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Post by Jeanette "Leech" Grey on Apr 13, 2014 0:59:57 GMT -5
Outwardly spiteful? She had learned quickly to avoid an apparent bite. Just like her power, which she used subtly, apparent use resulted in trouble. Eight times, six of them by one man, had resulted in a shattered cheekbone. While two hundred years had allowed it to heal without signs, she had learned to hold her tongue—or dam outward aggression. “Isn’t that a song, I think? Right?” She had been around. She knew full damn well it was a song. “Old values went out when they became old I guess.” Time eroded all things. Her body itself seemed to be an exception—because she stole from the time itself. Sipping again, relishing the taste of alcohol, she watched the fire-type. The look of ditsy faded for a moment. Why are you not drinking? Painted fingers pushed the glass a bit forward.
Eat his own tail? If she had heard that particular promise, which sounded like bait to a hungry fish, she might have overturned her drink. It would be worth seeing at the very least. “I am gratified to hear it—little fox.” In truth, as she truly had little interest in training, she was having difficulties remembering if he was a Braixen or Delphox. Did it truly matter? People were insulted over the stupidest things—herself includes. Her lips were gradually ironed free of their crinkling. It did not matter. Doubtlessly, considering some of her husbands (and their relative obesity), it was not a topic without its familiarity. It was a case of Skitty and Wailord.
“You asked for honesty, fuzzy.” The classical lowering of the ears, like waving a flag of surrender, was telling. Animal body language was not overly difficult to read. She ignored any thoughts of trouble to take another sip of drink. Cynical? The queen had likely helped invent the phenomenon. In truth, as a child, Jeanette had been fairly optimistic. Her personality, with a bit of spark, had tended to shine through. Marriage, a few beatings, and a beast, had helped break her of that—like an unruly mare in the pasture. “Shallow things have their uses.” While she claimed it was the best way to live, as she had difficulties admitting to her own faults, Jeanette truly had little belief in mankind. “Hmph. Once upon a time—maybe.” Shoulders lifted in a shrug.then again, movies didn’t exist then.” Lifting a toothpick, as there was a stray olive, she dismembered the green ball. “If it’s a good movie, that’s different.” Most of that romance-focused cinema was just hogwash.
“……” Some part of her, the piece raised in less progressive times, wished to spit at the fox. “Doing it ‘right’?” What was right in this game? What was productive for reproduction? Whatever idiot made the heart flutter? Too female. Too poor. She could not deal with living in a dumpster for ‘love’. “A while ago.” Men didn’t want a cynical old widower—eight times. “I have my reasons.” The Kinsey scale made her eyes grow a bit wide. “I really don’t have a reason to lie to you.” The Pokemon wasn’t worth the effort—truthfully. Especially if he could guess. “You can ignore the scale, if you want. “ The feelings still didn’t go away. The way she talked to the girls instead of the men—the admiration and feelings of fondness. The utter disdain when grubby hands brushed across her skin. It was nothing but disgusting.. Sip! “I wouldn’t try to overturn the stupid thing.” A triangle, when turned on its side, remained a triangle.
The drink had lost its appeal. It now tasted like warm piss, fur, and overly ripe olives.
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Rau
POKEMON
Posts: 35
OOC Name:: Keiran
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Post by Rau on Apr 20, 2014 12:17:15 GMT -5
"If you know musicals, then you and I should be getting along better than we do," Rau snickered into the mouth of his bottle, "Class, from Chicago. It's only in the stage production, though." Not too long ago, music had been a readily available part of Rau's life. Living in a bustling, beautiful city had given him every chance to listen and sing along by the backdoor of every high school or professional production. Nada didn't have the same amount of life that his previous homes had. Ah well, at least the people inside were just as colorful. "I think the 'chivalry is dead' line has some truth to it, but it does depend where you look. Brightly lit and bouncing bars aren't the best place to look if you want proper husband material. At least, not the cultured kinds."
Honest Jeanette was being, but trust-worthy she most certainly wasn't. What in the world had made such a(n admittedly) pretty face like her into the cynic lurking beneath it? Did daddy not love you? No, this was rooted a little too deep to be so cliche. His crossed arms tightened more for a moment before a small sigh relaxed his posture.
This was much more dramatic than he'd expected it to be.
