unfuck you, or whatever

Prosper Milos Raffa. "fame, liquor, love. give it to me s l o w l y." 30, Twin, Concert Pianist, Raffa Son. New York Born, Italy Raised, Detroit Resident.

[prosperaffa-blog]

liannesinclair‌:

She wondered if he was satisfied, getting under her skin like he was doing right then. She wondered if he realized the power he still had over her, the emotional tug that unraveled everything Lianne had worked towards. She had her friends and she had her family to lean on, after all this had blown over. But still, he still managed to have that hold on her, and foolish little Lianne let him. She was the one who had mistakenly texted him anyway. She was the only one to blame for being hurt again. 

Lianne wished she was on a date. She wished there was another man right now, who she could pretend was Prosper. Even for the night. Even though, the only thing she wanted to feel Prosper’s skin against hers, hands around her waist and her lips calling out his name. She craved the quickened pulse, the heated touch and everything it came down to. How she wished she could replace him with someone else, knowing full well that would never quite be the case. No one would be good enough for Lianne, because no one would be Prosper Raffa. She didn’t think anyone, no matter how good they were with her, would ever be him. 

She was standing outside, letting the cold gust of air sober her up as she stood there waiting for a cab. Her phone vibrated, but she didn’t want to look at it. She almost even hoped it was Frankie, or her sister asking where she was and why she wasn’t home yet. But that would be–not the night for best case scenarios. 

Lianne wondered how he would react if she just showed up at his door. Looking like she did, with the imbalance in her steps and the slur in her voice. Prosper would hate the taste of beer in her mouth. Maybe he wouldn’t even open up; Yury would send her off with a pat on the back, and maybe a goodie bag, just in case. 

She finally looked at the messages, and there was nothing left to say to him. How did one respond to something like this, anyway? The brunette was almost tempted to go back to her plan, and scream at him to his face. 

[sent at 1.45am] I have done nothing but love you past our problems. I have looked past everything you did wrong, because I thought that maybe you’d get the hint. I thought you’d understand. 

[sent at 1.47am] Don’t say that. I know the kind of man you could be. I know there is a Prosper that is so much more than his money and his fortune. I know that Prosper. Or should I say knew him? Because that man would have known what he did wrong. 

[sent at 1.48am] I don’t need the excitement or the rush. I just want someone who I can rely on. Who’s hand I can hold, knowing it’s not going to be another fight, another fire. 

[sent at 1.48am] Sometimes, I enjoy a normal fuck. No fireworks, no heat. Just a normal fuck. Did you ever consider that? 

[sent at 1.49am] Now you did. Now you know. I’m just a normal girl, Prosper. And now, you’ve cursed me. Nothing will ever be good enough for me. 

Lianne’s cab was here, and she had a decision to make. What did she have left to say to Prosper that she couldn’t tell him right now? Calling him and yelling it till he got it. Lianne didn’t have to see his face to do that. Because she could never forget his face. 

She gave the cab driver the address, leaning back in the seat and waiting to arrive. She let her head rest on the cool glass of the window and sighed gently.

Prosper would never admit that he felt a needle of pain. Would never let slip that she was sliding under his defenses as easily as she always did, even if he’d always been loathe to let her see him even when she’d stuck by his side through his physical therapy. She’d loved him even with unbecoming physicals scars that stroked the skin of his fingers, evidence of the fight he’d had to go through to regain his musical skills. Living without Darian was hard, yes, but living without what he breathed for, his music, was impossible. He used to think living without Lianne was impossible too, but here he was. Still breathing, even with her so far away. It wasn’t breathing well, it was labored and limping and he only knew how to draw in a full one when she was there, but Prosper was hanging on. Stubborn til the end.

