don't dare to care {zoe blitz}

dars
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don't dare to care {zoe blitz} Jan 4, 2015 21:25:13 GMT -5

Post by dars on Jan 4, 2015 21:25:13 GMT -5

Brentley is both the biggest mystery on this island apart from who the hell Lancelot Black is going to hand his estate over to, and the person I most want to get to know. I can already tell that dark things lurk in the troubled boy's mind. I have seen the icy stares he tosses at Mateus, the snide comments. A few times when I am sneaking out of my room at night to take a midnight swim I have noticed him stalking the halls with no apparent agenda.

Most people, normal people, would think him a creep and vow their own distance from him. I, on the other hand, have always found the different most appealing. It takes something extraordinary to excite me anymore, be it a boy with a hidden past or the richest man in District Four giving me a chance at following in his footsteps.

Finally, my curiosity gets the best of me, and I knock on the door to his room with two champagne glasses and a bowl of strawberries in tow. "Hey handsome," I purr, stepping inside before he offers an invitation.

Last Edit: Jan 4, 2015 21:25:46 GMT -5 by dars

^{I AM A GARDEN OF BLACK AND RED AGONIES}

✨ zozo.
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don't dare to care {zoe blitz} Jan 4, 2015 21:51:10 GMT -5

Post by ✨ zozo. on Jan 4, 2015 21:51:10 GMT -5

I cannot stand people in my space. Yet I'm living with god knows how many other people so I really can't blame anyone else for this debacle. (Well, I blame Mateus for everything, the prick, if I'm completely honest.) In fact the only person I would allow here would be Aine, to rub dirt into the rugs from her worn out boots and laugh at the others in this place. I received a firm scolding from a maid the first day I arrived that consisted of shrieking, arm-waving, and a high-pitched "YOU CAN'T SMOKE IN HERE!". Aine would anyway. And she'd tell the old bat to go fuck herself. I, on the other hand, am far more polite to those that house me for free.

However I'm not accustomed to being polite to the others who are here fighting for what I want. Nirvana slinks into my room without warning and I let out a sigh too quiet for anyone else to hear - not looking up from the book perched between my hands. "Hey handsome" she says, ever the seductress. But I don't buy it that easily.

"I don't drink bitch fizz, Nirvana" I announce, eyes still glued to the pages of my novel. "But if you've got a cigarette or two that might make your company more bearable."

(Or hard liquor, I think with a smirk.)

Last Edit: Jan 4, 2015 21:52:09 GMT -5 by ✨ zozo.

“and men said that the blood of the stars flowed in her veins.”

dars
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don't dare to care {zoe blitz} Jan 4, 2015 22:09:07 GMT -5

Post by dars on Jan 4, 2015 22:09:07 GMT -5

"I don't drink bitch fizz, Nirvana. But if you've got a cigarette or two that might make your company more bearable."

I think about throwing the glass across the room into his face.

No one -- no one calls me Nirvana anymore. She died years ago, and why all of these people think it's okay to do it is unknown to me, so I smirk. "It's Scar. Never Nirvana." I try t sound polite but stern. After all, I am in his room at the moment, even if he'll end up in mine if I so choose for him to be eventually. "And Sorry, I'm fresh out. You don't have to drink it. I just thought it would be nice is all."

He doesn't bother straying from the book in his hands and I bite my lip, watching him for one, two, three seconds. He hates me. Why? Surely not because I am considered interesting enough to be a possible threat? Surely not because he knows I could be a real contender for the big lot of cash one of the hopeful youth in this manor will be receiving.

What a compliment.

"Well, this has been fun, but I am gonna get going." I smile and turn, actually kind of annoyed at his disinterest. (This doesn't happen to Scar. It only happened to Nirvana and she is dead now. Scar gets what she wants.) And fuck, I want Brentley's damn attention.

But I am not going to get it, so I grit my teeth and open the door to leave.

^{I AM A GARDEN OF BLACK AND RED AGONIES}

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don't dare to care {zoe blitz} Feb 13, 2015 1:28:37 GMT -5

Post by ✨ zozo. on Feb 13, 2015 1:28:37 GMT -5

"Scar? You named after that ugly thing under your nose?" I ask with eyes raised, finally bestowing my attention from my riveting read to her now furious face. "Oh, wait, no, that's just your mouth."

God, I crack myself up.

She must think I hate her. And that's true, in a way, I hate mostly everyone - and especially those who want to beat me. Those that won't admit to being on my level, and those who can't stand to lower themselves to acknowledge me for a damn second of their day. I am comfortable on my ledge, watching those below me who think they're above. Aine and I on our concrete ledge: it's all I needed. That, and to prove Meathead wrong.

There's still the taste of laughter between my lips as she turns to leave, probably furious at the discovery that somebody here won't drool all over her. I decide to give her what she wants. Besides, I'm bored. And apparently, according to my stomach, starving.

"Not so fast sweetheart!" I call. "I still want those strawberries."

“and men said that the blood of the stars flowed in her veins.”

dars
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don't dare to care {zoe blitz} Feb 15, 2015 21:01:20 GMT -5

Post by dars on Feb 15, 2015 21:01:20 GMT -5

His insults burn through to my core and I hate him, I hate him, I hate him for it. How could he be so blatantly, completely fucking rude to me when I cannot recall a single time I have been rude to him? Admittedly, I am not used to receiving this sort of attention anymore: I haven't been for years. But does that qualify me for some kind of verbal beat-down from the boy? Absolutely not.

"Not so fast sweetheart! I still want those strawberries."

"You've lost the privilege of calling me sweetheart, sweetheart." I call over my shoulder, and decide it would be awfully rude of me to not give the gracious boy what he wants. I turn on my heels and fling the open container at him, watching as tiny orbs of red litter his room.

"Aw, I've made a mess on this squeaky clean floor!" I spit, sarcasm dripping from my painted red lips. Once, I bet the floors really were clean. The help is very good at hat they do, but can they work miracles? Apparently not, because constantly having to pick up after such a slob as well as fulfill other duties seems to be causing a bit less-quality in their work. Such a shame that some people are so good at ruining things, but awful at putting them together.

Lucky for me, I can do both.