of the naïve, to think it might be a talent developed for more unsanitary ends than innocent amiability is a possibility not well dwelt upon; certainly perhaps not as much as should be considered.

Absence of due suspicion aside, the heiress has to marvel somewhat to the admission regarding the self-tutelage of dancing: why, she had at first found it a great enough challenge meeting her instructors’ satisfaction, never mind how one might fare by oneself.

"The finesse of one self-taught is all the more worthy of praise, I believe," ─ a sincere sentiment, accompanied by evidence of a smile. "Young as the evening is, I must admit to having little judgement of this particular venue thus far. This warm welcome of yours already does it favour, however."

[bolshyarbles]

Thou certainly was not complaining about the lengthy dance, not even a malenky bit, thanks to her matched skill on the ballroom floor, of course! I was actually pleasantly surprised, even if I shouldn't be, considering she seemed to have much tact in all aspects of this kind of formality. I even gave her a malenky bow again, this odin less jokingly than the odin pre-dance, hopefully disclosing the fact that I was impressed with her performance on this very nochy.

Ah, yes, my eemya. I had always been quite proud of it, really, for DeLarge was certainly the most appropriate family eemya for someone of my interests, and if we had met under different circumstances I certainly would have gladly govoreeted them to her, haha. But Alex The Gentleman would do no such veshch! Alexander The Great was yet another nickname I cherished bolshy, for it fit me quite well. I was great, wasn't I? That was the only veshch that made my history class bearable, so much so that I didn't skip skolliwol once during that unit.

I rolled my pletchos [shoulders, not eyes, that would be ever so rude] and looked over at the orchestra who was playing the grand live music for my ookos, and skorry gave them a nod of approval, and if I did have a glass of peet, I'd raise it for them, yes, I was quite fond of anyone who could filly my favorite of tunes. 'Thank thee, thank thee, I'm glad all of those hours looking like a sod all by myself paid off, yes.' I cock a brow at her answer to prove that I was listening, 'Understandable! Ah,' I grinned at that, 'I'm glad to have made your night a bit more memorable, hopefully it will stand out against what must be quite a bit of these events! Tell me, dear, what kind of music do you fancy? Apologies for what seems to be smalltalk, but this is perhaps the most important question I could ever ask, in my eyes, however, maybe not yours, ha.'

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It is, of course, just as well that cruder words are kept to the confines of private consciousness, that lewd thoughts are left precisely that ─ if not to maintain what innocuous delight is presently found in the dance, then certainly to appease - by a more general way of consideration - gentle company. Softer and sweeter words are more befitting of her sort, and even then, what has been offered in that particular regard so far seems to now verge on something worthy of suspicion: in some self-aware jest than by any actual mode of seriousness, true, but for him to persist in his fawning is…really rather astounded.

Lovely though it is, she hasn’t any doubt that it will tire out sooner rather than later. In spite of his dismissal (of her dismissal, she quaintly notes), he truly would do best to save some of his compliments for the rest of the evening and whatever other company it will bring him.

So, in due time, she elects to leave be her companion’s flattery in all its guises, at least where verbal acknowledgement is concerned. The young lady nods slightly herself, in humble appreciation of this round of sweet words, but otherwise doesn’t address the matter ─ for every coy reply in recognition, he accursedly seems to have two iterations of excessive praise. Still, amidst it all, she has the mind to note apparent approval of her fluency in dance in particular, albeit at that moment turning her eyes to her feet.

Dry comments are something of a rarity, yet she indulges in one here, “How reassuring it is to know, then, that many a dance lesson hasn’t been put to poor use on me.” (A small toss of her head then seems to serve as a dismissive shrug.) “But you yourself, - if I may admit - appear to have adequately proved you’ve equal skill in flattery and waltzing.”

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Your Humble Narrator has the ability to pony and to sobirat veshches quite well, you viddy, so I could skorry tell when I had to stop applying the flattery icing and nachinat whipping on the actual conversations, except usually my cake is ready for the oven with the first layer, thanks to the easy pickings of horrorshow 'ole London, aye. But, just in case I did sloochat to meet an actually wise cheena in my lusty travels, I had become quite proficient in even the most tedious of conversations. And this happened to be odin of the oomny ones, not that I was complaining, sometimes I liked a malenky wit with my in-out-in-out. A malenky being the klootch slovo in that statement.