Maybe she had. Who was he kidding - partly, she was right. Lianne had looked past his indiscretions time and time again, whether or not he was directly responsible (though he had been for quite a few of them). Not every woman would be willing to stand by a man who wouldn’t hesitate to ruin those who tried to step to them, crushing resistance with his heel and burning what remained. There were some that could; he’s seen them for years at events, other women from prominent families comfortable in their privilege and status and wouldn’t have a moments hesitation in protecting their reputation as well. Lianne had never been one of them. She had to be convinced to accept his expensive gifts, turned up her nose at black Lamborghini, dropped her jaw at the figures he and his family quoted casually. No one had fascinated him like her, especially because under her struggle with her rough edges, she secretly enjoyed it too. The expensive gifts, the private jet, the extravagant presents, some part of her took pleasure in it. Prosper himself was another one of those things to her, though wrapped in a fierce love that he shared for her. He was poison, he was bad for her, he was everything she didn’t want, but she couldn’t stop herself from wanting him. He simply didn’t fight the gravitation.

Organizing the thin stack of paper, he stood from the lovingly up-kept instrument, finishing what was left of his drink in a quick shot. Prosper pulled down the piano cover and took the cup with him to his spacious kitchen, equipped with all the newest accessories, and left it in the sink. The glow of his phone shone on his face in the dim lighting of his condo, fingers typing madly on his screen.

[sent 1:59am] PROSPER: See, that’s where you’re wrong. I know what I did was wrong, I just don’t care.

[sent 2:00am] PROSPER: You can have the excitement and still hold someone’s hand, Kit.

[sent 2:01am] PROSPER: Why would I ever? Normal fucks sound terribly boring. Normal fucks will never be good enough, I’m please that you agree with me. I’ve ruined you. Ruined you to want someone to tell you what to do, ruined you to anything vanilla.

[sent 2:11am] PROSPER: Non parlo il linguaggio del rimpianto.

[prosperaffa-blog]

francescadifraggio‌:

        She was quickly shunned – and attempted not to take it personally. Business had taught her that. And so had her father, that bastard of a man whom she loved dearly. The memory of him is only a flash, and then she is suddenly brought back to reality “I know,” she adds quickly. “I was just trying to figure out which piece you’re actually playing.” She smiled a polished one – one of her best smiles. “Sorry, I was invasive.” She added, quick to apologize. In a laugh, Francesca introduces herself ever so quietly, “I’m Francesca.”

Immediate instinct was for Prosper to continue to ignore her, but the mention that she might be musically inclined such as he halted that. He pushes Ray Bans up to his forehead, takes a closer look at the woman. Dahna, his mother, had her nose stuck into everyone’s business - those she deemed worthy of her time, of course. Francesca’s arrival in Detroit was something she’d taken note of, and he remembered seeing the pictures of her that his mother had shown him. “Reminiscences de Norma by Liszt. Lovemaking piano music.” One hand staying on the sheet music, the other reached out to grasp Fransesca’s, pressing it to his lips. “Un piacere, Fransesca.” His flawless Italian pronounced the letters perfectly. “I’m Prosper Raffa. Are you a musician as well?”

[prosperaffa-blog]

liannesinclair‌:

Lianne wished she didn’t ask Prosper to make her wait. Maybe she had lost touch with his habits, so entwined with her own that it didn’t feel any different. He listened to her demands, no matter how ridiculous. And in turn. she made things harder than they needed to be. They weren’t perfect by any means, and anyone who saw them at their most natural could see how mismatched their edges were. But, when Lianne was with Prosper, those edges didn’t matter to her. She moved the hair out of her face, trying her hardest not to cry right then. 

Never had she felt this lonely before. Surrounded by throngs of people, she felt so alone. And this was not a feeling Lianne was familiar with, never got used to it. This was the girl who found it easier to hang around the back of the room, and she was okay with making no friends in her lifetime. But right then, having those words out in the open, feeling her anger leaving her body, she felt so alone, she thought she’d suffocate in that loneliness. Lianne was crying, gasping for air and just…—one mistake after another. 

[sent 12:39am] PROSPER: You know good and well that my favorite taste is your cream, Kit.

She felt disgusted in herself, for the sudden imagery that flooded her system. She didn’t need to think about her craving, about how badly she wanted to be in the warmth of his arms. The one person she wanted, was the one person she couldn’t allow herself to love anymore. Lianne’s morals were stronger than that. Besides, the world was black and white. There was no space for the Raffas’ indecisiveness in it. Because being morally grey didn’t mean you were good person; it made one questionable, at best. 

