Test Drive:
Jul. 29th, 2014 01:13 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
killerroseRoof Tops: Night
[Her sword drips with blood, her black boots standing in the middle of the dark puddle as she looks up into her victims gaze. Her eyes are cold and calculating as her grip on the girl’s neck shifts. Her sword rises up once more slicing her head from her shoulders with a clean poetic arc. The body falls like a doll over the edge of the building until landing below where the figure freezes in death.
Ib drops the head on the rooftop, the girl’s blood continuing to pool as blue eyes look out in horror. A tangled mass of dark blond hair is stained with red like everything else on the roof. It is a beautiful painting left scattered along the buildings edge.]
One more piece.
[Her voice is soft as she turns away. Her gloved hand holds a bloody mass of tissue as she walks towards the painting that calls her.]
Bar: Night
Ib tilted her head to the side, a curtain of dark hair falling in response. It was the same most nights and again she was asked out. Her tight leathery black top was enough to make the boy’s mouth water but add her red eyes, the dark shade of her hair and the fact that she worked in a gothic night club and you got the perfect eye candy.
She made good tips that way.
A cruel smile pulled at her lips, one she had practiced since her first day, while her thin finger reached out and trailed along the boys jaw. He was older than her but he had a baby face that made people card him constantly. His name might have been Trevor; Ib never really took the time to remember.
“You know I can’t.”
Daytime:
She walked through the streets, her hands at her sides with her shadow following close behind her. Her red gaze flicked over those walking passed as if looking for something she had lost. He was complete and yet that preditorial urge remained.
“Garry.”
Her voice was soft but rang with a tone that demanded it be listened to. In an instant the shadow stepped forward, his eyes dead and cold like the puppet that he was. Ib placed her hand in his, looking at him as if they were the only ones along the crowded street. Those looking at the pair might mistake them for lovers except that their bond was much deeper than that.
The hum of those around them pulled her from her thoughts; she released his hand and turned forward. Like a good puppet he followed behind keeping his cold gaze on her long brown hair as it fanned behind her.
Random:
Start your own scene!
[Her sword drips with blood, her black boots standing in the middle of the dark puddle as she looks up into her victims gaze. Her eyes are cold and calculating as her grip on the girl’s neck shifts. Her sword rises up once more slicing her head from her shoulders with a clean poetic arc. The body falls like a doll over the edge of the building until landing below where the figure freezes in death.
Ib drops the head on the rooftop, the girl’s blood continuing to pool as blue eyes look out in horror. A tangled mass of dark blond hair is stained with red like everything else on the roof. It is a beautiful painting left scattered along the buildings edge.]
One more piece.
[Her voice is soft as she turns away. Her gloved hand holds a bloody mass of tissue as she walks towards the painting that calls her.]
Bar: Night
Ib tilted her head to the side, a curtain of dark hair falling in response. It was the same most nights and again she was asked out. Her tight leathery black top was enough to make the boy’s mouth water but add her red eyes, the dark shade of her hair and the fact that she worked in a gothic night club and you got the perfect eye candy.
She made good tips that way.
A cruel smile pulled at her lips, one she had practiced since her first day, while her thin finger reached out and trailed along the boys jaw. He was older than her but he had a baby face that made people card him constantly. His name might have been Trevor; Ib never really took the time to remember.
“You know I can’t.”
Daytime:
She walked through the streets, her hands at her sides with her shadow following close behind her. Her red gaze flicked over those walking passed as if looking for something she had lost. He was complete and yet that preditorial urge remained.
“Garry.”
Her voice was soft but rang with a tone that demanded it be listened to. In an instant the shadow stepped forward, his eyes dead and cold like the puppet that he was. Ib placed her hand in his, looking at him as if they were the only ones along the crowded street. Those looking at the pair might mistake them for lovers except that their bond was much deeper than that.
The hum of those around them pulled her from her thoughts; she released his hand and turned forward. Like a good puppet he followed behind keeping his cold gaze on her long brown hair as it fanned behind her.
Random:
Start your own scene!
Bar: Night
Date: 2015-08-04 03:33 am (UTC)She failed to answer his question about her parents. So he didn't press the matter. He had a feeling--a terrible, chilling feeling--that he knew what must've happened if she turned out to be so sad.
Her innocence had gone, and he doubted it had entirely to do with the gallery. Something else must've happened. She must've gone through so much. He sighed, wiping up the blood before taking her hand between his fingers, delicately wrapping her cut in that handkerchief as she had done for him. "... I didn't know you could take something with you. You went back? I didn't even know there was a painting of me."
He remembered there was one of her. A chilling one, where she was hanging.
Garry didn't want to think about it. "Ib ... I know I've missed so much, but please. Tell me what happened. I'm here now. I won't leave your side again."
Bar: Night
Date: 2015-08-04 03:12 pm (UTC)Ib sighed leaning against him so her head rested on his shoulder. She didn’t want to tell him anything. She just wanted to enjoy the warmth of him sitting next to her.
Except that he probably wouldn’t accept no knowing for very long.
Her eyes slipped closed and she thought back. Her voice was calm and slow as if taking the time to remember every small detail of the event. “It started in the gallery. We had fallen into the toy box. I found you first and I guess in that time Mary had found my rose. You traded yours for mine, you said you weren’t mad at me but I always thought that you were. You took my hand and lead me forward. We followed a trail of blue rose petals…” Ib’s voice softens slightly. “You fell against the wall saying that you felt weak but that I should go ahead. That you would catch up with me. I went to the top of the stairs and I found Mary. She pulled the last petal from your rose and laughed. She wanted us to go together. To the real world.”
Ib felt tears brim to the surface but she kept her eyes closed. “I ran back to you hoping that you were alive. I still remember it, your body was slumped against the wall and you weren’t breathing” She had curled up next to him and she didn’t know how long she stayed before she finally steeled herself to leave. “I took your lighter.”