Prepare for the #LodanRespawn2024 Existing characters may choose to be displace from/have memories of different timelines, thereby allowing returning members the option to retcon their whole character. These changes are the result of the "Unnatural Fog" plot device that is running between now and the Respawn. The plot is simple: no matter where your character is, that place is shrouded in a thick fog that suspends time, but not thoughts or memories, so even if they're repeating the same day over and over again, they continue to remember, so each time feels like a new day. For those retconning OCs; this is where new versions of themselves have the opportunity to replace the old versions. Official lore and tree updates will be announced asap
Post by Edgar Anapello on Jun 11, 2016 5:50:54 GMT
Again Edgar chuckled; it seemed that this Goddess had taken a liking to him, just as he had to her. He held her hand tightly as she stood close to him, not eager to release her any time soon. “Of Course, m’lady. Point me in the right direction,” he said evenly and after she gestured, he took the lead in walking with her.
As they parted from the alley, footsteps echoing on the pavement, Edgar cleared his throat. “Do you know the land where the lemon trees grow, In darkened leaves the gold oranges glow, A soft wind blows from the pure blue sky, The myrtle stands mute, and the bay tree high? Do you know it well? It’s there I’d be gone. To be there with you, oh, my beloved one.”
A light blush was on his cheeks, but his face showed no sigh of embarrassment. Instead, he looked at her with a happiness, wondering if she’d enjoy the verse.
Hands, all too eager to remain joined, pulled Aida as they journeyed to the bar— the same bar, that all too long ago, Sayvahn had found Lasair in. But the man’s name— it was a blur in Aida’s mind— a blur placed by her own choice— and this time, without magic. A saddened smile played on the feline lips, but it soon died away as words flowed from Edgar’s tongue. Aida held onto each syllable, letting the meaning fade in and out with Edgar’s every breath, every pause, his eyes, holding onto hers, a smile, still interlaced on his lips. Mild guilt tugged at Aida, but any sorrow, any regret, was left behind as the barber pulled her forward, the warmth, spreading. “Tell me, oh Man, of Poems and Song, what do you want beneath these lemon trees?” Aida hummed, slowing somewhat so that their walk was almost a pause.
“The breeze—the breath of God—is still— And the mist upon the hill, Shadowy—shadowy—yet unbroken, Is a symbol and a token— How it hangs upon the trees, A mystery of mysteries.” “What mystery do you wish to seek with these dark pools that look upon me so foundly, hmm?” Aida purred, brushing her hand across the other’s face, fingers, lingering on the others cheek, face, nearing as if to look deeper into those obsidian orbs—but the dancer tilted her head toward a doorway, not to far from them. “There’s the bar. We should have the house to ourselves, if I remember the hours correctly.”
Post by Edgar Anapello on Jun 12, 2016 2:26:08 GMT
It seemed that he didn’t have much time until they reached the doorway. Well, it was a good thing his mind was quick on his feet when it came to the writing of poems.
“A secret, is that what you think I seek? Now now, I don’t take you to be so meek, As if to think you know not what lie on my mind. You, a beauty so fair, yet you appear so blind. But you see, perhaps I should have been more direct. For what truly is dancing around my head, Has been you; alas I’m not sure what to expect. Acceptance? Denial? Or simply, only, more words said.”
He took a short step forward and released her arm, yet held her hand, and opened the door for her to take the first step through.
Raising a brow, the gentle smile on Aida’s lips turned amused as she curtsied, thanking Edgar for opening the door, however, once she crossed the doorway, she turned, a finger, drawing below the scarf the other wore, only to tug, swiftly, but not too hashly, the barber’s face down— pressing his tender lips against hers— a kiss, fairly swift, but gone, almost as quickly as it came. Unlocking her hold on the poet’s scarf, and his hand, the dancer took a few steps down the stairs that led to the actual bar, a grin, lingering on licked lips as she paused to glance at the barber. “I am not blind, but cautious for games of cat and mouse are only as fair if both know that two cats play and not just one.”
“In a closed society where everybody's guilty, the only crime is getting caught." ― Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
Post by Edgar Anapello on Jun 12, 2016 3:39:06 GMT
His face grew red as she pulled him close. He did not object to the motion and a flame shot through him as their lips met. He was wrong in thinking they would be as soft as her hands; instead, they were much softer.
But then, in a time much too short, she retracted from him and stepped away, entering the dark corridor as a devious smile came to her lips, and words again came from the lips that shouldn’t have been so far away.