[sent at 12.42am] Don’t talk to me like that. 

Lianne looked around the room, before coming back to her phone. She was rubbing the tear tracks off with one hand, the thumb on her phone brushing off stray tears from the screen. He took forever to reply. That feeling of dread just kept growing in her belly. 

[sent at 1.10am] Then why did you let me go? Was it because you knew that I wouldn’t stay? Maybe we should let our love grow sour. It would make it so much more easier to hate you. 

[sent at 1.11am] I thought you could change. Be more than your money and your clothes and your status. Because that was what you did for me, Raffa. You made believe I could be anyone I wanted to be. 

[sent at 1.11am] You set me up for failure. 

[sent at 1.12am] I am keeping my decisions. I am so much better without you. So much.

Maybe if she said it out loud to herself, Lianne could believe she was better off without him. And this was her last drink. She needed to go home, and sleep off this waking nightmare. “I really don’t love him. I…need to catch a cab.” 

Lianne didn’t like that. Prosper had known that she wouldn’t and yet, had gone through with it anyway. Much like a lot of things in their relationship, knowing that she wouldn’t approve but saying fuck it to the consequences. No, he hadn’t done anything irreprehensible - had never cheated on while they were officially together and never would, hadn’t given her a reason to doubt his dedication to her and fidelity, but he hadn’t exactly made her proud either. He was selfish,  and could be incredibly so, both with her and his funds and even his talent. She knew that, maybe not going in but by the time they’d called it off for good, she had. Prosper knew Lianne better than he knew any person in the world save his twin, and that hadn’t gone away. Even in the year that had passed since their last talk.

Don’t talk to me like that. An instruction she’d given before, this being far from the first, sent while she’d been on dates with other men, with her family, even at work. With the economical  veritable cloud Prosper had been lounging on all his life, he quite often had a lot of free time on his hands. Could he have used it to call up his fuck buddies? Yes. Had he used it for that in the past?  Also yes. But there was only one woman he responded to even for a minute when caught in the throes of his muse, and it was the one messaging him now.

[sent at 1:27am] PROSPER: I let you go because I knew that I couldn’t love you past our problems. I let you go because even if we both know there will never be another as terribly suited to each other as we are, you want the chance at something normal. Something without fights, but also without the firework levels of fucking we got up to.

[sent at 1:28am] PROSPER: Little Lianne, have you ever considered that this is who I want to be? I don’t want to be better. I am my clothes and my money and my piano and my status, and if you separated me from that I’m not the man that you keeping coming back to I’m cocaine and you’re an addict. 

[sent at 1:35am] PROSPER: I don’t regret pursuing you. And I never will. Failure or not.

[sent at 1:40am] PROSPER: You tell yourself whatever the hell you need. When you end up with an excuse for a man with no backbone, no passion, no skill, and no fire to get your blood going I hope you remember this.

[prosperaffa-blog]

liannesinclair‌:

Surely, he was taking his own time with that reply. “I don’t care.” She said out loud, to herself. Lianne went back to the beer, trying to distract herself with it, with people or something. Anything that would stop her from worry about what he was going to say. She hadn’t even come bar crawling, being utterly alone having suited her far well than any shade on a colour wheel. She had always been one for loneliness. She even sought it, like a moth drawn to flame. She wasn’t here with company. No one would ever be Prosper Raffa. 

She was almost done with this glass, when her phone beeped again. She closed her eyes, bracing herself before ordering another beer and then changing her mind to something stronger. Maybe if she blacked out, she would not remember these texts. Thank you autocorrect. Her vision was a little bleary now, and she had to blink before she read them. 

[sent at 12.25am] Thought you liked keeping me on my toes. Or was it my knees? Either way, that’s your favorite flavor always, isn’t it? 

