NON - SEXUAL ACTS OF DOMINANCE . Accepting [Link]
@mentiuntur | I would say I’m sorry, but I’m not
◆ Even himself could reach boundaries, formerly believed to having been set by his own person { and only himself }. Toys were only that. Little playthings picked up here and there, even though he would lie to say that he didn’t quite favour this or that person in his own ‘care’ and would spin them around, drive them a little bit further. A puppet on a string, dancing along to an imperceptible tune, twirling around own axis and entangling fully in fine and silvery, hair-thin threads. So if they do snap, for whatever reason of too much tension placed upon it? There was no wonder in himself, that they would lash out and turn upon its master { try to strangle him, with what had formerly kept them securely in place }.
◆ He supposes just, that this had happened in these few fleeting instances of time that were all but a blink - but would appear for the shocked surrounding like an eternity drawling by and drowning itself out in the noiseless, suffocating screams of disbelief.
◆ Isn’t it hilarious just, how far desperation and want could drive someone? Cracks appearing on immaculate mask, to be dragged and teased by the creator’s very own hand. It was a picture perfect show of a symphony of one’s torn up soul, brought to light with the very metaphor of exact this creation now shattered upon the ground.
◆ What had happened, quite exactly?
The very outcome of a chase.
◆ Uta knew and was just well aware, that this man had only kept up with taunts and mockeries for his own very desires and wishes that could { maybe could, in that torn and ripped mess of perception }, perhaps become a very reality. They both do know, without any showing each other off in the possibilities, that himself had been so far off, so far away from the entertainer’s grasp from the beginning on of this very act distorting itself into the darkened blackness of a comedic tragedy.
◆ It’s not quite popular anymore, so he had said, and had therefore tried { had he? there was nothing really as a hurdle placed in front of him } to unravel the visual exhaustion that settles behind each and every smile. A very one that was so weak, it wouldn’t quite reach Yori’s gaze anymore. Seemed like a mere husk of its past self, with glassy eyes and simple realisations { he was growing so very weary of it all }. And so, when whatever word the Mask Maker had uttered, would fall on deaf ears, on no word to be returned - another act would be commenced by the rising curtain to the upcoming show with one that many would have thought might even find itself ever drawn and dragged into the light.
◆ An auction, as usual, would be the centre stage of this very recital.
◆ Would be the moment’s set of a scene that haunts minds and hearts for uncountable days to come { even though, for Uta as the main player? he would admit it to be so truly insignificant }. Before that happened, they had all agreed to a specific look. To the booming charade of pure white masks, beautifully crafted faces in display { each and every moment, it was all about the show }, and as he had placed one of those upon the former actor’s face - it was that very one that drew attention from him personally.
◆ That very one, that had a crack - such a telling reminder of a state of mind left in shambles upon being played with so often, it was a wonder that no limb had come undone. That no urge of pain had been inflicted prior in all these seconds spiralling into this very gesture right here and right now.
◆ All he had done was reaching out for the hair-fine and barely perceptible display upon the other man’s mask worn for whatever reason outside of the show that may stay unknown. All he had done, was disturbing him in sitting somewhere off and hidden { while still not be hidden at all, merely in an adjourning room, others do still pass by }. All he had done, was dragging a single fingertip along it, from the high point of forehead above the left eye and barely being able to reach the side of nose. It would have derivated towards the high arch of his cheek, and then down once again towards side of face { if he had it in himself to be sentimental? he would have called it a caught tear }.
◆ And all that had happened? Was a sudden motion with offending hand. A sudden swipe at his person, missing him per all but a breath when he evades and ducks and is easily out of reach. But it didn’t seem to be quite enough { rage and fury, blinding for instances of heartbeats more }, taking a step after the auctioneer of the night.
◆ Closing up the distance and making to snap for him. To slap him yet once again.
◆ It was a short scene that had unfolded before a numerous { maybe a dozen } pairs of eyes. Feeling for them - indeed - like an eternity, and for himself and the other man in question? Like the very tick of a clock, and the racing heartbeat caught in Uta’s palm, felt chiming and rushing through the brittle built of bones. Oh yes, he had caught his hand the moment the second swing was meant to come his way. And easy it had been - while he all but smiles, with the reverent gravity of stark acceptance of the scene.
◆ “You shouldn’t bite the hand, that feeds you~”
◆ Soft and low. And barely perceptible in the stark suffocation of the rooms rising tension. Nobody had even heard the mask shatter on the ground. Nobody even saw the uncountable pieces and shards - offering a picture perfect symphony of a torn apart soul. It was hilarious, really. How his sole presence could off-set a man of such perfection. Not biting the hand that feeds, loosely in his own grasp, to let him go once again. “You may leave, for today.” And how easy was it not?
◆ To set complete horror and terror - into someone’s mind and heart?
