Lips on her neck, and hands moving under her shirt, up her sides. His breathing in her ear, his body’s warmth close to hers. The smell of alcohol thick, her arms draped around his neck carelessly. Her back was to a wall, and the front door still was open. Yet there was a pause, a hesitation about the gal as her darling continued without hindrance. His cold hands sending chills up her spine and Goosebumps to her skin. Her hesitation was not in the act, but more in the noise as she tilted her head back, body butted against the wall and a supple form. The darkness of the apartment was soon adjusted to, the liquor doing enough to sooth her though she hadn’t bothered to become a stoned as the man who accompanied her tonight. But her mind was elsewhere, for once not on unbuckling his pants and leading him to the bedroom. The quietness of her alcove was alarming. She heard not the dogs, could not feel the wood timbers gently flex as they padded towards. She heard nothing, or did she? Her breathing slowed, chest only moving in a mild, yet timed manner… Straining her ears as kisses wandered down her neck and hands wandered up her tank. It was only then did she capture the noise so faint, so muffled. A whimper, a cry, a sob. Stifled. Silenced. The dark shadows that loomed, the long cast of cluttered objects. He breathed quiet tones into her ear, but her attention was elsewhere, and her interest in a game of peek-a-boo with clothes off was distant. A lucid mind was spurred to think, and though she remained relax in the embrace she was placed in… “You gotta go.” Her hands found his and took them away from the fabric of her bra, offering a light natured smile, lips curving just so as eyes remained half-closed, content still, she wasn’t especially troubled. Or so it seemed as she held his earnest hands at her side… Noting his somewhat surprised features, halfly shrouded in the cast of night and entirely eclipsed in the ghost light that poured through the blinds from streetlights, and the faint, yet seemingly distant warm glow of the lights in the hall. He had a moment of evaluation, had he read her wrong? Back at the lounge she had been speaking pretty clear… Oh, don’t look at me that way. His appearance turned to that of light embarrassment and another once over…

He was thinking a number of things and many of such things she could guess. But sadly he was mistaken in his thought - none of that was really it. It wasn’t that she was… having second thoughts. It was that they were not exactly alone, someone was in here, could he not here them? A shudder ran up her spine, another chill as the rather cold atmosphere outside sprung through the old building. “Maybe next time?” She offered but didn’t hold her breath. Fact of the matter was that there wouldn’t be a next time, this was just one random thing. He had a girlfriend, she could tell - such a horrible liar, it was evident on him. Girls like her? They could just tell. She was willing to bet she knew his story, or a part of it at least. He went to the city to work, had a bad day, got a little lonely, went to a bar, and chanced upon her feeling a little lonely herself. But he was going to argue, apologize, comment, say something. She could tell by the way his apple bobbed, his throat moved, his lips started to shift but… there really wasn’t any need for it, a finger gently going over his lips in the standard ‘shush’ sign before she leaned in. An arm going around his shoulder, a mild whisper to his ear, a kiss to his neck, an apprehensive look, a hesitation, and then a reach to get his coat, and then a heading out the door. A ‘are you sure?’, a closing of the door, an inner debate. The silent sobs had ceased, the apartment was eerily quiet. The dogs seemingly were not around and the shadows that were cast so long, so deep, seemed to stretch into an abyss. It was silent before a loud bang on the walls and a significant clash of china and more yelling and shouting met her ears. Not that it stove off the perturbed feeling that had settled like a thick, wool blanket. Itching at her anxiety and confidence. She hated being home alone. Not because she disliked solitude, but because one… never knew who would be there, too. The locks on the door, the bolts, the windows nailed shut… the large dogs, didn’t it all add up? If it didn’t then rest assured she carried firearms littered about the place. Pistols, handguns, larger ones, hunting knives and butchering blades. Not all was just because of morbid fascination or dark interests.

