make sure you outlive me. ruby&ivory

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arx
Retired Staff

2,432 POSTS

Pronouns: she/her
last seen May 19, 2024 15:03:49 GMT -5

literally so gay, doing so many crimes

make sure you outlive me. ruby&ivory May 7, 2024 20:32:47 GMT -5

Quote

Post by arx on May 7, 2024 20:32:47 GMT -5

♫

aluminium rubenstein

"So, what are you doing this weekend?" I'm grinning from ear to ear because I know the answer even before she narrows her eyes and crinkles her brow. She doesn't bother to look up from whatever lyrics she was scrawling across the back of a piece of worn sheet music. I can tell she wants to win whatever game we're playing. Or, maybe, just not lose.

"Alright, I pull myself up off the floor where I had sprawled out after hours of perfectionism had made my shirt stick to my back, my lungs burn, the muscles in my neck ache. I tap her ride cymbal with a single knuckle in an attempt to capture her attention.

"I will pick you up here then."

"For our date."

She s c r a t c h e s out some of her words. I can't help but wonder how they had earned so much of her ire when moments before they'd been enough for her to let leave her mind and be etched into paper for presumable eternity.

Especially if I sang them.

Instead, they were only an inky, blotted blur. I chew on my lip as I wait for her to look up at me again, try my hardest not to guess at the lyrics I'll never know. She twirls her pen deftly between her fingers—"Sure."—before slipping it behind her ear. When she leans into her snare it trembles where her elbows stick.
"How pretty do you need me?"

A singular beat of rest; I nearly choke on it.

"And only if we practice after."

I smile down at her, perhaps a bit more giddy than I had expected to be by a single word, one single syllable. Not that I expected her to say, 'No.' I just hadn't expected the back of my neck to flush or face to threaten colors it had never managed through my melanin. All red hot and crimson ruby where her agreeance tickles at the corners of my jaw, twists my muscles into a sweet, painful joy at the hinge.

"Black tie. Don't wear white."

I lean in close and restart my beat on her cymbal before letting my fingers dance across her cheek to free her pen from behind her ear. I can't really help myself; I tuck a blonde curl away to replace what I had stolen.

"And I don't think it would qualify as a proper date to you if it didn't include drums."

I purr the next word, let it rumble deeper than need be just to prove my point.

"Right?"

I love asking her questions I already know the answer to.

"I wouldn't dare take you-

Miss Ivory Auclair

-on a bad date."

She shrugs at me. "Not like I could tell the difference." There's something clever on the tip of my tongue, so many clever things, but she beats me to some sort of strange misery instead.

"I've never been on a date."

And she said—'Sure.'—to me.

She insists upon keeping her eyes trained on her pen, so I place it between my teeth, let my lips curl around its edges. I stare at her wrist braces, pretend I don't know what is hidden beneath. My gaze lingers over a high collar for too long, so I smile even wider around the pen, daring her to take it back as I lean further over her set.

I hum some of her lyrics, one of her songs, her music. As if I could play her pen like an instrument and come up with something half as ingenious as what she had just scribbled out.

Her stubbornness wins out. "Fine," I say, flipping the pen between my fingers and moving to pin the piece of paper against her snare so that I can pen a response she won't forget.

'What an honor it is to be your first.' Complete with a heart at the end and all. ♡

ELEGANT

Last Edit: May 7, 2024 20:35:19 GMT -5 by arx

"I run on the road, long before I dance under the lights."

ᴥ
Head RP Tutor

4,554 POSTS

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last seen May 17, 2024 17:27:23 GMT -5

oof

make sure you outlive me. ruby&ivory May 14, 2024 16:21:56 GMT -5

Quote

Post by ᴥ on May 14, 2024 16:21:56 GMT -5

I V O R Y A U C L A I R

I paint along the lines of my ruin, hands unsteady. Marveling, in awe in horror, at all the ways I'll never be the same. Captured in the vanity like this, I think I understand why I was too precious not to save. Too useful not to keep.

That should feel good, right?

