hawthorn penrose

a rose is not a rose without its thorn

[sadavang]

Where: The W Who: Open When: Dec 23, 2022

Oh the conversations were terribly droll. If it weren't for the free champagne, Sada wouldn't have been there at all besides making an appearance, and even now she almost sure she wasn't going to make it long. Thankfully the phone in her pocket was also quiet, which meant things at the club had to be going smoothly. Christmas was always a hard time for the lonely, and like many other industries, it was one of the busiest times of the year. Even her dancers fought over working Christmas day itself, for that's when the pockets really opened up.

Extracting herself from the conversation she'd found herself in without word nor notice, and in the middle of someone's sentence, Sada made her way toward the bar and ordered a glass of cognac. Glancing to the person at her side, she decided she might as well get her charitable act of the year out of the way. "And one of this person's drinks on me, as well." Looking toward her chosen party, she offered a prompt "You're welcome."

[hawthornpenrose]

"Certainly! Everything is perfectly on track! It'll be the most grandest release yet! Yes, yes, it's wrapped up marvelously well, so much it has taken even yours truly aback!" He laughs into the receiver of his cell, smile wide. "Okay, ciao, ciao!"

Hawthorn Penrose's latest novel is in tatters up in his penthouse, so much so that it is the very idea that is blown around and unable to be caught, but that won't stop him from enjoying the festivities of the night! The pen will make its first move when it is ready. No sooner, no later. There is very little gained from rushing the muse. When inspiration strikes, it strikes like a bolt from the heavens, a surge of lightning, all at once!

And so it does… in the most wonderful of visions, even offering the nectar of the gods as if he needed further proof.

"Most welcome," he relays back, grin as gleaming as ever before his hand outstretches to take hers into his palm. "Hawthorn Penrose, the author, if we must whittle ourselves down to occupational titles and the many awards that tag along with them," he goes on with a modest-induced roll of the eyes, as if the Pulitzer means anything! (It does.)

[romanxdrake]

Roman could sense the man's unease and decided to play with it, lean into whatever ridiculous scenario he seemed to have crafted that had Roman playing the role of some malicious serial killer attempting to lure a second victim. Not like there were any other sources of entertainment these days.

He maneuvered himself so that once Hawthorn entered the small supply room Roman could both grab the woman's head and block the exit with his body until their task was done. He had no trust in this man and under usual circumstances would simply cut his losses and do this job solo--but Roman was beginning to take the author's buffoonery personal. He indicated to the woman's feet, necessitating Hawthorn to enter the small room to reach that end of the body. "We'll put her on the cart." He directed. An ugly utility cart sat in the corner as if placed there for this task. Roman waited and watched the continuing internal debate play out in the man's head.

He pulled the fabric of his shirt up so that it could wipe away the sweat on his face, conveniently revealing the hunting knife sat on his hip as well as a myriad of scars and tattoos that would no doubt drive the man's imagination wild. After readjusting his shirt he looked again to Hawthorn and spoke with an annoyed tone. "Can we fucking get this over with?"

[hawthornpenrose]

Now, those steps he took inside told a tale of compliance, stepping into the shadows for survival's sake, but don't be fooled! They were mere spectacle! An illusion! A folly à doo (that's French!). What Hawthorn Penrose does is not as simple as it seems; there is always more than meets the eye when it comes to the man of a thousand words. There was a plan of escape molding between the deep grooves of his brain, at the ready to spring forward, and it was loaded to discharge the moment his heels turned, facing the man… blocking his only exit besides the window that would lead to his immediate death via pavement below.

Well, he was under insurmountable duress! Decision making in these conditions was practically impossible! Any crumb of mercy left behind from that most delicious sandwich of justice would be devoured in the moment. In these hellish types of escapades, if a jury of his peers were to ever look on upon this case in the light of day, where the facts were laid out before them, they surely would agree. (He is a man of virtue, overpowered by the hand of sin at his throat, suffocating the good out of him.)