The cold metal felt odd in her hand. The chill of the place in general seemed ethereal. Far from reality, her breathing was deep and even as she walked forward. Going along the small apartment piece by piece it was only in front of the window, in front of the ghost light did she stop, did she pause. Eyeing the dark blotch on the floor, knowing that that could not have possibly been there… when she had left earlier this evening. What is it? You know what it is. … She didn’t need to touch it. To lift it to the light to examine the hue. It was blood, she knew it was blood. Blood… The lady of the house stepped over the splotch, continuing her examination of her household as sobs started again. Quiet and stifled, she followed the restrained noises as the yelling next-door continued and her heart started to pound. Beating against her chest, trying to break free of the will that kept her breathing in check and her legs from bolting. She hated this. If only she could see what was there, if only she could know who was there. It bothered her, this inability to see, this inability to know. It bothered her, alarmed her, unsettled her. It fought with an instinct to flee, but a will and a bold attitude that told her to never flee beat the instinct into submission. If someone is there, shoot them. What if they fight for the gun? Just let one round out. People in the building will here you. But will they help? … Everyone preferred staying in their own business, turning a blind eye, looking the other way… I wonder if he is still in the hall… Her thoughts returned to the man who had recently left, even if she knew he was long gone by now… and even then if he was not she couldn’t ask him to stay, couldn’t ask him to look for her… Though cute as it may be for a handsome man to be called back to a pretty girl’s apartment to check out the bumps and rattles in the night… what would that do to her pride? Her own sinful ego? … Besides… More blood. Neat droplets on the floor, she was opening the nearly shut bathroom door. Her fingertips barely touching the thin wood door. And yet how it creaked on it’s worn, metal hinges. The sound enough to cause a rustle and a squeak, another sob escaping… She was close now, she could tell… What the hell. This is like some shitty horror movie, isn’t it? The chick with the gun pulls back the shower curtain, no one’s there, she turns around lowering her gun then BAM her head’s cut off. She breathed a smirk and hefted a chuckle. She was living a horror film, a nightmare. So perfect. Least I go out a star.

When she pulled back the curtain her aim was a little low. Her thought was if it was a man and he was standing, he would have his family jewels blown off, and if it was anyone else, well, they might get a few rounds in the gut and wouldn’t that stop them in their tracks? But she wasn’t trigger happy, and the yelp and the cry that sounded when the curtain was drawn was enough. Her eyes peered into the face of a child. Tears streaming, lips and hands bloody as they fingered her teeth. Missing teeth, and a pill bottle. Her eyes flickered from the child who had taken up residence in her bathroom, to the medicine cabinet full of pills, pills that varied from over the counter to prescription only to not exactly legal. The cabinet was out of order, with a bottle floating in the toilet, and many others littering the floor. A clear plastic bag had been ripped open. The pills inside were gone, and the gun, loaded and cocked with a finger on the trigger was still clear in the youths face. But the firearm was soon placed on the sink. “Spit them out, now.” Her voice was truly vicious. It was loud, it was hard, and it was capable of murdering. Threatening was her tone, as was she as a hand reached out and grabbed the child by long locks of blonde hair, pulling her forcefully closer as another hand took the young one’s chin and pointed it in better light to see as fingers pressed on cheeks. Her eyes flickered with sudden rage, anger, ferocity. She told her never to go into the cabinet. She told her never. “Spit them out!” Swallowed. She could tell it as the throat bobbed, and it was only then that her anger reached a peek. She dragged the blonde girl out of the bathtub, onto the floor, into the kitchen, kicking and screaming. Leaving her be only for a moment to slam cupboard doors until she found the bottle, and then a spoon, and then a cup into which she poured water. Returning to the girl before she could recover, she pinned her down on the floor, sitting on her chest, and then holding her chin and tilting it upwards. Action was met with kicking and flailing but the redhead was not, by any means, overpowered by the twelve year old girl. A noise was held in a way of mean intention, another hand holding a spoon of syrup of ipecac. Jamming it into her mouth, then getting off her, the glass of water on the floor was greedily taken.