Rau's ears stayed low as something about her demeanor changed again, but his brow perked up instead, betraying his curiosity. It wasn't his calling out her plastic smile that caused her eyes to widen or her voice to suddenly grow bitter--more so than it had been, anyway. Rau was savvy to quite a few things on the 'scene', but this one was both familiar and new. Denial was different for every person. "You have every reason to lie to me. I'm a chatty, friendly bartender who gets just as many eligible men on my side of the bar as you do. If there was anybody to keep the facade up for, wouldn't it be me, deary? I can direct the bachelors your way if you wanted me to. Unless you're thinking of..." a fire lit behind his eyes, making them glow brighter and redder, "...an hourglass figure?"
In a moment, Rau had stretched his paw across the bar and snatched the glass from out of Jeanette's hand. "You look like you're about to be sick, Jean. Here," he pushed a cold bottle of water in her direction instead, "It'll get the bad taste out of your mouth." At least, from the drink. The taste left from her train of thought wouldn't fade that quickly.
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Post by Jeanette "Leech" Grey on Apr 23, 2014 0:53:27 GMT -5
The theater was far less annoying than most other places. The music was divine; she particularly admired the various orchestras. In her darkest hours, eyes black and heart slowly turning blue, the violin and piano had been her dearest friends. All of her husbands had some sort of affection for the theater. It was a place to show off your ‘bird’, filled with dazzling costumes, and allowed the audience to also put on a show. In truth, as she truly found enjoyment in little, it was rare for her to go by herself. What sort of woman went to the theater alone? “It doesn’t surprise me that you know musicals, fox.” The glass, cold and sparkling in the flashing lights, scattered prisms upon the walls.
“Pity. This region is a bit of a cultural bore.” Two hundred years old, or not, Jeanette was trapped here just like every other unfortunate soul—with nosy things like Rau. “The next show will likely be “Death of a Nation”. “ Dislike of Pravus was apparent in her features. “You would be surprised. Besides, in this place, there is little ‘culture’ to be found. People were excited when Sesame Street aired.” Nose wrinkled in distaste; she was truly glad her children had nothing like giant yellow birds to lull them into sleep.
Her father loved her—in his own way. As time had went on, skyscrapers and electricity replacing bricks and lanterns, Jeanette had realized it. It had seemed acceptable to him, with little money and too many children, to sell off a child. Her rage had burned, cold and icy, for nearly a century. Why such a cruel man? Why such a heartless man? Cynicism had supplied her answers. Humans, even while they seemed to progress forward, remained much the same. “Having an issue, Fuzzy? I heard you sigh, sweetie.” For a moment, unbeknownst to her, it sounded as if the 1920s had erupted from her throat—rather ironic with a drink in her hand.
In truth, if the furball was going to assume things, he could kindly jump off a cliff. She wasn’t one of those women. Denial ran deep within her; it was a river of left behind desires, self-inflicted torture, and longer than the Nile river. Her bitterness was apparent in her features and how her hand tightened. “I was not aware so many humans—if that’s what you were referring to—have those sort of..desires.” She supposed, I his own way, that Rau was charming to most people. He didn’t shove his cold, wet, dog-nose, into their business. “If you wish to—“ The smile returned glassy, fake, and the voice rose in levels of chipper. She had been allowed a moment to wallow in her real self; it was a dark and nasty mire. “I would truly and deeply appreciate it sweetums.” Another few decades of torture, in hopes of finding a wealthy bank that didn’t quickly bankrupt, seemed worthwhile.
The taste became bitter and despicable. The drink was slammed down upon the bar with a chink. Her originally syllable was loud. It descended into an angrily hissed whisper. If she had been a cat, her fur would have been standing up like a crop of corn and her teeth bared “..I most certainly am not!” Her mind returned to images of those she remembered with fondness; it was one man and a series of maids, waitresses, and flight attendants. The cup was pulled away. The water was cold in her hand.
“You—you—“ The elegance faded and was replaced with red-cheeked anger. The question was, underneath it all, just who was she angry with? She took a sip and then left the bottle uncorked. The urge to give the pushy thing a bath was overwhelming. “Don’t accuse someone of things like that.” It was fine by today’s standards—it was hard to shake childhood feelings towards such items. It was not wrong for others—just for her.
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