I'm careful to erase all trace of my decision, draped rosy quarts along my neck and pinned up my hair with much of the same. I draw lace gloves up to the middle of my forearms until all the puckered skin disappears. Not perfect, but hidden away, as clean as a dirty secret can be. Ruby isn't the sort to ask uncomfortable questions anyway, that's not the kind of game we play.

I'm not sure what he's trying to win this time. Amusement, surely, there was indulgence in that smile he wore. Teeth digging into the plastic casing of a ballpoint pen, leaving little dents that my thumb finds every time I scrawl a new note to myself. Pandering with lovesick lyricism is Sable's specialty, not mine, I'll die before I finish that particular love song.

There's no room for it in my story, too much a tragedy already. No intimacy in digging two graves. This is a date only as long as he can stand a mud-stained hemline. And he's above those sorts of things. Better than. I'll enjoy getting to feel lovely for an evening, anyway.

I'm still tangled in powder pink chiffon when I hear the door open, wind singing through the hinges in a pitchy squeal. His shoes stick to the floor, accents to a slow approach. I've never known dread to feel so pleasant. "In here," I'm not sure why my voice dies in my throat, I try again, "could use a hand."

Leaning over the vanity, hasty to excuse the color in my cheeks for creme blush. I'm not looking at my reflection, only pretending to. When the door opens he catches the lights, braided in gold, I find myself wondering if the sun now knows shame. "My previous assistant has run off with his boyfriend and I can't put this on myself."

Hoisting the dress higher on my chest, my imperfections feel obvious as bloodstains on parchment. He lingers in the doorway too long, and I curse the practiced way he holds himself. Impossible to read until he opens his mouth, "Yeah. Yes. Turn around then."

I relax, not quite into a smile, and sweep my hair to the side, "Be careful." I realize I don't know if he has a gentle touch. My thoughts stagnate, I'd rather not look at him or myself as he fastens the dress so I shut my eyes and stretch the tension in my neck to a fine line. Breathing in time with the path he draws up my spine, one long inhale until my lungs tremble. Is this how you hold a scream?

"Okay."

It leaves in laughter instead. He leans in closer so that I may pinpoint the minute he twists his smile into beautiful calculation. I still don't know what he thinks he's winning, there might not be a prize at all. Perhaps we are just running ourselves in circles, choking on our own tails. He offers the hand I'd asked for, so I squeeze it tight enough that his metal rings dig into the sides of his fingers.

I twirl beneath his arm, first away and then in. Against his chest so that my free hand may trace the gold embroidery upon his suit, "Your suit is very loud." Ostentatious, even, I revel in the sight a minute longer, pretending to dust lint from his shoulders. "I haven't done this since I was a little girl."

I remember being treated like I was delicate on dance floors, it was nice to commiserate with wailing rhythms. My first few memories of being adored, before it metastasized. "Let me have fun before the carriage turns into a pumpkin."

I curtsy, and kiss the back of his hand for emphasis. As pleading as pride will allow.

"Let's go, I'm ready."

I don't pause to make sure he follows me out the door.

ELEGANT

Last Edit: May 14, 2024 17:42:51 GMT -5 by ᴥ

the m o o n controls the t i d e, it could cause you to d r o w n

arx
Retired Staff

2,432 POSTS

Pronouns: she/her
last seen May 19, 2024 15:03:49 GMT -5

literally so gay, doing so many crimes

make sure you outlive me. ruby&ivory May 16, 2024 10:58:59 GMT -5

Quote

Post by arx on May 16, 2024 10:58:59 GMT -5

♫

aluminium rubenstein

"Don't leave, I'll be right back," I give her a look that I hope will ensure she doesn't decide better of this date. She looks a bit pissed, panicked. "Just save my seat!" I yell up the stone stairs of the coliseum venue that had been rented for the evening. And I make sure she sees me gently pretending to use a drumstick as I skip backwards and twirl forward down the stairs.

I'm cordial as I greet everyone I had met at dress rehearsal last night. "Hello, sir, good to see you again," I nod, shaking hands with—"Uriah." "Ostentatious." "Lop." "Arbor." "Penelope."—acquaintances I had met at the rehearsal dinner. "Congratulations," I barely know the groom. But Marcel had insisted I sing his sister's processional and they had both agreed. Asked, even.