Because if she did decide to get oomny with thee and thine, I wouldn't hesitate to crack my rookers and give her a nice tolchok on the rot, maybe even gag it, her rot isn't even the most horrorshow veshch about her, like. Mm, best not to have those kind of ultra-violent thoughts at this event, for it could possibly blow Your Humble Narrator's cover as an innocent molodoy gentleman who wouldn't oobivat a fly. Although it would be hard to contain, yes, seeing all of these nadmenny prestoopnicks in their natural habitat and all. Privileged malenky sods, I had to oobivat and crast for everything I own today, from the ground up!

I nodded my gulliver in quiet appreciation of her compliment, giving her a malenky twirl before the song reached it's end, which then prompted me to bring her malenky fingers up once more and press my goobers against them modestly for a few before lowering her rooker to it's original position. 'I, myself was self-taught, if thee chooses to believe it. The flattery, too.' I chuckled a bit then, 'Mm, so I take it you've attended multiple galas like this odin? Given your experience, I'd be interessovated to know what you think of this odin, yes.'

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Gratuitous though his kind words may be - and, actually, most probably are - they remain nevertheless a lovely introduction to the evening. (Especially considering her bit of initial apprehension regarding the function as a whole, for that matter.) She’d surely be a fool to expect everyone in attendance to be so courteous and amiable, and she doesn’t: whatever else is to follow this particular episode, then, she would do well to appreciate the welcome she does receive.

In the meantime, to indulge a bit of small talk during the dance itself is no sin. Provided both parties are quite capable of dividing attention between waltzing and weaving words (though more no doubt ought to be owed to the former), she’ll not find any qualms with exchanging words between steps.  

First, however, she owes her concentration to falling into the rhythm and routine of the dance: to stumble so soon after stepping onto the dancefloor simply wouldn’t - couldn’t - do, after all. An emerald tied about the wrist is all very well to look at, but while she is indeed experienced with the art, each and every instance is different ─ from the particular recital of the accompanying music itself to, perhaps more importantly, the given partner. As many a dance partner as she has had over the years, she’s learnt to adapt to most within a matter of moments; the present being no exception, the young lady is able to find enough familiarity in individual style to allow for the continuation of their banter.

She laughs then, at what must surely be his umpteenth quip, if only a little belatedly. Realistically speaking, he’s very slightly less of a stranger than he had been a flattery or two ago, and yet so regularly is he doling him out that she’s becoming inclined to have him tone it all down more swiftly than previously thought. By this point in the evening (however early it still is ─ goodness), perhaps she, too, is guilty of an overly sweet word or two: in her defence, conversation wouldn’t feel quite so fair otherwise.

"Goodness, there seems to be no end to your generosity when it comes to flattery," a pause as she takes but a moment to watch her feet, "but young as the night is, and as many as the prospective partners are, I should think it best you don’t waste it all on me."

[bolshyarbles]

Charismatic as Your Humble Narrator happens to be, thou still found myself to be riddled with my urges of the ultra-violent, like, even as we were rock stepping and caressing and all of that pomp cal. Thou honestly had malenky to no desire to change my ways of sin, but considering I was in a crowded area full of powerful lewdies, perhaps it would be best of thee to keep my demure maskie-mask on as tight as possible so this can remain only a drab sophisto affair for the buggaty, yes. Plus, as tempting as it was to indulge in my starry, more aggressively forceful habits that I took up in London, I had decided right at this very raz that none of that would itty on tonight, for I wouldn't want to ruin any real chances with this horrorshow blonde, aye.

As sad as it is, I don't think I'll be able to escape my lengthy dryspell (3 days) on this very nochy, for she didn't seem as open of a dama as all of the devotchkas that populated my starry home, not that I was complaining too much, for the build up would only make the final act of in-out-in-out more satisfying to both thy loins and thy ego. Thou couldn't help but wonder if she viddied through my seemingly boundless flattery as completely hollow, that thee was being seen as a piece of pischa and nothing more. Thou pondered this for a malenky bit before realizing.. Who cares? She'd be gone by now if she knew my facade, and I'd just shrug it off and find a different devotchka to suit my needs. I simply did not care.