As the other drank the woman moved. She opened a drawer, took out a knife, then went back to the girl against. Taking her by hair once more she shoved her over to the counter, snatched up a hand, and placed it on the tiled counter. The knife, large and well bladed, was placed over the wrist, taking on a murderous gleam as light struck it so in the darkened apartment. “What the fuck did I ever tell you? I told you. I told you countless times. I warned you. I told you I would cut of your damn hand if you every touched them!” Pressure was exerted, the girl started to cry and sob, struggling now stopped, though she still gently clawed at Chris’ arm. Vision blurred, young body scrawny. Pleading with so many words, apologies countless coming from her blubbering lips. “Take any of them again. ANY, and I will tear your to pieces and hide you where no one will find you.” She shoved her away, throwing the knife at a wall. Hearing the thump of the girl hit the floor as more cries and sobs soaked into the air. But they went indifferently, to no avail, crying never worked, sorrys never mattered. Ten minutes later Chris was beside the toilet holding blonde locks as the girl vomited. Fifteen minutes later she was setting the girl on the kitchen counter, examining her mouth because of missing teeth and doctoring her cuts. Thirty minutes later she was tucking the girl into her own bed, rubbing her back, staying with her until she stopped crying and finally fell asleep. She knew the story, she didn’t have to ask. She didn’t have to wonder where the mother was. The mother was down the hall, taking drugs and drinking. She didn’t have to ponder where the father was. He was out getting drunk. She didn’t have to question who had knocked her teeth out, who had locked her out of her home. She didn’t have to ask. This happened. But the girl didn’t listen. How many times had she been told when her mother started shooting up and drinking to just come on over? How many times had she told the girl to not stick around? The same number of times she told her not to touch the medicine cabinet. She tried overdosing today. Same way I tried. Why you always keep that rank mess around? The syrup? Heh. Yah.

“So who’s this tall, dark and handsome man? Going to make me guess?” She asked with a smirk, lacing up the skates as little miss Natalie did too. A smile on her lips as she brushed her shoulder length blonde hair behind her ear. Spoken without words was a ‘yes’, and once Chris finished with the skates and pulled the cuff of her pants back over the tanned leather skates, she rose. A grin on her as she took both her shoes and the young lady’s and stored them in one of the nearby cube shelves along the walls. Her guesses fell but none of them seemed right, as head shook time after time. “Gimme a hint.” She said, as they went onto the glossy, smooth wood floor. The slickness of it a perfect thing as, with minimal effort, she started to move. Her speed decent enough, her balance truly at home. Evident she wasn’t a new one to the floor as the music boomed loud and strong and the lights dashed and churned and flickered and shown. Adding sudden splotches of color to the rather dark arena. “He has blue eyes.” Miss Natalie said with a smile, her arms swinging gently as she moves mildly with the music, and Chris one again looked about. Turning, though, now, she skated backwards, taking the girl’s hands into her own and sending them faster along the curve of the floor, looking over her shoulder to eye other souls on the floor as she looked, intently for blue eyed men among the mob. Pointing some out now and again with a nod of her head only to find each guess, again, wrong. Yet within ten minutes the duo found themselves no longer alone. Friends soon joined, and chatter began of who this mystery man could be, more thoughts thrown, as a game of trip began. The skates beneath her tried to be taken out, the common thought being one Chris going on backwards would be an easier one to go crashing to the floor, and as they headed away from the main circuit and into the center where skating went slower and learners found safety, soon enough was on her knees, though the fifteen year old dark brown haired boy found that, with a leg yanked from under him he couldn’t stay upright either. Sitting on the floor she listened to the chatter, another female, nearer in her own age flopping to the floor beside her. An old friend, the darling was, Jessica, with her dirty blonde hair and promiscuous attitude. She leaned back on her hands, content to simply remain sitting in the middle, watching those who couldn’t skate try, hazardously, to find their footing. It wasn’t long before Natalie, with a nod of ‘go ahead’ was off on her own, with more of her own friends, leaving two of the flock behind.

Out of Juice; It gets weaker near the end, sorry. =/ Just have your character bob in and I'll find a way for Chrizzy to come meet you. ^^
--------- Adds; The situation will make more sense in my next post. =] It'll be explained a bit more.

