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
That response made him pause, intrigue and confusion lacing his features as he looked up from the book, noticing that she was looking away from him this time. Was she feeling bad for the way things had been lately? It was the first guess to come into Edgar’s mind at least. Reaching for his bookmark, he slipped it between the pages and closed the text. “That would be really nice, actually,” he admitted, smiling somewhat. “I usually spend my days off reading, just as I spend my days working.” When there were no customers at least. “Getting out for a change could be refreshing.” Standing up, he turned to walk into his bedroom. “Let me change into something more suited to the weather first,” he said to her before passing through the doorway. He didn’t close the door all the way, instead leaving it cracked. Just as he had been doing since she first arrived. The opportunity to peak in and watch was always there, yet she never took it. A pity, really, but perhaps the temptation would get to her, one day, so long as he continued to leave the door open just a time bit as he removed his shirt, rummaging around to find a better one afterwards.
"Nothing makes us so lonely as our secrets." -Paul Tournier
A thump of a closed book made Aida jump and emerald orbs glanced over to see Edgar walking away, his voice, still ringing in her ears, the happiness they once shared, seeming to radiate from his body. It made her smile, somewhat, but, it was caught as he did it again. Left the doorway open, as he had done for days. Never once locked his door, never once shut it, unlike the blonde because unlike her, the taller man had nothing to hide. After all, he was beautiful, without even trying to be. Truly, she never meant to look. She had succeeded in avoiding the light that flowed from the room for days, but today, she was caught, the bathroom, past both their rooms asking her to not turn her back to Edgar’s room like she normally did to enter her own abode, but instead, pass it, and the sounds of rustling, it caught her attention, and she glanced— because a glance couldn’t hurt, could it? But the silhouette of the taller man, his shoulders, broad— his body, thin— and she had to look away. Yet, emerald yes couldn’t. Not when she knew what that crack meant. It meant to enter, to follow, to embrace. Everything she wanted to do, but she couldn’t. Though, what she needed to do was to look away, but even more than that, as the feline’s eyes would only return to that form once more. And so, fingers curled around the knob, and as much as dancer wanted to push it open, she pulled the barrier closed, letting the click of the mechanism echo in the silence of the home.
“In a closed society where everybody's guilty, the only crime is getting caught." ― Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
Edgar was rummaging around his clothes, trying to find a shirt made of thinner material to wear outside. The heat was never kind to black clothing so a gentle material would be preferred. His mind was interrupted by the sound of a soft click, causing him to turn around in confusion. The door had been closed.
Letting out a breath, he sat down on his bed, spying the shirt he had been looking for resting at the bottom of the pile of folded laundry. Shaking his head, he got up and retrieved it, after pulling it over his face, he sat back down again, sadness painting his features. Maybe things weren’t actually getting better. Maybe this walk was going to include her telling him that it’s not working out, that she wants to move out, that there’s another man she’d prefer to live with over him. It seemed he had gotten his hope up for nothing. It seemed he had fallen for the wrong lady once again.
It took a great deal more effort than it should have to stand up again, but he did and he took another breath before turning the doorknob again, walking back into the hallway as he let another soft click ring out behind him. Might as well get this over with sooner than later.
"Nothing makes us so lonely as our secrets." -Paul Tournier
Rustling came as mere whispers as Aida waited, hoping for a response. None came. What did she expect? Him to race out, to question why, and for her to be able to deliver the news without needing to have to start it herself? Yet, it seemed like the later was her only option now. This. This couldn’t go on. Not when the elder woman’s stomach churned, remembering the outline of his body, the shirt, removed and exposing the under layers, muscles, pressing into fabric. Rushing into the bathroom, the blonde looked at herself, her makeup, still in tact even though the sweat beaded on her brow. Biting her lip, she wondered if it really mattered. She doubted the last thing he would remember about her was how flawless a man’s makeup was. Long eyelashes fluttered as the dancer straightened her back, counting the moments until she heard the unlocking of the door, and the slight creak of its hinges. The taller man’s footsteps, they were cautious, and she didn’t have to look at him, even though the elder women did, to know he was upset. Exiting the bathroom, Aida held her hands, wringing them out gently in front of her as she stared at him, green eyes, meeting black. “Edgar.” Sweet words dripped from her lips, even though they were coated in pain. “I’m sorry. I want to, I really do. But, you wouldn’t. Not with me.”