But what I did care about was getting this dance done horrorshow, yes, for it would be quite embarrassing if after all of my gentlemen like sladky govoreet I managed to not deliver on this part of noga. And thou did manage to pull off my most practiced slow waltz syllabi, the left whisk, along with my partner's help, of course. And now thou would brosay in a playful malenky spin, bringing her back to my chest once that move had concluded. 'Your grace continues to surprise thee,' I finished my statement with yet another whisk of sorts, this odin being the spinning fallaway, aye, yet another practiced step. 'So glad you can keep up.' That was accompanied with a teasing wink, obviously.

'Only if thee target of thy flattery deserves it, of course. And it is anything but a waste, I assure thou.' I shot her odin of my most zooby smiles I could manage, nodding my gulliver in approval at her proven dance skills. Yet another in-out-in-out joke involving her flexibility on the floor compared to on the bed was missed, how tragic, but I'd have to bottle up these lewd thoughts for now, sadly.

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Were he a childhood friend, or in any case somebody she hadn’t known for all of a mere few minutes, she might have felt so inclined to wave him away, to tell him to ‘come off it’ (if more eloquently) ─ all in good humour, of course. Even as things are, however, the truth of the matter is that he isn’t too far off the mark with his assumption of royalty: and it’s this, of all things said thus far, which has her blush noticeably beneath the mask. “Well, Father seems to rather pride himself on the ancestry. Certainly more so than I.” Mention of her own surname upon introduction, gilded as it remains years after the abolition of privileged nobility in her parents’ home country, would have given the game away sooner sooner. Still, her ever-modest admission now should serve as an adequate answer.

She might have inferred the same of his own upbringing, meanwhile, had he not already been laying on the courtesies a bit too thickly to seem natural. With certainly no harm done by it, however, be it an exaggeration of his truth or airs put on in partnership of his costume for the ball, the self-titled prince earns himself the sobriquet ‘Alexander the Great’ (the only Alex of stately power which comes to her mind, in honesty, bar a handful of tsars), and another dip of her head in reiterated greeting.

In retrospect, it was probably silly of the young lady to have felt at odds with herself here.

For all her usual fantasies of experiencing that which she had never before experienced, her expectations of the night ahead have been…rather standard, in a word. She had arrived with no grandiose dream of actually finding any Prince Charming amidst all the attendees present, surprisingly enough: she’s had a lifetime already to become well-accustomed to these functions and, by some extension, the possibility of indeed being swept off her feet by some dashing rogue; with every such engagement hitherto failing to deliver in that regard, she had soon enough learnt to think nothing of that typical fancy and see things as they truly are for once. (The politics of fraternising with whomever during elegant social gatherings are unhelpfully absent in her fairy tale collections, after all.)

Even so, she would truthfully be hard-pressed to not find his invitation to dance a delight ─ even more so than all pieces of flattery previously offered. Accordingly, it’s difficult for her to keep a rather bright smile secret, try though she does behind her hand before she takes his. “While I find myself unworthy to speak for the most beautiful girl at the ball,” (goodness, she realises: they’re dancing already, if with coyness in place of physical movement) “I would be more than happy to humour you a dance until she is available. If you are as deft with your feet as you are with your words, it would be my honour, even.”

[bolshyarbles]

Perhaps thou was ittying too heavy on thy flattery, as I always had a tendency too if I felt compelled towards a cheena. All of these reasons for the attraction being purely physical considering I was quite incapable of feeling love for another human being, mm. I supposed I was, anyway, considering that I had never even felt a twang of it for anyone, not even my pee and em. Maybe if they were a horrorshow enough sod though, I don't know. I don't really viddy love as a necessary veshch for me, thou does not need it in the slightest, like.

Though the innocent flattering did draw quite a red, red blush from the other, so thou skorry deemed it as worth it, but still I would only spout a few bits of it every now and then if the conversation ever ran osoosh, though I suspect it won't, considering she didn't actually manage to interest thou in all senses of the slovo, so even if the govoreeting was faltering on her end, thou would do all they could to restore it to it's former glory, thou. Good thing that mask doesn't hide your blush, for it would've concealed the highlight of my night so far.Govoreeting without my beloved Nadsat was a bit of a chore, but I'd need to get used to it if I truly wanted to connect with all of the horrorshow damas of Kairos, aye!

Previously this nochy had been tainted by the fact that a different blonde Your Humble Narrator had an glazz on had gone off his map and therefore did not choose to attend this ball with thee and thine, and I had been quite looking forward to attending with him, too, for with that malchick he'd have more fun than just that of the purely physical. But it matters not, now, because she was shaping up to be more fun than he envisioned without his other dearest. 'Ah, a humble princess too, mm? Truly the package, you are, dear princess of mine.'