I’ll always fucking love you. Prosper had no right to say that to her. He had lost it the day he refused to apologize. The day refused to care. Because it showed that his love had been as shallow as he was, and Lianne couldn’t believe that she had given him the best years of her life. Of course, the resentment was now chalk in the bottom of a river; it had sedimented, but it still hurt. It always hurt. Of course, she had seen where she could have been wrong, but…it didn’t mean her anger was going anywhere.

[sent at 12.28am] Don’t say that. Don’t fucking say that. You don’t mean it. 

[sent at 12.28am] You don’t love me. You’re a coward and you don’t love me anymore. 

[sent at 12.30am] Hide behind your pretty suits and expensive liquor. Because that’s all you ever were. Your music, your lifestyle, your money. I didn’t love that. I can’t believe I loved that. 

[sent at 12.31am] I don’t love you anymore. I hate you, Prosper. I hate you. 

She should have just gone home after that. But there was more alcohol in her system, and Lianne had more things to say to him. The chalk was starting to wear off, and her temper wasn’t going to go home with her. 

Two minutes. Who was desperate now? Though honestly, they were only fooling themselves. Restraint had never been a part of Lianne and Prosper’s relationship, and wasn’t going to start making an appearance now. Dark eyes scanned his screen as the messages came with increasing frequency the hand with the signet ring swirling his drink before taking a sip. Prosper wondered where she was. Was she in her apartment, wearing lingerie he had bought her, thinking of him? Was she drinking with friends, messaging him from under the table, denying her flushed cheeks? All he knew was that she wasn’t here with him, and that was a decision that Lianne had made, whether or not she was happy with it. Whether or not Prosper was happy with it, though the answer was certainly no.

In his head, Lianne flashed her metaphorical teeth at him, desperate to hurt him first before he got into her head. He was better at it than anyone she’d ever known, Prosper’d deduced, and no one ever would; he wasn’t interested in abdicating his position. As much as Prosper was weak to her charms, he had to stick to his guns on this one, family loyalty trumping all else. Even if he couldn’t keep himself from barreling right past break up standards. Even if her response was just to ghost him, possibly more hurtful than anything else.

Though every time she threw the words at him, ‘I don’t love you’, another piece of his heart withers and dies, belonging completely to her.

[sent 12:39am] PROSPER: You know good and well that my favorite taste is your cream, Kit.

You’re a coward. Not fucking true. It took courage to stand his ground when it came to his brother, fighting for his sobriety when no one else would. It took strength to have uncompromising beliefs, even if they weren’t as black and white as Lianne would prefer. He’d never lived in black and white, he’d lived in grey, and that was one of their biggest problems. That, and from being incapable of doing anything slower than zero to a hundred. All they knew was to stomp on the gas until they spun out of control.

[sent 12:52am] PROSPER: Don’t think that because I let you go that I don’t fucking love you, Julianne. I am my fucking suits and my fucking money, but you knew that going in, didn’t you? 

[sent 12:53am] PROSPER: Ciò che, Little Lianne.

[sent 1:01am] PROSPER: You made your decision. Keep it, like a grown up.

[prosperaffa-blog]

evangelinenolan‌:

One of the only things that brought Evangeline joy these days was music. Ever since the passing of her son, she had found herself struggling to find happiness in absolutely anything. Her instrument of choice was the guitar, always had been since she was a pre-teen sitting in her bedroom trying to escape her arguing parents. In the familiar music store, she found the aisle she loved most blocked by a man who seemed to be envisioning a piano before him. Even if the instrument was invisible, she could tell he was gifted at playing with the way his fingers moved. When he spoke up, though, she chuckled and shook her head. “I don’t work here,” she began in the same tone, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m just trying to get to the sheet music on the other side of you.”

Prosper had never seen the blonde woman before today, but he had seen her at the corner of his eye since entering the store. Though she chuckled a little bit at his case of mistaken identity, she somehow managed to make it sound sad, garnering a longer look from behind his glasses. The woman was attractive, but carried an aura of sadness with her. He almost wanted to scoot back, lest it land on him by proxy. With Lianne gone and his brother and he still on terrible terms, he couldn’t afford more emotional trauma in his life. He shifts to allow her to get past, and glances at what she’s looking for, guitar as versus what caught his interest. “Is playing your hobby or your profession?” He asked suddenly, a bit curious of this her whilst keeping his distance.