“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 Feb 25, 2017 21:53:16 GMT
“You don’t want to,” he countered, without turning towards her, voice low. Not even waiting until the walk? In a way he was relieved. In a way it made him more sad. She couldn’t bear another moment with him. Nor could she bear a walk with him, or any other company spent. No, she was going to end it now. Perhaps her things were already packed in her room—lord knows she doesn’t let him get more than glances into the place. “I would, by the way. If you gave me the chance. But I haven’t so much as had that. I get that you have something to hide. Scars? Birthmarks? I’m not sure, but, you won’t even let me know what it is so I can react to it. But I can promise you that, no matter what it is, you’ll still be the lady Helen. You’ll still be a beautiful dancer.”
"Nothing makes us so lonely as our secrets." -Paul Tournier
A flinch, with back bent as if a slight bow would avoid the pain, the turmoil, that tore into her. “I do, Edgar. I really do want to.” Aida muttered, trying to straighten, but the pain kept her down, kept her ashamed. She bit her lip, pristine nails bending, digging in, as she clenched her fist. If she gave him a chance, he would regret it. Though, wasn’t he already regretting everything already? After all. Who would want a man to touch you in those places? Let alone one that upon the first meeting, the other had hated instantly? Edgar would never look upon Sayvahn like he did Aida. That was a fact that Aida knew long before she agreed to stay with him. Though, no one gave her the foresight to know how much she could not resist, how they could not resist primal urges. It was almost pitiful, in a way. Their bodies, aching for each other, with no means of being kept away. Except, there was. And that required her to move, once again, but if the dancer did that, then, there would be nothing left of their relationship either. Truth was the only option, the elder woman realized. And that, that made her straighten, emerald eyes, seeming to glaze over with acceptance. “I can’t be your lady Helen,” Aida confessed, looking to him, eyes cold, but the warmth behind them made her smile ache even more as she pushed through it, trying to laugh off the confession when it only hurt more than heal. “I can’t be your lady anything when I’m not even a lady to begin with.” Hiding her face, her shame, Aida continued. “I’m so sorry Edgar. I didn’t mean to deceive you like this. I didn’t want to. I was just so happy, but, I-I realized that we couldn’t be happy. That I couldn’t make you happy. I’m sorry. So sorry that I’m... I’m a man, Edgar. A man who doesn’t want to be one, but a man none the less. I’m so sorry.” The older woman wept, her strong stance, fumbling as she bent over, prepared for anything— whether it be words, shame, or blows.
“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 Mar 13, 2017 5:51:23 GMT
The mumbled words did little to him. She only wanted him with her hands or her mouth in the past; never her body. And that was what the man had craved, her body. He was going to say something about that, but then he stopped when she confessed more. Her words, they confused him. How could someone look so much like a woman, yet house a sword in the armory? Turning, he looked at her with a piercing gaze, breaking her down and beginning to see it for the first time. The hips weren’t so wide as a woman’s would be. The shoulders too broad. The makeup was always worn thick. Even the voice seemed to sound husky at times. Could it really be true?
His gaze was unwavering as he approached her, looking for any sign that it was a lie. Yet, everything about her spoke the truth. The curling forward, the fear in her eyes, his eyes moved to her crouch as he noticed a faint bulb for the first time, probably from the appendage being bound up. Saying nothing, he stepped back from her, wondering what he should do now. Most would banish the molly without a second thought, possibly even beating it before leaving. But, Edgar couldn’t do that. He looked back at her for a moment, eyes softening. That was why she couldn’t find a place to stay, wasn’t it? And perhaps it was also why she was so eager to please him that first time. A life like that could be lonely. It could also mean she was willing to work and prove herself. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad letting her stay around, even if it meant he couldn’t please her the way she could please him.
He turned back around to face her fully now, eyes not as piercing but face still stern. “I stand by what I said. You have hands and a mouth. And I’ve heard that the back door can be used too. If you wanted to, we could. It wouldn’t be what I expected, I admit. But you look like a woman. You act like one. It’s a woman who lives here with me. The plumbing isn’t a woman’s, but that’s still three out of four.” A light smile came to his face as he felt empowered. It was by his mercy that she was staying here and if he changed his mind, she would end up back on the street. It would be his decision, but also his consequences to wear. He preferred the ending that held more pleasure than annoyance in it.