"The cart! Wonderful! That is ingenius! How… Are you open to suggestion? Honest feedback! Nothing more! Modest opinion!" he offered before raising his shirt back up above his nose. "A sheet… could be a splendid addition… You, obviously, are"--another quick breath--"occupied. I, on the other hand, freely volunteer to--"

Perhaps his voice was much too muffled! Incoherent to the ears! His fault, not his soon-to-be-abuser's! Words were guillotined in their prime, head rolling around the mildew-infested carpet, lever pulled by the other's impatience. A busy man makes haste! Respectable!

"Mm! Mmhm." The head nodded in quick agreement as the neckline drifted off the brim of his nose, making fabric and skin wrinkle alike. Now, it was the point of no return. Allow him to prepare! His committment comes from looking up at him (certainly not because he cannot handle the sight of ghoulish proportions!) His hands brushed off each other, palms readying themselves, feeling for ankle-like shapes. They dipped down, tips brushing the hairs of a rug, the specks of ingrained dust, the frigid ice of flesh…

"Mm!" Stay still beating heart! A pause. A moment. Brief! "Classic rigor mortis! Ah ha…"

[hawthornpenrose]

@sadavang asked 💛 for a moodboard about our muses’ relationship

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[hawthornpenrose]

@birdiedrake sent 🍕 for a moodboard about my muse’s favorite foods

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[emberwexley]

Where: The W Who: Open When Dev 23, 2022

"I know that that the champagne is free, but I personally think we could do with something stronger... so who's down for some shots!" Lifting the bottle in the air, and paying no mind to her assistant and their camera, there to capture photos and videos for her social media. "It's fireball and everyone knows that cinnamon is totally a Christmas flavor."

[hawthornpenrose]

He's bathed himself in holiday cheer, dressed in white from pant legs to cashmere sleeves, in lively spirits and with a thirst for even more potent spirits. The bar is buzz-buzzing, an audience of admirers, all huddled around the source of admiration. She takes the limelight with a fascinating glint. A natural in its intoxicating ways, the protagonist to her own story (though penned by whom? That is the truest of questions…)

"After the flush of warm cinnamon," he passed onto her like a note in a busy school cafeteria, "this is a marvel to cool down with." The bartender set down the drink in front of him, the cranberry and elderflower liqueur, a spring of rosemary topping it. "Mistletoe Martini. A most spectacular creation of high recommendation."

[eldestrose]

OPEN | wexley's atruim | december 24th ;

it was a little awkward to stand about in the atrium , unsure what to do with his hands without a glass full of whiskey pressed between his inked fingers , avoiding the mistletoe like it carried the plague that was raging outside ; so he stood off in the corner , sweaty palms folded into the pockets of his worn leather jacket , trying to give the impression he was having a good time. charlie had wanted him to have a good time , so he was doing his best to look like it was true. it's not that it was a particularly bad time , he just didn't really do well in these kinds of events. to add to his tension , for the first time in a long time , there were a lot of unfamiliar faces mulling about the wexley. of course people always came & went , but it was weird to think that with the chaos they were all thrust into , more people than usual were finding their way in. he bit his tongue against the mental comparison of cockroaches that his brain supplied , thinking at himself , yeah & who the hell are you to judge ? he turned on his feet & nearly bumped into the person who'd been moving to skirt around the previous spot he occupied , & hands came out of his pockets to catch the glass that almost tumbled to the floor , the other secured on their mid - back to keep them steady. " best to watch your step , yeah ? don't need anymore unhappy accidents to add to the pile , you know what i mean ? "

[hawthornpenrose]

Blithely oblivious! Is that not what the greatest of philosophers philosophize: ignorance is bliss? Oh, sweet oblivion! Wrap me in your silk-like body, drape me in your protective cloak, shield me of the faults outside your touch. Hawthorn is its dearest captive, cocooning him in moments like this, where the strangest of strangers approach (perhaps, dare he say, accost!) and wreaking of troubled airs. Devilishly divine!

"Did you happen to say more?" he focuses on as he twirls back around to face him, all ears, all eyes! Even as his hands rise in -surrender- amicable truce (one still holding a flute of strawberry-infused champagne), the writer flashes a curious smile. "Have there been…."--he takes the risk of stepping nearer, voice lowered--"incidents on the premises?"

