[ * THIS BASEMENT’S A GHOST STORY. YOU, YOU’RE AN ALIEN SHIP, TAKING OFF, BOUNCING ALL RIPE BLUE & FLITTERING VIOLET & ACHING RED IN FRONT OF MY SORE, MOTH-BOUND EYES. YOU ASK ME ( WHO WE ARE ), I REPLY, “A TRAINWRECK WAITING TO HAPPEN.” SOMETIMES IT FEELS LIKE WE’RE DRIFTING E N D L E S S L Y, DESPERATELY, SEARCHINGLY LIKE THE SNOW OUTSIDE. SOMETIMES IT FEELS LIKE WE ARE A WINTERING. I’M RATTLING THE FLOORBOARDS, YOU’RE RECLAIMING ALL THESE DARK, BLINKING FRENCH-KISSED SKIES. LIKE WE REGISTER THEIR PAIN. LIKE WE ROW THIS BOAT WITH IT. I HAVEN’T SLEPT IN TWO DAYS & MY BODY’S A BREATHLESS GARDEN, ALL THESE DULL DYING FLOWERS, ALL THESE WICKED NIGHT BLOOMERS. MY SADNESS HUMS WITH THE STARS, FILLS THIS C H A R C O A L SNAKE PIT WE CALL HOME. WHERE DO YOU GO, WHEN YOUR GHOSTS LEAVE YOU ? WHERE IS THAT ILL-OMENED PALACE, WHERE EVEN YOUR SHADOW CANNOT FOLLOW ? BLOOD-RED PIRANHA BOY, CHAINSMOKING PYTHON GIRL / ALL THESE PREDATORS IN MY AQUARIUM, IT’S 2 AM ON A TUESDAY AND WE BIND OUR WRISTS TOGETHER WITH BLUE SILK TIES / IMITATE OUR PARENTS IN THEIR STRANGE SUICIDAL RITUALS. LIKE A B L O O D S P O R T. LIKE A POLO MATCH. WE COULD FILL A CEMETERY. OUR EMOTIONLESS BAPTISM, OUR INDECISIVE FLOWERING. HOW WE CRIPPLE UNDER THE WEIGHT OF THESE MOONS. HOW YOU ONLY KISS ME WHEN YOUR EYES ARE WET WITH DEWBREAK. THE SELFISH WAY WE SLEEP IN THESE GARISH MEADOWS AND WATCH THE CITY LIGHTS RIPEN, RIP OUT OUR HEARTS & LEAVE THEM BLOODIED & BEWITCHED ON THE TABLE, ALONG WITH CRACKLING HIBISCUS AND PURPLE WISTERIA, TO GROW AND DIE, TO GROW AND DIE, TO GROW AND - AND WE’RE CURLED UP LIKE YIN AND YANG, LIKE TWINS IN THE WOMB. IN YOUR CAR, WITH THE DUSK-DRIPPING SKY, AND ALL THESE WEEPING TREASURES AND THE ECHOES OF YOUR HEARTBEAT, LOUD AND HOLY LIKE A WHISPERING GOD. ALL THE TREES OUTSIDE SWAYING WITH IT. WITH YOU, YOUR THUNDER, YOUR SONGS. HERE I FEEL LIKE A CASTLE AGAIN, CRADLING A KING.
lennon’s eyes widened as she looked up at the boy with the smell of alcohol radiating off his skin. she paused for a moment, frozen in his concerned gaze. “oh, uh, yeah,” she stuttered out. “i’m sorry, i promise i can handle my alcohol. i think i ate too much cocktail shrimp or something.” ( you’re rambling, l ).
a bemused grin dances upon chiseled features for a fleeting moment whilst she speaks ----- - there is something endearing about the way pale pigments widen as she catches sight of his own frame . “ i mean , no - one’s blaming you for eating too much cocktail shrimp . they’re pretty damn good , if you ask me . ”
there’s no GUISE, no well-rehearsed excuse as to exactly h o w the sole kincaid son has found himself so innocently wayward from the sea of masked bodies beckoning everyone near and far to join. there’s no INNOCENCE here at all, no, because as soon as the flash of blonde hair and the unmistakably lithe frame had made its way into the room, holden’s fate was s e a l e d. being son to the ‘ angel of death ’ left him with more scars than a heart beneath his three piece suit and half a mind to never let any TELLS give himself away, but to the watchful eye it’s clear that there’s something other than dancing on his mind.
he nurses his own tumbler of whiskey with a slow, calculating sip, but the conflagration that BURNS his tongue is anything but sobering. it’s a matter of time– little more than a mocking TICK, T O C K– until his resolve breaks. he’s a man enraptured by temptation, capable of loving NOTHING more than getting what he wants. a temptation made even SWEETER when he knows it’s something that he can’t have. it’s the unmistakable nearly predatory pattern of footsteps that has the war raging inside his mind suddenly STOP like it never happened, and if he wasn’t sure that he’s already been sent to hell, the blazing touch of her hand to his arm would’ve surely sent him down, down, down. ‘i was afraid we were still waiting for your BUSINESS PARTNER,’ he answers steadily, wise enough to keep his gaze from moving down to her ring finger but not strong enough to stop them from the way they lock onto her red lips. the but you’ve come alone goes left unsaid. ‘i’d hate to keep an important woman like yourself waiting any longer. please, lead the way.’