[prosperaffa-blog]

liannesinclair‌:

Lianne closed her eyes, head resting atop hands clasped as if in prayer, but it was just an alcohol induced headache. And the tears, of course. It hurt to stop thinking, to stop wondering what Prosper was doing, sitting in his fortress, overlooking the city. Would he be sitting by the window, watching the cars go in and out, watching the light twinkle from that height? Maybe he’d be drinking, like Lianne used to. Her name, etched in fog. A joke. There was a heavy feeling in her chest, every beat too slow, but still there. She was still alive, and she was listening to her own heart breaking. Maybe this would be a yearly thing. Even when she’d be old and grey, with grandchildren of her own, her heart would break on this day. 

She was tempted to drown her phone in the pint, but then thought against it; waiting out her phone contract got her this new phone, along with a good data plan. Lianne couldn’t risk it, she liked it too much. Maybe Prosper didn’t see it. Maybe he was too busy entertaining guests to even worry about his phone. That thought made some bitter rise in her throat, and she sat in the same place, she could have slapped herself. Because six years ago, Lianne had hoped the stranger at the bar would leave her alone, find another woman to take home that night, and now? That thought was like poison, bitter and toxic, too much to swallow. Move on. That wasn’t happening, clearly. 

The woman looked up to see new faces and clothes surrounding her at the bar, almost worried that she might have fallen asleep, Rubbing her face, Lianne took a deep breath in, almost regretting the smell of spilled beer and cigarettes. And then her phone lit up, notifying her of a text. It could be your sisters. Or work. Relax, Lianne. But she knew it wasn’t going to be either of the two. Because those are best case scenarios and tonight wasn’t going to be best case scenarios. 

[sent at 11:50pm] PROSPER: Mio kit, you ended it. At least don’t lie to yourself about how we’re both feeling afterwards.

How dare he? Lianne’s eyes widened, the first rush of anger flooding her system. Kit. A name Lianne had always hated. Hated how weak at the knees it still made her feel. Hated how much she loved hearing those words fall from his lips. Lianne bit the inside of her own cheek to keep from reacting vocally to this. 

[sent at 11:51pm] PROSPER: Don’t tell me you don’t miss me when I know you do.

Lianne didn’t miss him. She didn’t miss Prosper Raffa. Hadn’t he read the text? She didn’t care to miss him. She cared. This just fed into the anger that was now rumbling in the pit of her stomach. The phone was held tight in her hand. Fingers shaking as she typed and deleted, typed and deleted, trying find the right words to say. 

[sent at 11:55pm] You answered quick. Desperate much? 

[sent at 11:55pm] If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you miss me too. 

Shit. The last bit, just added to the adage of drunken words being sober thoughts. She didn’t miss him. Didn’t miss him. She missed him.

His girl. Though he has no right to think of her in that way in more. So quick to defend herself. So fast to brave her teeth in his direction and tell him things they both knew weren’t true. Prosper chuckled to himself, and just for that text turned away from his phone and back to his music. Pushed with renewed fervor, his fingers danced heavily on the keys, wringing out a dark tune. He never wrote music intended for words, inclined to only write things that could give you emotion without a dictate as to what specifically it was. It was a love that had carried him through his most of his life, his first love if he was being honest, and his instrument was the one thing that had more of him that Lianne had. Prosper and she may no longer be together, but he couldn’t fall out of old habits, for wanting to make her suffer, just the slightest bit, for the sass she’d thrown  back at him.

It’s a long minute before he decides to pick the phone back up. Pros knows she’s drunk, Lianne only inclined to say what she truly felt when her inhibitions were loosened with liquor, and he sent a mental prayer up to his mothers favorite patron saint. Keep her safe while she was out. He hoped she was alone, but if he wasn’t, he had no right to feel a way about it. If she was, then he would only allow himself to feel smugness about the fact that Lianne would be with him and yet still thinking of Prosper.