Two cats at play? He shook past his heated thoughts and focused on her eyes, so deep and green, and how they seemed to glow, ever so slightly. He let the door close behind them, increasing the darkness and seeing how they illuminated the dark ever so slightly. But then, how had she known of his heritage. He glanced down at his hands, the gloves still covered them, and then it occurred to him that she must have felt the claws as he held her hand. But, that was okay. In just a few short words she had accepted him despite it.
His mouth was dry as he followed after her, descending the few steps into the building. He couldn’t wait to see what other surprises she had in store.
"Nothing makes us so lonely as our secrets." -Paul Tournier
The feline’s reactions were just as Aida expected. Tender, confused, unknowing. Yet he was a man— his composure, returning, but still caught, in mid thought, in mid action— eyes, burning into her, black pools, swallowing her until at last, the barber closed the door, black flooding her view, only a second— only as her eyes adjusted, and the older woman saw, ever so faintly, the glow around the barber’s eyes. So he was feline, too. The realization made her breath catch, and, she smiled, a laugh, collecting on the ex-barber’s tongue, along with a silent gasp as electricity seemed to spark through her. This was getting better and better. Red trailed behind her ever so slightly as she entered the bar, lifting her dress up to step into the room as a hush seemed to escaped the now open door. Only one man lingered— the bar tender, who waved silently as she approached. “Aida—didn’t expect you here tonight.” “Neither did I.” The older woman purred, waiting for Edgar to enter the room before continuing. “I was wondering if we could borrow the backroom for a bit. We’ll take a bottle of wine as well—red or white, Edgar?” The actress inquired, leaning against the counter as she waited for the feline’s response.
“In a closed society where everybody's guilty, the only crime is getting caught." ― Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
Post by Edgar Anapello on Jun 12, 2016 4:52:02 GMT
The backroom? The thought of it made his heart pound even harder within his chest. Just what did this Goddess have in mind for him? Was the privacy for conversation, or perhaps, for something more? The thought enticed him; the concept of backing down now unwelcome in his mind. It wasn’t often that he allowed himself to enjoy the company of another without the focus of business on his mind. Now was one of those times where he could get lost in the moment, now was one where he could let his inhabitations fade and just enjoy the night. He was so lucky as to catch the eye of his Psyche, after all.
At the question, he glanced at her, eyes trailing to the dress as it reached downward, touching the floor. “Red,” he said, an eager smile resting upon his lips as he said so.
"Nothing makes us so lonely as our secrets." -Paul Tournier
Eyes grazed over her form, and Aida withheld a shiver, that electricity, flaring underneath corset and garb. Oh, how the poet hungered, longing, not lost in those black pools. With the response of Red, Aida chuckled, eyes lowering as she rose, hand, extended as the blonde traced the grooves of the wooden counter. “Wise choice.” The older woman stated, walking toward an opening marked “For employees only” yet, that was hardly the case. Glancing toward the bar tender, the man nodded, already handing over the counter a bottle, along with two glasses, of which the dancer held, poised, and ready. “Let’s see if you can keep it up.”
Post by Edgar Anapello on Jun 12, 2016 5:28:10 GMT
He grinned and followed behind her without pausing. The time, the place, and even the person, all of it was right. “I’m sure I won’t have any trouble.” And now, in this moment, Edgar couldn’t help but allow himself to be led away by her, into the unknown that awaited behind that door.
Edgar smiled at her with an expression of happy content, as well as a hint of something else hiding behind his features. “You were perfect,” he said kindly, pulling her hand to him so that he could kiss the back of hers. Now that he was freed from her embrace, he took a moment to right himself. Hair, straightened; clothes, readjusted; mental state, still a little lost. But happy. He was certainly happy.
“I am lucky to have been the one you’ve chosen, Lady Psyche. Thank you for this. I’m afraid you have been left unsatisfied however. Perhaps that does not need to remain the case.” With his free hand, he placed it on her thigh and inched it upward, towards where the legs meet. A light glint was in his eye as he said as much, eagerness lingering behind them.
A warm kiss lingered on the back of her own hand, and Aida chuckled, yet she made no move to remove her hand. “I wouldn’t go that far dearie, but thank you.” The feline purred, the loss of contact, although saddening, expected. It meant that he wouldn’t go further, that maybe, that is all that the opposing feline wanted for the night, which promised, ever so slightly, the possibility of future nights, for once the dress was removed, and the body exposed, Aida knew no man would stay another night with her. After all, that’s the curse of her lies, of her truth. Except, another kiss befell the blonde’s skin, words, lingering, ever so heated as Edgar’s hand traveled across her thigh— and for a moment, Aida’s breath caught. Maybe things weren’t over, and again, that confusion, of wanting to continue— but oh god, his eyes. How they seemed to glow, not because of their ander heritage but the desire, the beauty, the sin.