… What do you if when someone is in a bad situation and they just don’t want out of it? Mhmm…? What do you do, exactly? … Some people liked some things, other people liked other things. They cherish certain traits while damning others. They were their own person with their own likes and dislikes. What do you do when they like something that is ‘bad’ for them? Or bad for them in… your eyes? And, better yet, what do you do when you try to help that person and you’re the one who is the terrible person? The ‘wrong doer’? The ‘bad guy’? … She tried but she wasn’t going to bend over backwards. If someone didn’t want help why the hell bother trying to force it on them? Who knows what is best for someone then that person? It was just like saying what was normal, what should be done, what is good, what is bad. It was entirely opinion, entirely changeable and dependent on the context. Ever changing. Depended on the person, depended on the view, depended on the mood. Depended, how sad, because as long as it depended it couldn’t… You know what? Thinking never did suit her. Totally ruined whatever she had going for her, this thought business. Besides thinking was so overrated. Mean really… Her and thinking? Disaster zone. Why she bothered with it still was a wonder. There was a plenty of folk in the world who would agree. After all if she couldn’t think she couldn’t really be who she was. And that was always a plus… after all with all these people looking out to change someone, she would be utterly perfect. A clean slate, ready to be changed, molded, figured into whatever someone wanted her to be. Of course there was a bad side to it… Well, of course there was. If she had no one to tell her what to do how the hell would she survive? Heavens! She would need someone to tell her to breathe after all, brainless as she would be, foolish as would be, thoughtless as she she would be. Still, her, pesh, babes, her? She could pull it off. Fierce girl entirely unarmed and secure… total ditz with a cherry on top? Pah, they’d love her better if she was what they wanted her to be. And the world would forgive her more if she bent like a willow to whoever’s will. If she had no brain or thoughts life would be easier. But where was the fun in that? Same place the fun was when Mother dearest was knocking out your front teeth, surely. But that was wrong of her to bring such up. A low blow. But since when did she care about 'low blows'?

Speaking of the darling Natalie, she was all fixed up. A patchwork quilt, Ms. James could see it well. With burns and patches and needles lost in the fabric. But it was a warm blanket, the soul of Miss Natalie, and endearing. She was a sweet girl earnest to please and be loved. Despite the story of her life being that, well, she looked for love in people who were devoid of it. Her mother for example. Her father for example. Personally Ms. James thought, in the privacy of her mind and out of the way of the fast pace, obnoxious world, that Miss Natalie didn’t know what love was. Now, not that she was one to preach or write the good book on love, but… she knew full well what love was not. And a father that said ‘I love you’ and didn’t do anything to protect you was not love. A mother who acted good and well when she was sober, then got drunk and high and smacked you around calling you the ruin of her life and the stealer of her affections was not, ha, not love. … Nor was love a person down the hall who tucks her in at night and rubs her back and stays with her as she cries. That isn’t love. If it was love that person would aim to correct the situation. Have you, she had. But she didn’t really try. Her offer was to call the coopers and get her cooped up in child services. That wasn’t really an option, nor one that would ever tempt the young girl who loved her parents so. Nor was there love inside Natalie's network of friends. The close ones who knew what was happening was just like Chris. They tried. To an extent. But it never worked. Never worked well. Natalie was too naive, too much a saint to understand sinners and 'how it worked'. It'd be the death of her. Everyone knew that. But no one would care until she turned up in the river, floating down to the ocean, with her eyes open and her throat slit. No one would care until she was dead. And by then? It'd be to late to care. Caring wouldn't make any difference. But that was how the world worked. That was how it func-tioned. The Good die young. “Where’s Anthony?” She inquired after a moment of watching glow sticks (necklaces, bands, bracelets, and skates) in the dark. Her eyes flickering away from the scene to the beauty beside her. Blonde hair, blue eyes, fine complexion… Jessica was pretty. But she hung out with the wrong people… The… really, really wrong people.

