rooks and crooks — adam. & fiora.
May 7, 2019 14:30:59 GMT -5
Post by napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. on May 7, 2019 14:30:59 GMT -5
The night air seemed to coil itself around Adam’s throat, firmly, like a dark, elusive serpent that couldn’t be caught no matter the amounts of times he ran his fingertips over the bulging apple of his throat. He could feel each breath he took being wrung and stolen, and at the end of each heavy intake of breath, Adam was left gasping and flushed. His skin was as pale as a forgotten ghost’s musculature the moment he wobbled into the sun room. Adam knew that his features were ghastly too – with sunken eyes that struggled to pry themselves open and a twisted mouth.
The hollowness that he felt inside oozed out from his gaze like molasses, dripping to the floor and coating it black. He felt as empty as the labyrinthine corners and hallways of Malcolm Nox’s mansion, awash with a melancholic silence. Adam Taupe, as of right now, was a circle of embers, not the glorious fire he previously claimed to be.
The hunger within him had begun to feast upon his own innards, it seemed. It growled as a wolf in a dead forest would and he wallowed in this cruel starvation, agonizingly, enduring each pang of hunger that exploded raucously throughout his entire being like pyrotechnics.
Beryl was nowhere to be found and Adam needed him, needed that line of pretty teeth, needed his touch and heartbeat – to remind him of his abstinence and rationing. He needed him to anchor him down and tie his wrists from scavenging through his suitcase for the blue-tinted tube of morphling. He needed him as much as he needed the serum in his veins; both would satiate the wolf-like hunger crawling up Adam’s ribs uncomfortably.
In the dimly-lit the sun room, there was a lone figurine. The mauve light that softly leaked out of the lampshade’s lilac skin caught the person’s skin, as did the silver moon-glow that made the walls ripple magically, and he gazed at Fiora’s secretive features for a few moments before taking the empty seat ahead of her. “I hope you don’t mind me inviting myself to sit, m’lady,” He gave her a smile, tender and sincere unlike his words.
This Adam Taupe did not have the strength to wear any facades; he was bare and raw, so undeniably himself: a once-kind boy who the world had hardened and corrupted. It was evident in the soft arch of his grin at one corner of the mouth, and the sly curve at another.
He was eclipsed & alit,
a mélange in between
the bright & the dark.
On the table between them, was a dark slab of wood.
Closer inspection revealed to Adam that it was a chessboard, made from expensive wood that slid like velvet against your finger-pads. The pieces, from the shielded king to the vulnerable pawns, to the formidable rooks to the dark nights, shimmered in the cold moonlight. He set his head down on one arm, whilst the other gestured at the chessboard in query. “Do you play?” He asked the other. “I used to when I was … more privileged. This is a game of the rich, of the conquerors. I am not surprised that Malcolm has it.” Adam’s fingertips hovered over the pieces, hauntingly akin to the way he’d seen Fiora’s own moved over her deck of cards.
“It’s a game for the spoiled,” he leveled his gaze back with hers, “do you think you’re spoiled enough for it?”
The hollowness that he felt inside oozed out from his gaze like molasses, dripping to the floor and coating it black. He felt as empty as the labyrinthine corners and hallways of Malcolm Nox’s mansion, awash with a melancholic silence. Adam Taupe, as of right now, was a circle of embers, not the glorious fire he previously claimed to be.
The hunger within him had begun to feast upon his own innards, it seemed. It growled as a wolf in a dead forest would and he wallowed in this cruel starvation, agonizingly, enduring each pang of hunger that exploded raucously throughout his entire being like pyrotechnics.
Beryl was nowhere to be found and Adam needed him, needed that line of pretty teeth, needed his touch and heartbeat – to remind him of his abstinence and rationing. He needed him to anchor him down and tie his wrists from scavenging through his suitcase for the blue-tinted tube of morphling. He needed him as much as he needed the serum in his veins; both would satiate the wolf-like hunger crawling up Adam’s ribs uncomfortably.
In the dimly-lit the sun room, there was a lone figurine. The mauve light that softly leaked out of the lampshade’s lilac skin caught the person’s skin, as did the silver moon-glow that made the walls ripple magically, and he gazed at Fiora’s secretive features for a few moments before taking the empty seat ahead of her. “I hope you don’t mind me inviting myself to sit, m’lady,” He gave her a smile, tender and sincere unlike his words.
This Adam Taupe did not have the strength to wear any facades; he was bare and raw, so undeniably himself: a once-kind boy who the world had hardened and corrupted. It was evident in the soft arch of his grin at one corner of the mouth, and the sly curve at another.
He was eclipsed & alit,
a mélange in between
the bright & the dark.
On the table between them, was a dark slab of wood.
Closer inspection revealed to Adam that it was a chessboard, made from expensive wood that slid like velvet against your finger-pads. The pieces, from the shielded king to the vulnerable pawns, to the formidable rooks to the dark nights, shimmered in the cold moonlight. He set his head down on one arm, whilst the other gestured at the chessboard in query. “Do you play?” He asked the other. “I used to when I was … more privileged. This is a game of the rich, of the conquerors. I am not surprised that Malcolm has it.” Adam’s fingertips hovered over the pieces, hauntingly akin to the way he’d seen Fiora’s own moved over her deck of cards.
“It’s a game for the spoiled,” he leveled his gaze back with hers, “do you think you’re spoiled enough for it?”