[sent 12:20am] PROSPER: Would you prefer that I make you sweat? Worry about what I’m thinking? Because we both know what I’m thinking.

[sent 12:23am] PROSPER: Of course I miss you. I’ll always fucking love you. But I’ll always be this person, too. You decided you couldn’t look past who I am anymore. 

[prosperaffa-blog]

[prosperaffa-blog]

liannesinclair‌:

—it’s a quarter after one, i’m a little drunk and i need you now || @prosperaffa

Ouch. The bar had crappy choice in music, and Lianne wanted nothing more than to shut it off. Or change to something better on the radio. It wasn’t even close to one AM, because then Lianne wouldn’t be here. She didn’t like staying out late, it wasn’t her scene, the late nights. Even if this had been a very special night, Lianne would have much rather gone home to celebrate. Her phone was a silent brick, that she fiddled with to check the time on every now and again. It was funny how things changed, sometimes not so quick, and other times…almost like pulling a rug from under your feet. 

She was on her first glass of Stella, almost done with it, before politely ordering for herself a pint of beer. Lianne had been sat at this dingy student bar, one she used to frequent when she was still in college, and when the nostalgia for bad beer and terrible music struck, she’d come back here again, always dressed in black somehow. Most importantly, she was sat in the very same place she had first made the acquaintance of one Prosper Raffa. And there was the tornado that was…everything after him. The brown haired woman tried to stop thinking about him, tried to stop thinking of Lady Antebellum bleeding into something more rock and roll in the background, tried to stop thinking altogether. This wasn’t fair; in the year that she had left him, he hadn’t called or texted, didn’t want to know if she was still around, or alive even. Prosper hadn’t cared, so why did she care? Why did she want to avoid everything her mind was telling her and just text him? 

Why did she still care? 

Lianne was going to leave. But she couldn’t leave, because leaving would mean that this was yet another thing Prosper ruined for her and she wouldn’t let him win. Even if it was her memories, Lianne Sinclair wouldn’t let him win. In fact, while she sipped on her beer, she was going to tell Prosper how much she didn’t care about his existence. Of course she had still saved his number, of course she didn’t delete the texts. But it didn’t matter, because Lianne didn’t care. 

[sent at 11.43pm] I’m doing so much better without you. I don’t miss you anymore. Goodbye, dick. 

Only after she had hit send, did Lianne realize what she had done. It was groggy, but the dots connected in her head and it made her skin flush red in embarrassment and she hoped to whatever higher power was in the sky that he didn’t read that text.

His fingers had been flying across the keys for hours. Yury, his longtime butler and head of house (or in Prosper’s case, head of luxury condo), knew better than to bother him. Knowing him for as long as he had, when Prosper got in that kind of mood Yury got to take a half day. The oldest direct line Raffa son, for his part, was a creative mood, you could say. More like, it was drawing closer to a year to the day that Lianne had walked out of his place and in effect, his life. When he’d first met her in that student bar, so far below his standards, he hadn’t expected what he would find. A woman so complex, so suited to his passions and wants and yet so opposed to so many of them, that he’d expected, eventually, to figure it all out with. A woman whose connection with him had been severed partly due to the loyalty he refused to compromise on when it came to his family.

Regardless, she’d been the cause of many of his troubled, passionate, emotion evoking works over the years, and it looked like she was going to be the cause of one more. When would Prosper’s heart and creative self be able to move away from the emotions Lianne had caused in him for so long? Would he ever be truly able to? Questions  he didn’t know if he’d have the answer to. A glass of bourbon lay on a pocket square on top of his Fazioli piano, his company after he’d eaten dinner at his piano bench, and the sleeves of his royal blue Versace shirt were pushed to his elbows.  The fingers that caressed the black and ivory keys so well were marked a bit with the ink from his fountain pen, the only one he used when composing, only halting when his phone buzzed.

[sent at 11.43pm] I’m doing so much better without you. I don’t miss you anymore. Goodbye, dick.