[hawthornpenrose]

@emberwexley sent 💛 for a moodboard about our muses’ relationship

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[hawthornpenrose]

@romanxdrake sent 💛 for a moodboard about our muses’ relationship

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[hawthornpenrose]

@ashton-ryder sent 👗 for a moodboard about my muse’s fashion style

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[ivyemerscn]

she is made of travel stories. the last decade built up with the moments that have taken her from point a to b without need for rest. no one thinks to ask if she likes her job, or if she likes the pace. if there's something to it besides tying the silk scarf and taking grinning pictures next to the eiffel tower. even now, he smiles, angling for childhood stories, as though he assumed there was something to be found in them besides a bite of sadness and the rest empty as the pool in front of her.

"what would you talk about?" as though his life were equally made up of nothing but novels, the tacit rustling of pages and another gesture of that unlit cigarette. "is there a boarding school in your past that's waiting for annulment?"

[hawthornpenrose]

To Hawthorn's rather astute and highly perceptive perception, it appears he has entered into a titillating game of cat and mouse, where the rodent in question teeters to and fro, a carousel, no a roulette wheel of two. He cannot simply hand himself over, nibbling away at the trap's cheese, awaiting the slap-clap of captivity much to the feline's pleasure. He chooses (quite wisely so) to play, but not as the frightful creature with beady eyes, drawn to his own oblivious destruction.

"A boarding school! Hardly!" he laughs with a wave of a pristine cigarette, crisp ivory edges, smooth paper, tobacco and nicotine living in blissful harmony. "A memory of that stature is solely reserved out of privilege, which I regrettably was devoid of in all and every aspect." Believe him. He certainly has no recollection of grey suits with shin-high socks of an even greyer tone, entering into a stark building of matching monotonism. "There is much one, who would be peering into the window of my past, would claim to annul--take your pick from any one of my chapters in The Battered Hart--but do these slices of life (as much as they bleed, and oh, do they bleed) stacked on top of one another not construct the tower of ourselves? Some have a more leaning posture than others--as you might know!--but does it not represent us, is it not christened by our troubled cement? Chisel away, if you dare! The first to collapse owes the other a drink in reconstruction!"

[emberwexley]

"You were amazing, so strong and brave." voice breathless and almost like a sigh in and of itself, Ember's face lit up at the suggestion of 'celebration', blond locks bouncing around her face as she nodded with enthusiasm. "It so does! And I have just the supplies for such an event up in my rooms." Hands sliding down his shoulder until one laced their fingers together so she could lead him back toward the service elevator. "Besides, then we can leave the rest of the clean up to the others." There was definitely more than one person in the building that was comfortable around the death and disgustingness of the chomper bodies. They'd dispatched of one, and that was more than enough contribution to the defense of their home.

Giggling as they stepped into the smaller and more secure staircase, Ember found herself feeling much better with a fall smaller chance of surprise attacks as she lead him up and up in the tower. "Oh sweet Prince, we've vanquished the foe, now it's time for the rewards!" Pausing at the top when his position on the lower stairs put them eye to eye, a brow perked for just a moment as she studied his face for a beat before she gave in to her impulses and did what she'd wanted since the first time she'd laid eyes on him.

Delicate arms wrapping around his neck, Ember pulled herself in to kiss him with fervor.

A little breathless as she pulled away to allow for oxygen, her face was flushed and smile already intoxicated. "There's a bottle of stupidly expensive cognac waiting for us... I bet your lips would taste even better after that. Don't the heroes always get the girl?" Coy smile curling over her lips, she pushed open the door that lead to The Wexley's ballroom, a finger lifting to signal him to quiet. The last thing she needed was Toby interrupting and ruining the mood.

[hawthornpenrose]

Like smelling salts, the senses were returning to him, a steady flow of one's self in dribs and drabs, percolating from the celestial creature before him. An anchor to reality latching onto his arms, trailing down, setting ablaze the hands in due time to take their place.

"Utterly selfless," he murmured in addition to her list, tying into her breath. (He is most humble, never one to extend his virtues, but if we are to give credit where credit is due, there is no harm in continuing what is far removed from any falsehood.) "It was purely instinctual," he went on, allowing himself to be led by her, fingers sewn together. "To whomever could not be galvanized into action upon watching and dreading what could have happened to you"--(a taste of sweet cherry is on his lips, or is it strawberry field pink?)--"there's only pity left for them."

