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Post by Panthea Lamia on Sept 24, 2010 18:22:21 GMT -5
An awkward moment of silence had settled around them as he waited for his food. Absently, Panthea’s fingers stroked at the heart-shaped pearl that hung from the necklace around her neck. Despite the slight anxious feeling the silence had caused to rise in her stomach, she refused to break it. At least at first. She only uttered a noise when he had stood to retrieve the food that had arrived. Even though it was only for a split second, the close proximity of their bodies – mere inches, even – caused a sultry soft purr to rise in her throat. However, the sound was that of an amused panther and just barely audible. Despite all logical thoughts that buzzed around in her mind, she wanted to reach out and touch him; to just simply brush her hand against his arm. Though she did nothing but stand and watch him, a small smirk just hardly tugging at the corners of her lips. She knew she shouldn’t have felt the way she did but it’s not like she could just pretend she didn’t it. Human emotions were some of the hardest things to control.
Her head tilted a fraction to the side at his offer. She could sit down though she really didn’t want to. However, if she complied, maybe it would be easier to worm her way in to his mind? She had been humming thoughtfully to herself as she debated when he handed her a drink. Blinking, she was confused for a moment but accepted it with a small smile. Was he trying to do the same thing she was? Worm his way in to her mind? Like she’d let that happen.
“Thank you,” was all she said before slowly lowering herself in to a seat beside him. Okay, maybe she was a little closer than she really should be – perching herself less than a foot away. If he wanted to play a game, she would play as well. Even if he didn’t, she didn’t care. All she wanted was a little fun. Though, most didn’t consider her type of fun to be particularly enjoyable.
She took a sip of her drink as he tried to engage another conversation with her. She really didn’t want to talk about her district. Truth be told, she was slightly homesick. Yes, she wanted to be in the games, to show her worth – at least she thought she did, anyway – but she couldn’t help but miss her home.
Panthea’s steel gaze flickered toward him as she replied, “A lot better than most other districts, I’d assume. It doesn’t matter, anyway. Talking about home, I mean.” There was no warning in her voice; she had stated everything nonchalantly. Though something did flash in her eyes. However, just as soon as it had appeared, it had disappeared.
Taking another sip of her drink, her eyes lowered to her shoes when something caught her eye. There was dirt on one of them and though she didn’t really care, she bent down to wipe it off. The way her body bent caused her arm to turn slightly, which, in turn, caused her drink to spill. Quickly she stood with a: “Damn it!”
Scowl back in place, she set her drink down and stepped away from the mess she had made. Honestly, she didn’t really want to clean it up.
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Post by Kai on Sept 24, 2010 19:03:38 GMT -5
"Shit.."
Kai quickly reacted from her movements, staying silent until of course, until she decided it would be cool to drop stuff onto him. Ah that was fine; majority of his clothes had soaked up the mere liquid. Nothing special, but he already begun moving.
"So, did you do that intentionally to make me undress or was that an accident?" a nonchalant voice replied back in his own equal tone, to her. Kai would begin to remove the skin clad, flesh looking top (aptly named for it's sudden changing from green to seethrough).
He didn't worry about physically being undressed for the moment, but he threw the shirt to the floor at the end of his bed, and would look around in a few drawers, attempting to pick out a shirt. Most likely he was inclined to pick a dark purple, being his favorite color.
"Well you can do me a favour while you're at it. Can you pick me a shirt?" he tried not to turn his full body to her, but nevermind about that. But then again, his body was of a so-so makeup, not skinny, not fat, but mainly lean with the curves in the correct places (for a boy).
...Shit.
He pulled the trigger of the metaphorical gun again.
Too bad it would have put a bullet in his brain.
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Post by Panthea Lamia on Sept 24, 2010 23:43:58 GMT -5
Pearly whites chewed on the soft pink flesh of her bottom lip. She hadn’t meant to spill the drink and she really didn’t care that she had indirectly used him as a human washcloth. Though she wasn’t going to say that. The game had begun. With a sweet purr, she replied, “Oh, I’m sorry, babe. I couldn’t help myself. Looks like you caught me red handed. Er… Sticky handed?” A devilish smirk curled the corners of her full lips as she called him babe. She arched a soft eyebrow as her hands rose up as if in innocent defense.
Unfortunately, she couldn’t help the way her eyes gazed at him as he peeled his top off and headed to his drawer. So he wasn’t as scrawny as she thought he was. Lowering her hands, her smirk just grew wider. She had to admit that the more she saw of him, the more she li---
No. Her smirk instantly disappeared as the thought just barely crossed her mind. She refused to admit it. Aloud and to herself.
Her arms crossed under her chest as she forced – shouldn’t have to force… – her eyes to the ground. She only glanced back up when he asked her to pick a shirt for him. Slowly, a smile started to form. Her normal retort would be something along the lines of, make me. However, that didn’t part her lips. All she said was, “Tch. You better not be one of those creepers that like to be babied.”
She slowly moved past him – more like brushed by him with the way her arm just barely grazed his as she moved past – to get to the drawers. “Hm… Let me see.” Her head turned slightly so she could look at him, trying to gage what color would look best on him.
Her personal favorite was anything that could effectively mimic blood: crimson, rose red, bright red, maroon (dried blood). Though it looked as if the rainbow had been stolen and locked up in the drawers. She tried to register all the colors: reds that caused her heart to skip a beat, purples that could make a king green with envy, greens that would put the forests to shame, oranges that look as if they could be eaten, yellows that blinded the eyes, and… What was that? Black. Like his hair. Wouldn’t the contrast make his eyes pop even more?
She spun the cylinder.
Slowly she pulled the black t-shirt out…
Cocked the gun.
Turning, she stepped toward him, raising the shirt to hold it against his torso, hands resting on his shoulders. Her eyes locked on to his…
She pulled the trigger.
Her thoughts contradicted each other, she realized. Half of her wanted him to pull away; the other half wanted him to stay put – to let her hands stay on his shoulders…
Even if the hole was gushing and oozing blood, she would not admit to being shot down.
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