I brought her bony malenky fingers up to my goobers in soviet to give them a gentle, innocent malenky lubbilub on the knuckles, setting the rooker to the side, bringing my other free rooker to wrap around her back, waiting for her to bring her own rooker to my pletcho before attempting a quick rockstep on that left leg of mine, and then following that up again, rock step, odin dva tree, odin dva tree, rock step, her hopefully being in the swing of things by now. Oh, yes, I was quite the dancer you viddy, thanks to my fondness of classical music I also grew quite interessovated in the numbers accompanying them.

'If that is the case, I presume we'll be dancing all night, for there is nobody that could even match your beauty, let alone surpass it. And I hope you find that to be the case as well, I myself happen to find myself quite dexterous in this category, like.' It really took everything in my power not to make a in-out-in-out jest just then, mm, what a tame gala.

[bolshyarbles]

YOU, YOU GET THE NADSAT RIGHT, I LOVE YOU

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A frankly more peculiar gentleman than most he may well be, she silently reflects, though she’s no less certain of his good manner ─ or what appearance thereof is assumed for her benefit, anyway. Granted that she shouldn’t be altogether too surprised to find one of the eccentrically courteous sort in attendance this evening, considering not only the type of function itself but also the sheer number of people present in the glittering hall (at least one of whom would surely fit the aforementioned sort), but all the same, it’s one of those little things she cannot help idly wondering about. Just a bit.

…If anything else, actually, it’s probably also one of those little things which have the misfortune of inclining her to stare - just a bit - as the mind takes that briefest of whiles to wander.  

The young woman manages to catch herself before suffering any further embarrassment, returning herself to the there and then. It isn’t a moment later that the usual demure smile is tugging gently at her lips, eyes seeming to brighten a touch at mention of this hitherto-unknown colloquialisms he speaks: ‘Nadsat’, apparently. “I’m afraid I’m not quite familiar with— with the language, no,” admitted with a second small laugh. “If you were to speak, ah, ‘normal’ English, it would certainly be much appreciated.” (Yet she wouldn’t think herself to be worth the trouble if it’s a language he’s quite taken to.)

"…But - goodness - to have not my own reputation, not the reputation of a namesake, but the reputations of any number blue-blooded namesakes…" Well, she has to shake her head at the compliment in modest disbelief. "I can only hope I prove adequate company at least, if not meet expectations." In between her reflections and a more direct address, she glances back over to the other.

"May I know with whom it is I have the pleasure of speaking?"

[bolshyarbles]

By now I was quite used to lewdies using the malenky gaps in my eccentric speech to eyeball me, but usually Your Humble Narrator just equated this down to the fact that they all found me attractive, although it could also be due to the fact that nobody in this forsaken city understood his exquisite yahzick, mm. I didn't care that much, though, for thou could easily slip in undetected insults into the middle of a monologue of sorts Patrick Bateman style and they wouldn't even notice thanks to the incredibly audible language barrier.

Perhaps thou doesn't want their reputation to be dubbed as the malchick who speaks like an idiot, so maybe I should turn it down a few notches on the Nadsat. Only around cheenas who I intend to have in-out-in-out with, though, I don't give a single sodding cal about the vecks, they can take great bolshy sharries to their rots, like.

Her slovos seemed so carefully picked out from the crevices of her mozg, almost like she was actually raised in a royal household. taught how to gooly and wave properly by the raz you were four, perhaps. Maybe I'd pop this question later, for it would both satisfy my successfully piqued curiosity while also flattering her via 'mistaking' her for true royalty. Y.H.N. really is quite horrorshow with the damas.

'If that is what thee asks of thou, then it will be carried out, princess. I do apologize for the occasional Shakespearean nouns, though, it's a force of habit, although I suspect I will find it easier to suppress if it means getting appreciation from you, dearest.' I shot her yet another wink of the glazz, my gulliver canting to the side before I popped my aching question, 'Surely you must be of royal upbrining, no commoner could ever manage to carry themselves with such grace, aye. And my name is Alex, Alex DeLarge, it is truly, truly a right-right pleasure, my dear.'

I then smotted the surroundings of the horrorshow devotchka before extending my arm towards her ginger, like, my lithe fingers twitching in harmonious accord with the classical music. 'I just happened to notice that the most beautiful girl at the ball is without a partner, and no princess should be without their prince, so I'd be happy to substitute for whomever was so stupid as to not attend this gala with thee.'

