#themourningafter

[hypotheticalnumeral]

The Mourning After

The post-mortem of the fabled Ferratii Necrom’s parties were an exhibit that had to be seen to be believed.

Plush reds and deep ashen grays of the decor threatened to swallow the leftover party-goers that lay strewn over couches and benches, up against railings, down across marble stairs. Delicacies could be seen wasted in the cracks of priceless tile flooring and sometimes found saved, stashed away upon a stray bookshelf where perhaps their original owner had simply never found their way back after the empty glass of champagne beside had been topped off. Clothes, like consolation prizes after a night of potentially disastrous decision making, lay every which where in all shades of sociopolitical circumstance, reflecting the varied nature of the hoards of guests these to-do’s tended to draw.

Music, liking a dying organ giving its last wheeze, still trickled quiet over the manor’s speaker system. This was perforated by the occasional snore from a castaway attendee out cold, and - in the case of one corner of the labyrinth’s west wing, the quiet clicking of designing heels on tile.

Robe an ebony shroud billowing behind him in an unnecessarily long trail, the rail of a myth that was the master of the house emerged from his quarters. At a stride, he stalked the halls - nursing a headache and cradling the remains of last night’s last glass of ... tealblood, by the looks of it. Hm. Odd. He tended to prefer a good, deep blue, or perhaps a sparkling tyrian --- but teal would do for breakfast.

He wrinkled his nose a touch at the degenerates he glided past, and gave a small smile at the gems among the bunch. It was always a fun game for him, seeing in post some of the bodies that had showed up at these little shendigs. Most of them were +1′s (or 7′s, in some cases), to the point he mostly didn’t so much invite people these days as simply threw a party to see who might show up.

His personal pick for bedtime company had been a couple of indigos and a --- well, teal, he gathered - though as he recalled, they hadn’t been so much an exclamation point as a comma, period. Just kind of, drew on, and eventually found their end.

As he glanced about, he noted perhaps he’d missed a few golden opportunities. Ah well. Next time, perhaps.

In the wake of his walk, he paused, catching an upright shape out of the corner of his eye rather than a horizontal one. Curiosity caught him, and he shifted a gaze with a drawled,

“Morning salutations, comrade.”

[judithseligson-blog]

Controversial Caravaggio, Judith Beheading Holofernes (circa 1598–99). #themourningafter #howdoYOUfeel? (at Carlyle House Historic Park)

[thewarswedidntwin]

The First Time

It was raining hard outside. Soft music playing in the background. They were laying on a tiny twin mattress in a cluttered loft. He kissed her passionately. A feeling came over her. A carefree feeling. She felt entirely comfortable next to him. Passionate kisses were planted on her lips and followed down her neck, then her chest. Her breathing grew louder. This overwhelming feeling possessed her entire body. She was ready. It was her first time, but she knew she was ready. He set out to get condoms. He came back with a brown paper bag and a hand written letter, his face blushing with nervousness. This was his first time too, yet he was ready. He gave her the note and sat beside her, rubbing her back as she read the sweetest of words. He asked for her permission, assured her this was going to happen entirely out of love for her, he told her if she wasn’t ready, he’d wait. She finished reading the letter and kissed him, this time even more passionate than before. Their clothes scattered across the floor, their hearts beating, the music playing, everything was perfect. They lost it to each other. And it was great. It was the perfect first time. A moment she will never forget. A moment she will never regret. Nothing has felt as romantic as her first time. Nothing compares to that night.

[thewarswedidntwin]

She left.

She looked him straight in the eyes. She looked at him for quite a long time. Waiting. Waiting for some sort of response. Her eyes begged. Was he really going to stand there emotionless? No response. Tears began to well up in her eyes. She was shaking. She wanted to slap him. Fuck, she wanted to slap herself for expecting so much from him. She said goodbye and turned away. Out the door she went without closing it behind her. Just half ways down the hallway she was as she turned back to see if he’d follower her, chase her down, beg her to stay. The door was already closed. She wiped the tears from her face, clenched her fists, took a deep breath and left.

[onlyfreshmusic]

Mac Miller- The mourning after

This song is featured from Mac's mixtape Macadelic. You can find a free download for the whole mixtape at DatPiff.com http://www.datpiff.com/Mac-Miller-Macadelic-mixtape.327035.html