myara lowe ; district ten . fin

myara lowe ; district ten . fin Jun 27, 2016 4:33:54 GMT -5

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Post by Avalon on Jun 27, 2016 4:33:54 GMT -5

MYARA

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She had become the incredibly self indulgent center-fold piece for District Ten's egregiously prized issue of underage jail bait. A dangerous little one, fancying the assistance of dangling silk drapes. An innocent smile broadens across her gold dusted face like she'd remained oblivious. Perhaps for the right price she might as well be.

Hips twisting, moving with the way the drapes flowed so delicately, so magically. Wrapping the chiffon silk curtain against her bare body, she performed more than just generic circus aerial shows in the company of such generous seekers. She's deemed far more extravagant than that, and perhaps it was due to the precious fact that she was created from loose specs of glitter that followed her like a destined trail. She's an heir to royalty. An upcoming ruler in her own sense. Relativity - importance only in relation to other things. "She's a Lowe." (And it's stitched to her name like the finest sewn patchwork.)

Giggles encompass the atmosphere, fine, older fingers caress her smooth cheek, tracing downward against her jawline. She doesn't laugh because she likes it, in fact a sense of uncomfortability surges through her spine, but she shrugs it off anyway. She was always into being put through this danger in some way, it was her own fetish of sorts, and in return she was dangerously marked as a seventeen year old, herself, toying with those much older. She felt the caress of Scarlett Barlow's loaded barrel against her skin. Moaned and groaned at the bloodied fingers of Lazarus Stroms moving in all the right places. Fantasies of Simon Karnes that would never come true, but she wanted to feel his rush anyway. She's sick.

The fingers gracefully flow towards the straps of her shirt, then her bra. She smiles. She stares the boy in the eyes, and she leans in closer, but not for a kiss. Brushing his hand away she removes herself from the kings bed, "Nuh uh uh", she rings out softly. One night of pay was satisfying enough (like she even needed it anyway), it was an average fuck, but she wasn't giving anything more. Her strict rule was to only give as much as they'd paid.

Curling her dirty blonde hair within her playful fingertips, she slips back into the silk dress that'd collapsed to the floor. Snatching a cigarette from her purse, Myara lit the end before tossing the lighter back toward the boys direction, hitting his lap bare lap beneath sheets. He watched her, unamused in the fact that she wouldn't confine to his requests. Clearly he hadn't remembered who he'd been demanding from. "Where the fuck do you think you're going?", he calls out harshly, but curiously, like he owned her. She smiles brightly in return, her eyes illuminating with only light surprise. Cigarette held between white teeth and she tilts her head, places the cancer stick between her two fingers before blowing poisonous, industrial smoke out towards his direction.

"You were a good fuck, but nothing special."

His name escaped her mind and she hadn't even pretended like it stuck in the first place. Grabbing her fashionable's she shuffled out the door, the taste of an herbal high on her tongue. The sun was high in the sky this morning, and she'd continue the rest of the day like she'd meant to. She isn't just your average Lowe.

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LOWE