"Nothing makes us so lonely as our secrets." -Paul Tournier
Even hands and a mouth could promise some form of love, more so then her body could offer. At least, in the way that Edgar wanted it to. Edgar craved Aida like she had craved him, but that mattered little when it came down to the truth. And the truth was, the dancer was crying, trying to conceal her body from the eyes the blonde knew to be on her, once, out of reverie, now, most likely out of disgust. Then, footsteps, and Aida, no, Sayvahn- he caved, flinching, arms, still raised to combat whatever lay in the future. After all. He was a force against nature, against the law. Hunted along with the anders, labeled, sodomite, labeled, filth. It only made sense that Edgar would feel the same. Would act the same as the rest. It was only expected, only required. Though, moments passed. The light gasps, along with Edgar’s shallow breathing the only respite from the silence as Sayvahn fought for breath between his tears. Then, Edgar spoke. Flinching, Sayvahn fought to hold his emotions down— not until he heard Edgar fully, and when he did, the elder man looked up to the barber, confusion laced upon his brow. “E-excuse me?” The blonde stuttered, eyes wavering between the floor and Edgar. Hands? A mouth? The back door? The normally eloquent man’s words came quite harsh, which wasn’t the problem. Sayvahn had been expecting harsh, just not vulgar. No, correction, he was expecting vulgar profanities, just…not in the sense that Edgar was delivering it. His tone, his words, they were primal, reducing a sacred act to mere rudimentary principles. Which, in a sense, they could be. But…. Was Edgar telling him- no, telling her- that that was…. Okay? That even though she was a man, that was… alright? Emerald eyes flickered upward, and covering her face once more, Aida attempted to hide her embarrassment. “Edgar… jesus… I… that’s…well, being frank.” Biting her lip, the older woman looked to the younger man, so in his prime, and the bite from desperation turned into hunger. “But, a-are you sure? Because once we start, I… I don’t know if I will be able to resist anymore. The thought you against me, I….” Shivering some, Aida leaned against the wall for support. “I just…. Don’t want you to regret this.” Jade orbs crested to meet the depths of the others, and again, teeth grazed the dancer’s lips. “I don’t want you to regret… us. Because, I do care for you. And I do… crave you, even if all I can offer is mere lips and hands…” Stepping forward, hesitantly, the elder woman held out one such hand, taking Edgar’s hand in her own, taking it up to her lips where she could kiss it, ever so sweetly, like she had done all those nights ago. “… but… feel free to take anything else, because all of me is your’s Edgar, if…. if you still want it.”
“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 Mar 15, 2017 2:25:31 GMT
The tears, the flinching, it only furthered his conclusion that she wasn’t lying. And the apprehension, the disbelief in his mercy, it pleased the younger man, to see the results of his words, of his decisions. She had been so scared of him, so fearful that he would be like all the other men she had known. But that was just it, he didn’t want to like other men. Just like how Aida wasn’t like other women. He didn’t want to strike her, to throw her back out into the street. He didn’t want to abandon her, like so many woman had done to him.
Sure it would put him at risk to being arrested by the EIRAL, but it’s not like that was a new thing to the young man so he didn’t worry about that fact. What he did need to worry about were some of the rules that would need to be in place for Aida to continue staying here. But, perhaps, that could wait until later, until after the annoyed sensation building in his pants had been taken care of. The sensation had been building for quite some time now and the occasional releases did little to quell the flame.
“I do,” Edgar cooed, taking her hand back and kissing it himself now. “You make me go wild, Aida. You make my heart aflame.” He pulled her forward gently, wrapping her into a hug. “So let’s pull out all the stops and show no shame.” Smiling now, he looked down at her, eager to see what kind of reactions would spout from her this time. They’d surely be as entertaining as the ones before. And, perhaps, they wouldn’t go on his walk after all.
"Nothing makes us so lonely as our secrets." -Paul Tournier
Warmth on her hand made her blush, and timidly, the blonde hid her face, unsure of where to go, what to do. Normally, she had been so bold, but that was a rouse, after all, Aida was a strong woman with secrets. Yet, now that Edgar knew her secrets, who was she? Sayvahn, or Aida? When Edgar pulled her forward, the elder woman let out a light gasp, bodies, pressed together as warmth traveled across her neck, the hug, meaning to be sweet, but it, too, was deadly as his words made her head spin, as she let out another silent gasp. Yet, her fluster turned to red as he pulled away, exposing her, searching for her reactions, and they, they were heated, her face, flushed as emerald eyes stared wanting at Edgar, yet, uncertain of where to go, what to do. “And you make mine flame as well.” The dancer confessed, tucking back her hair. Eyes, flickering as again, she bit her lips. “So much I think we should work on making things a bit less…. withheld… before we suffocate from such a heat.” The woman purred, stepping closer so that her lips caressed Edgar’s, eyes, hungry for his answer, for his desire, for his want.
“In a closed society where everybody's guilty, the only crime is getting caught." ― Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
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