I've never sang at a wedding before. Musicals and concerts, they all felt the same now, blending together to make a perfect polaroid picture of the person I was pretending to be.

Is this what it feels like to be nervous?

It's been so long I can hardly remember what it feels like. I think I had forgotten until this week when I had asked my Mom if she could braid my hair.

----------------------------

("You haven't asked me to do that since you were eight years old, baby." She wouldn't stop chuckling at me. "Who are you dressing up for?" "It's for Maya's wedding, Marcel's sister?" "Oh yes, of course it is.")

(She raises an eyebrow with a small shake of her head and a scoff. "You made your hair such a chore to work with." I laugh and smile and apologize, flopping down on the couch just to hear her from the bathroom and stand instantly up rail straight. "Aloo! Hurry up then! Need to see if I can fix that absolute mess on your head." "Alright, well, it is a special occasion.")

("Oh, if only you hadn't abused your curls like this. Maybe I could've made you more handsome then.")

----------------------------

And then maybe again when Ivory was tracing the gold stitching along my vest.

("I haven't done this since I was a little girl.")

I guess I've never looked perfect in a reflective surface.

But I breathe deep, threaten my lungs with full to burst suffocation. I swallow what I swear can't possibly be nerves, clearing my throat. Cello, violin, piano, and then,
RUBY.

And, of course—with my first breath—a wink to her.

Couldn't have been nerves, then. I was already falling into the strange syllables I had been memorizing for months, breathing where I needed, accents to emphasize entrances fell in time, and even when I thought I'd lost my place in the unfamiliar language I could feel Uriah and Pen gleefully redirecting me back to where I needed to be.

And-
-yeah-
-if I'm being honest-

I sound ethereal.

I return to where I left Ivory as guests settle back into their seats and as all members of the wedding party readjust themselves for pictures with gentle smiles, shifted trains and veils.

"Wow. Beautiful."

("You know you're one of the best, and…")

My braids clatter together as she reaches out to touch and I can't help but hear windchimes in my ears and bouncing off the walls that begged to make sound not only heard, but fucking magnetic. Always as she has been. Only someone who wanted to make a true fool of themselves could disagree.

("That was amazing.")

"But could have been better."

"I haven't heard a single real critique yet."

"If you leave me alone again tonight, I’m calling this a bad date."

"Thank you," I lean into her, a whisper I hope fucking tickles as I nudge her knee. And I know her laced fingers won't ever fit well with my ringed ones so I don't bother trying to intertwine them, just leave my hand open for her to take. "You can have this back now."

I flex my fingers in mimic of a flautists left hand, but she does not take it.

"And I'll go home and tell everyone about it."

"Oh?"

I keep my hand held out for her even as I lean away, capturing a silence that could only reach us when I speak again. "Tu me tues à petit feu." I grin, use the hand I'm not offering her to feign a gentle heart attack as I check to make sure no one bothers to be disturbed by our hushed antics. And then I start playing a piss poor chord on a piano with the hand I still hold out to her. I lean back in with my lips hovering around a curl behind her ear, my forehead pressed against a pink stone within her hair.

"I told you I would never dare take you on one of those," I flip my hand over and use an imaginary drumstick incorrectly in the hope she may snatch it up to stop me. "Remember?"

I don't tell her that I don't care who knows. As long as she keeps going on dates with me. But she's stubborn. Likes it her way. Makes it her way. Beats and lyrics and it's just such fucking-
perfection.

And so she obviously still doesn't take my hand.

And I can't tell what she's playing at for once, only that she knows she has already won. Her lack of attention makes me itch, but I don't bother stopping my horrible attempt at playing every instrument I can think of in my pocket as we move through the what could really only be described as 'a flood of guests.' And then when the music starts up again and she turns to look at me with a grin—"Have I ever told you I'm fantastic at dancing?"—I just have to laugh.

Because, no, I did not know that about Ivory.

And also because she takes my hand.

"Well, I can promise you there is no better partner than me."

"I know."