A mix of a sigh and a chuckle passed Prosper’s lips, holding the phone in front of him. “Oh, Kit.” Prosper said lowly to himself, shaking his head a bit. It seems she hadn’t changed, not that he’d doubted it. He swiftly typed out a reply, leaving it on his thigh while he got back to playing and waited for a response.

[sent at 11:50pm] PROSPER: Mio kit, you ended it. At least don’t lie to yourself about how we’re both feeling afterwards.

[sent at 11:51pm] PROSPER: Don’t tell me you don’t miss me when I know you do.

[prosperaffa-blog]

athena-beaumont‌:

                          Music lulled in the distance, the drones of those engulfed in their own worries speaking louder than whatever was playing on the system. But she likes it there, - the feeling of being invisible when she had one spent years plastered on the front page seemed.. peaceful. No longer did she feel the gnawing that would chew against caramel flesh, a hatred for hues that would bore into hers as a means to connect. What did catch her attention was the sheet of music that dropped beside her feet. Eyelashes fluttering towards the fingertips that played a silent tune, she laughs. “You don’t? I wonder what you’ll do without this sheet of music then?” A carved eyebrow raises, hand outstretched towards him - unimpressed. 

Curse his stunner radar. For as much as he’d been trying to get over Lianne by getting other under people, his usual talent of knowing when attractive women were around had been in a fog since the messy breakup. You’d think a year would be enough time, right? Nevertheless, the woman was a stunner, and one that Prosper recognized. Not that that changed his opinion about the sheet of paper he’d apparently dropped. The unimpressed look that she gave reminded him of another spunky woman, and it brings a slight smirk to his face, accepting the sheet. “I suppose without your help I’d be composing a replacement to that sheet myself. How about you, beautiful? Do you play music as well?”

[prosperaffa-blog]

esmeosman‌:

Esme had barely seen the male off in the corner, perhaps due to his muted coloured attire. He’d somehow blended into the scenic nature of the store, and only when his hand had waved towards an employee did she let her curious gaze venture towards him. Full lips lifted in a soft smile as she tentatively approached the male, awaiting the same greeting he’d previously given. However, before he could acknowledge her presence — she decided to speak up. “Is this really one of the places you define as a muse?” She questioned, dark hues travelling around the walls and clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “Isn’t what I would expect, but who am I to judge. — Oh, am I bothering you?” When her eyes perused his music sheet, she only realized that she had in fact interrupted a deep thought of his.

It took a moment, with the unnecessary darkness that his sunglasses were given him, but after a moment or two of her voice Prosper properly placed who it was. Esme, someone he could actually call a friend, and one undeserving of the uninterested tone he’d dismissed her with. “Esme - colpa mia. I didn’t realize it was you.” A smile slides across those devilish lips and he pushes his shades up onto his perfectly coiffed hair, Rolex flashing. “I know. This doesn’t really look like my scene.” Thinking of the very toilet in his place, he sniffed in derision just at the thought. “However, music is not only for elite clientele, and some truly talented composers gravitate here. For whatever reason. What about you, what brings you here?”

[prosperaffa-blog]

As much as Prosper’s piano times were comprised of the classics and original pieces he’d penned himself, he also liked to stretch his skills by playing things that could be considered ‘out there’. He had his favorite music haunts in the city, of course, and was at one of them now, riffling through sheet music. Dark ray bans were slid over his nose, signet ring flashing as he made quick work of scanning them, looking a bit out of place in the mundane looking shop in his pristine grey button down and charcoal slacks. Rubbing his bottom lip, Prosper’s other hand played the air, hearing the piece in his head. Hearing a noise, dark eyes flit up beneath the shade, his attention shifted. “I don’t need help, thanks.” His voice is crisp, cultured, and dismissive, matching the rest of the image he portrayed.

[mysecrethobbithole-blog]

[rnargotrobbie]

I am smart, capable, and most importantly, I am free in all the ways you are not.

Fight Club (1999) dir. David Fincher

[prosperaffa-blog]

tag dump

[tyrantsuggestion]

[prosperaffa-blog]