… But that was none of Chris’ business. Who her… ‘friends’ hung out with was none of her business. It didn’t matter to her, it was their lives. The same way it was none of her business who they slept with, who they did things with, who they called… and who they cheated on with who. It wasn’t her business but how many times did they runoff at the mouth? Looking to impress her with their latest crime of infidelity or seduction. They really didn’t get it, Chris dropped out of high school. She really didn’t care for the drama much more. Or so was her façade most of the time, though have you life gets a bit boring without juicy, succulent happenings, without events, drastic changes… “He’s at work.” Was what she heard next. Her double pierced ears doing well in their task of registering the vibrations of her company despite the loud music, despite the rumble of the mob as they yelled and hollered and laughed. She heard, she listened, she let it register but her concentration wasn’t entirely placed on any one thing. No, her curiosity was fading fast, her interest as well. She didn’t really care to know about Anthony, who the guy was she was hanging on that wasn’t Anthony tonight, and any other bit about her and her affairs. But what else was there to talk about? There wasn’t much. The audience tonight was more the younger sorts - she had slim choices when it came who to flirt with… and going in circles never was fun when you didn’t have anyone to talk to… “Where are you going after this?” Chris blinked as she was asked a question. Her eyes, which had managed to wander off into the void of nothingness quickly snapped back into attention. Oh, yes, she was definitely a bit spacey… but covered up so well as her skull turned to view the damsel. “Mhmm…” Where was she going to go after this? She really hadn’t much a clue, she wasn’t really a chronic alcoholic, nor one to be found every single night going to a party or home with someone new. Not every single night, at least. Home sounded nice… or going to the movies? Most likely just… whatever Natalie wanted to do…? “Haven’t a clue. Are you gonna go to Sasha’s party?” She said yes, and that only caused our darling to smirk. Anthony would be pissed if spent time with her ex while he was not there… if he found out… Which he probably would. Ears and eyes everywhere, you know, with a great plenty of people looking to get even.

Murky green eyes, livid, vivid, dangerous and devious seemed to catch the light in a rather new way. Dull glimmer turning into a fine shine it was almost worrisome this sudden change of her temper, this sudden change of her look and the air (once stale, no popped) about the girl. It seemed she, like one of those hounds, was perking up after catching the scent of the hunt. Evident was this to Jessica as well, even more so as the darling James girl brought herself back to a stand, a smirk on her plush lips accompany the deviance in her gaze. Folli Oli I didn’t know you could skate babypoo! But if you want to know a secret… she wasn’t entirely certain if the boy she watched be roughed to the floor was really her darling Folly. Nah, the strobe lights, the sudden, abrupt moving bodies, and the sheer angle in which she had to view the male beastie… it didn’t aid the matter of clear identification but… she didn’t let that bother her as she went on to assume, and went on to get all worked up about it. She hadn’t seen Folly in ages, it seemed, and ‘ages’ was just a little too long for her, probably not long enough for him, but… She zoomed, she zipped. She would have, if not for the fact he wasn’t so far away, but still she came in a rather timely fashion, coming near enough but continuing behind him. Undoubtedly limber hands were seeking to steal a hat along the way and, if such a devious act managed to go without flaw, she would be placing it on her own crown. Mhmm, still, she didn’t seem well versed in the thieving process as, instead of taking to fleeing, she turned abruptly and returned. Crouching down, long legs bent, her hands went to the toe of the skates as she went the last few feet at a rather slow roll. It was like standing on one’s toe tips, bent down but with good balance such a thing was rather comfortable… Well, was comfortable until her tagalong came along and kicked the skates from under her. A butt that had remained a few meager inches off the floor now definitely in contact with it… as a hand went out and snatched Jessica’s skate, and sent her to the floor on her knees as well. A glare Chris’ expression, as her attention rolled back to FolliOli (for to her utmost delight it was, indeed, him), “I ever tell you I adore your hats? Simply fantastic, you know.” She said mildly, smiling. “Course, I tell you everything, you, never tell me nothing. Didn’t know your skate, FolliOli! See, we could have went skating all those times…” She stick her lip out and divvied up a try at adorable, pouting innocence. Which would have worked decently, if not for that fact well… he knew full well as she. She wasn’t didn’t really fall in any category of ‘adorable innocence’. Just wasn’t her calling, or her cup of tea.

Out of Juice; Your going to murder me with these jig-anto posts of yours, Toastie. xD