ELEGANT

"I run on the road, long before I dance under the lights."

ᴥ
Head RP Tutor

4,554 POSTS

Pronouns: he/him
last seen May 17, 2024 17:27:23 GMT -5

oof

make sure you outlive me. ruby&ivory May 17, 2024 16:05:02 GMT -5

Quote

Post by ᴥ on May 17, 2024 16:05:02 GMT -5

I V O R Y A U C L A I R

("This is so stupid!"

"Ugly words, little thumper, how are you going to play music if you cannot move with it?"

"Dancing isn't teaching me anything. Everyone is staring at us."

No one would believe that my father laughed, knelt over where I'd thrown myself upon the floor. He held out his hand, palm upturned toward chandeliers and catching their multicolored motes of light, "Then we best make sure we are something worth watching.")

The couple's first dance is clumsy. A juvenile mimicry of the real thing, so practiced that I can pinpoint every trouble spot. Where toes bump and leather scuffs against itself. For all the effort that has been put into perfecting this day, it seems they will be settling for almost.

Not that I care, it's just a bit boring.

I tap my lower lip with my fingers, chin resting in my palm. Ruby keeps playing pretend with his offered hand, defacing every instrument he can think of in a bid for attention. If I weren't still bitter about being left alone, I might have caved. Instead, I count all the newlywed's mistakes they won't have the decency to be ashamed of.

What a privilege it is to settle for mediocrity. They look so damn happy.

It's not until I'm perfectly brittle, the kind of thing that should not be touched, that I grab his hand. "Have I ever told you I'm fantastic at dancing?"

As if I could be anything else.

(Father only drove when he was angry. Gas pedal to the floor, 'til the world was nonsense and it was just the two of us. I was used to having nowhere to go, it didn't bother me like it did my brother.

He asks me to name the notes car horns play in our wake, I tell him it's G Sharp and A.

"You will never embarrass me like that again, do you understand?"

I rubbed at the blisters on my heels, they wouldn't hurt until the next day but that pain would linger for a while. "Okay. Are you trying to kill us?"

His answer was an engine's roar.)

I'm unaccustomed to being lost in a crowd, a part of an audience instead of above it. The dance floor is flooded by drunken revelers, all swirling tulle and crooked ties as they toast to eternal love. I realize too late that we are alone here, faceless and forgotten. I should not want to perform for nothing, but I want many things I shouldn't.

"Can I have this dance?"

I rest my forearm behind my back and bow low, playing chords backwards. Calling dissonance a harmony. When I kiss the back of his hand again, it feels like salting a wound. Maybe his, maybe mine. My gaze flicks from him to the decorum laying shattered at our feet, I wait with baited breath to see what he'll do with it.

"But only because you asked so nicely." He says, already matching me in a feigned curtsy. Filling the space I had so gleefully abandoned, the show must go on even if my heart stops beating for a measure or two. I can trust him with that, at least for one night.

I make sure the dance is cruel. Twisted up in three-four time, going dead weight in his arms without warning. Every time I fall, I do not check if he is there to catch me. Our steps slow only when my curiosity gets the better of me, catching my bearings in a counter-clockwise turn "Not bad, perhaps we had the same tutors."

Not my father but the ones who came after. When pretending he had time for me lost its novelty.

For how little we belong here among lovers, I'm shocked I don't feel more out of place. Then again, there is nowhere that Ruby can't fit himself and it seems he's dead set on dragging me with him. I tilt my forehead against his, swaying as the music falls into a crooning lullaby, "Shame you didn't bring a real date here, she'd have been very charmed."

"Oh she would, would she?" I'm not expecting a real answer, and I don't get one. "I'm glad I've charmed you." He speaks into the top of my head. Acting like I'm a real person, to have, to hold. Vows are only words, I'd rolled my eyes as the couple had whispered them up on the altar. Treated them as sacred, weighted things.

Ruby speaks in a similar way like he doesn't know he's lying.

"Not what I said." I've seen him breathless a thousand times but never felt his deep measured breathing like this.

Just once, I'll let him catch his breath - "Ask me after the next dance."