“Oh, noble Israfel.” Leaning forward, the older woman planted a light kiss on the poet’s lips, opposite hand, caressing his jaw line until fingers helped straighten unkempt locks. “Although my heart yearns for such pleasure, I must decline. After all, serving you is more than enough satisfaction for one night.” Their faces lingered close as Aida’s eyes flickered from Edgar’s lips to his eyes, a smile, floating on her own. “But another night, if the poet so wishes, is a possible fate as well.”
Post by Edgar Anapello on Jun 28, 2016 5:22:21 GMT
Accepting her rejection, he pulled his hand away and lifted it to hold her other, possessing both hands within his now. “If the lady so wishes, then I will honor that. However, when can I see you again? Even if we don’t get another night like this, my heart will ache to be in your presence again from the moment we part.” There goes his sappy poetic side. Right, he was supposed to be dignified and stern. Not a lovesick puppydog.
Clearing his throat a moment, he looked at her eyes, seemingly swimming in them. “At the very least, allow me to accompany you home.”
"Nothing makes us so lonely as our secrets." -Paul Tournier
Both hands held, and eyes, locked, Aida smiled, bending forward to chuckle lightly as poetic words wafted to her ears. “You do not have to accompany me home dearie. I have some errands to run before the curfew sets in and I hate to drag you along on those.” However, the errands were relative. Mainly it involved going to the CAEsAL dance studio and sleeping on the couch, since she, or well, he, had to teach lessons in the morning. It made no sense to fish for someone to stay the night with, especially still in her female form, when she would barely be there for a few hours before preparations were needed to be made. Glancing upward, Aida drowned in those dark ocean pools once more, before laughing again, hands, clasping the barber’s tightly. “You are so sweet. Thank you for that.” Leaning forward, another kiss was given, but this time, on the lips, breath, held as she withdrew. “And we can meet whenever you so wish to. Your heart need not ache for a meeting that can be so easily arranged. Just ask for my name— Aida, in the theaters to find when my shows are, and if there is none, go to the studio to find my brother, Alexander, and a meeting can be arranged.” The older woman hummed, bringing joined hands upward so that she could feel his soft skin against her cheek. How odd, they were acting. Like lovesick fools, caught in the torrent of youth. Perhaps they were, although, Sayvahn had outgrown that time, long ago.
“In a closed society where everybody's guilty, the only crime is getting caught." ― Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
Post by Edgar Anapello on Jun 28, 2016 6:19:43 GMT
“Do you know when you will perform again?” he asked a bit too eagerly, eyes locked on her own for the moment. But then, he remembered that they would need to leave this little room if she was going to go run these errands she spoke of. Releasing one of her hands, he stood up and gently tugged her upward with the hand he still held. It was then that he remembered the wine on the table and chuckled as his eyes drifted to the bottle. So much of it remained undrank. Would it go to waste, or would she take it home?
"Nothing makes us so lonely as our secrets." -Paul Tournier
Emerald jewels followed the direction of Edgar’s gaze to the wine, and she smiled. “Take it dear. I’m a dancer. I can’t indulge in a whole bottle, at least, not anymore.” The older woman chuckled, allowing the younger man to guide her upward. “As for when I will perform. Who knows. It will depend on this night’s reviews, I suppose.” The elder feline hummed, and despite being free from the close quarters of the couch, Aida did not trail far from the barber’s side. “But I am always in the search for work, so I hope soon. But, as I said, if you wish to see me sooner, contact Alexander.” Winking, Aida slipped her hand from Edgar’s own, stepping toward the door, fingers, wrapping around the knob. “Shall we?”
“In a closed society where everybody's guilty, the only crime is getting caught." ― Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
Post by Edgar Anapello on Jun 29, 2016 3:50:13 GMT
His gaze softened ever so slightly, the muscles relaxing but not quite reaching sadness. With his hands empty, he picked up the cork and jammed it back into the neck of the bottle. In doing so, he was reminded that his gloves were off. And as he picked up his, he found hers there as well. Handing them back to her, he felt business creep back into his mind. “If your gloves ever get uncomfortable, I could assist with that. I have a side business and well, ander-friendly equipment is only part of it.” He spoke as his pulled his gloves on, wiggling each finger into the soft material. “But I suppose that talk can be saved for another time.” Stepping forward, he placed his hand above hers on the door knob and twisted it, pulling the door open and then holding it for her to pass through.
"Nothing makes us so lonely as our secrets." -Paul Tournier
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