[porrimavirginis-blog]

they do+n't call it welfare fo+r no+thing

It’s a giggle that’s so sweet it ought be criminal, yet with the fervent dips in pitch of a cat purring under her master’s kind hand.  And it comes pouring out of her as effortlessly as water — a crisp, refreshing sound which weaves its way through pearly white rocks of dentine and the strong but flexible muscle of sediment.          She laughs like a succubus on Valentine’s day.     And there seems to be no stopping her, really, even as she topples over onto the bench she’d been trying to gracefully seat herself in.  The cool breeze of a Wednesday evening, somewhere between seven thirty and God knows she needs to invest in a watch, is not the sort of cue most others would take to mark the beginning of drinking.  For Porrim, however, the shop’s early close had only one possible outcome —         Painted black lips curl around the amber mouth of a longneck bottle before her head tilts back and the distinctly dry-bitter taste of hops fills her cavity.  But as soon as she swallows, the laughter comes back; this time, even louder.

           ”Really, what was I thinking?”  Talking to herself — never a good sign.  ”That place was tiny, but still way to+o+ much fo+r the amo+unt of business I get at the sho+p.”  She shakes her head.  ”Ah, ho+melessness, my o+ld friend, I return to+ you at last.”       She downs another swig, lifting one leg up to press her knee against her chest as a particularly cold gust brushes past.  Just two weeks until eviction … who would have thought she would end up back here, after all this time?

[bolshyarbles]

It had been quite the uneventful day, really. Your Humble Narrator had found absolutely nothing to do with himself! And usually when that had happened to thou, it ended in thee doing veshches with others! Those veshches soaked to the brim in both krovvy and ultra-violence, hopefully, anyways, for I was feeling quite fagged of it all. Even if this city did give birth to a new excitement in my everyday jeezny, I still found myself wandering around aimlessly in pursuit of anything that could offer even the most modest of thrills.

Speaking of thrills, Your Humble Narrator should really be more in touch with the horrorshow devotchkas of Kairos, his new favorite destination for viddying all kinds of horrorshow gruppas of groodies, most of which being not malenky in the slightest, which was quite refreshing to me, considering there was a oozhassny ratio of bolshy to malenky groodies in my starry London, aye. But I did recently find both luck and historic in-out-in-out with a blonde recently, which wasn't too baddiwad at all, like. Flashbacks to the main event of my fresh city jeezny made me lust after a bit more of that sinful goodness, so perhaps I would find it like I always did; wandering and scoping out, mm.

Y.H.N. had his faithful cane with it's hidden cutthroat knife in it's seemingly hollow compartment, just in case thou got bored of viddying for a girl to have sex with, for ultra-violence is a lot easier than wooing a woman, aye. Mattered it did not, however, for thee spotted quite a beautiful lady sitting all by herself! Which meant this was the perfect opportunity for thee to slide in and take her in my big, strong arms, aye.

And so, I saunted up to her with a friendly grin etched into my features, leaning down slightly in front of thee before canting my gulliver at the peet at her side. 'Care to share, dearest stranger? I pinky-promise thou will only take a sip, aye. If not, which is completely ponyable by all means, thee will take a seat next to you anyways, for thy hates to viddy such a beautiful cheena so neglected by the world around her, mm.'

[bolshyarbles]

✆

dearest masquerader of mine

♪♪♪

[bolshyarbles]

{ ✆ }

masky-mask

♪♪♪

[sexynerdy-bolin]

Introducing the mun:

[bolshyarbles]

Name or nickname: aidan/aidude/aidork/gay Twitter handle: chiptuney Gender: male Sexual Orientation: str8 Fandom(s): rt, hannibal, hs, pokemon, ace attorney, every video game ever Muse(s): dave strider, alex delarge, kamina jeeha, and eric cartman OC friendly?: yeyeyeye Multi-fandom friendly?: YEYEYE Will you ship your muse with any sex?: its alex of course i will Are you open to SFW rp?: no. no sfw allowed in MY house. Are you open to NSFW rp?: hella Can people come up and start a conversation with you?: ayyyyy Can they be your friend?: ayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy

[bolshyarbles]

✿ヽ(´･ω･`)､ !

[bolshyarbles]

✆

kouha-ha

♪♪♪