Only those with tar-black souls of the wretchedest species could ever be devoid of feeling, to have any and all ties to humanity snipped at the base before they can be tethered. The ascension to princehood would be ever lost on them, but it most certainly wasn't on the one who deserved it most. His face tilted up to meet the words, to let them be adorned by the eyes, to let them be crowned atop his head, a noble title treating him.

"No reward could be ever greater than your safe"--(strawberry champagne, how foolish his palette has been to leave off such a note)--"ty. Safety," he finished, a tongue dipping at the corner of his wet lips, held there for the briefest of moments at words that were buoying against the shallow surface of his mind, nodding as she scooped the rest out from his skull. "Delectable," he minted in a fine breath, what shred of it he had left to his name to use. "Make me your chalice."

[hawthornpenrose]

false: no one would ask him how he was doing and for GOOD reason - HOW ARE YOU DOING HAWTHORN

There are still stars in the sky, air in my lungs, and the fondest, fondly memories play on to calmer days within my mind to relieve me of what troubles plague us in these times of old testament. These corners of my past are brought to life in their faintest faint forms, even amongst the present, the day-to-day, from the mundane living to the hardships of survival. A rare sighting of a smile sparks and ignites the senses, triggers and ripples through my series of recollections like a pebble skipping along a lake; the warmth of a single sun's ray transports me to another plane; and throughout these seemingly trivial pursuits, I find peace and tranquility, enough strength to carry on (even with the weight at my shoulders that could rival Atlas!)

No, no... I am thriving in my wellness, dare I say beyond more so than what your namesake could even entail! (Ha, ha, ha! A twinge of humor to levitate you! The medicine we are in dire need of!)

What I must confess to you is that the tries against my life might drag others beneath this realm, force them to a depth that cannot be escaped from, but not I. For this flesh and blood is propelled by stronger means, a force beyond what the brain can devise! It has returned from the underworld, shook hands with Hades himself, and spat its good-bye into his face for the first, only, and last time!

Through shepherding my own way to the peak of my health, reaching its climax, the paramount claimed and staked by a flag of my choosing, I have gained any parts of myself I was previously missing. I am at whole with myself. I am complete. My truest form, purified, detoxed of the fear that comes with the dreadful wonderings of mortality.

Once you have come as close as I have and made it to the other side unscathed what trepidation, what doubt, could further exist when you have already conquered it?

//Famed Writer Mysteriously Found Dead. "The 15 bullet wounds were found to be from natural sources," Dr. Wexley Jr. commented.

[hawthornpenrose]

He's a 10 but that's also the number of pages his answer to "How are you" has

"Ten? All but ten pages? Oh, how I long for it to be as true as truth itself! The complications of my existence languish, the ink bleeds beyond a mere ten pages, as much as there is hope reserved that one day it may be easily encapsulated in the lowly double-digits!"

[hawthornpenrose]

he's a 10 but he will literally perish if not given adequate praise and attention.

"I have never claimed much difference from any other being. It is our most natural and naturalistic desire to be recognized for our most grandest of achievements. Though, and my humbleness quivers in this respect, I have decorated my lifespan with various moments worthy of accolades and clap-claps abound, I am willing to accept the role of martyr for such empty suffering of unnoticed accomplishments.

Most notable, especially as of late, would certainly be my latest vanquishment of a most formidable foe of the undead... But I digress.

Unless you have yet to hear of the near atrocity first-hand..."

[hawthornpenrose]

he's a 10 but he keeps honking the nose on his clown costume.

"The gift to entertain is not understood by all, but the performance must go on; the audience demands it."

[hawthornpenrose]

he's a strong 10 in looks but won't shut the fuck up so he's like a 2 overall.

"A jester's heart! Most fullest of delight! May your eyes continue to guide you, but by all means don't allow me of all people to become your siren, no matter the strength of my visage!"

[hawthornpenrose]

he's a ten but when will he stop talking

"Ha, ha, ha! There could only be of one method to put an end to the muses' work and silence the poet's words!"