they’re so predictable , & yet she never quite knows what to expect from the other . ( if he had half a mind , she thinks , he’d run far away from wide optics & dangerous brims & never look back over a broad shoulder ----- - she cannot stress how glad she is that he has yet to do so . ) she supposes that guilt should lodge itself somewhere within the cavern of her chest , but it has yet to inhibit the white - hot flame that cannot help itself but to envelope the entirety of her frame when she so much as catches S I G H T of the other . infidelity looks almost as good on her as sheer black lace does , & god knows she’d die before admitting it .
“ my BUSINESS PARTNER couldn’t quite make it tonight , i figured you wouldn’t be overly upset at the prospect of dealing with just me . ” impudence is etched into her tones alone , & she’s trying EXTRAORDINARILY hard not to grab his hand ----- - she’s drunk , but she’s not completely asinine . ( if you’re going to be unfaithful , don’t let the media see . most importantly , don’t let your fiancé see . ) a succession of quick steps & laboured breaths feels like hours , but mere seconds pass whilst lilith seeks out somewhere completely deserted ; a crowded ballroom perhaps isn’t the place for what she has in mind . the staircase & surrounding vicinity are fairly empty ----- - perhaps not ideal , but if agonising tension can be relieved for a transitory moment , that is all the blonde asks . pigments flutter to either side once she’s led the other over , before fixating solely on a countenance that she’s so wonderfully familiar with . “ there’s a ... room upstairs , i remember sneaking away upstairs here when i was nineteen . it’d serve us well , don’t you think ? ” & every purred syllable is drawn out & suggestive , & god only knows how she wants to pull that frame flush against her own but patience is key . ( it’s just that hers is running on empty . )
she is exactly four flutes of champagne down . the blonde rarely indulges , never lets more than a glass or two of fine wine trail past poised petals but tonight , she cannot bear to remain entirely composed . sip after sip has turned into gulp after gulp , & the faintest hum of inebriation has begun to cloud the blonde’s judgement . her fiancé is not present tonight ----- - she doubts she’d care even if he was in attendance , god only knows she relishes in the moments where she remains unencumbered by the pretense she must keep up . perhaps it is the bubbly that has possessed her lithe frame , or perhaps it is pure recklessness & boredom that drives the blonde to the male’s side ----- - either way , she isn’t complaining .
‘‘ you ----- - ” a slight pause , whilst periwinkle hues rake down a figure she knows too well , a figure she has been gazing at across the room for quite some time ----- - “ you look good enough to eat , mr. kincaid . ” & her syllables are hushed , barely above a breathy , choked whisper whilst one manicured hand raises to place ever - so - gently & yet ever - so - suggestively upon a clothed bicep . “ isn’t it about time you came & talked business with me ? i’ve missed your company . ” throaty vocals begin to fade on ‘business’ ----- - her intentions are obvious in the way she practically devours him with sight alone .
“…i don’t feel very good.” lennon whispered, finding her way quickly to an empty chair, not noticing the person occupying the seat next to them.
& while he may be bored , painfully disillusioned with the false grandeur of the entire event & ready to sneak out the back door , he’s also not a complete ass ---- - concern glints in widening hues as he focuses his ( semi - drunken ) attention on the smaller figure . “ do ... do you need some water or something ? ”
❰❰ ｡‧ • ‘ ✦ ― Of course he’d been to one too many of these oh so extravagant masquerade balls, too many to count. But as each new year occurred, something new and something exciting aroused with it, and with the crop of people this year, there was NO doubt in Warner’s extensive mind, he was just anxious to see who the many masks would reveal come midnight. He’d been standing next to them for quite the while, eyeing them every now and then when their heads were turned, it had gotten tiring in the long-run before he sparked a conversation. ❛ You look, interesting. Are you sure you didn’t go over the top for a ball ? ❜ he questioned as he gestured to their outfit with his drink in hand.
“ i don’t believe in ‘ over the top ’ . ” she does cut a striking figure , however ; lithe frame is clad in something effervescent & sheer , something so un - lilith that one can hardly tell who lurks behind an elaborate mask & gauzy material . champagne flute is clutched tight betwixt a manicured grip , & periwinkle pigments are yet to guide themselves upward to the other figure that stands at her side . perhaps it is BOREDOM that curls tight into carmine petals , or perhaps it is some kind of outlandish amusement ---- - she has attended so many of these balls over the years , & she is yet to find any real wonder within the illusions it tries to create . bitten sigh finds itself issuing between sealed shapes as she raises her head , defined brow arching whilst she offers the other a sharp gaze . “ why shouldn’t one dress for the occasion ? there’s no reason to look sub - standard . ”
