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Post by Treszka on Jan 5, 2009 20:54:09 GMT -5
"That...would be wonderful." She said softly.
All the times she'd been on the Eiffel Tower, it had been to brood upon her seemingly constant solitary state of being. It had only ever been a spot for loneliness. To actually have someone to go to it with...it was almost too good to be true.
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Post by Derek on Jan 5, 2009 20:55:30 GMT -5
"If you can get us there, I can carry you up to the top. The lifts don't exactly open until around ten."
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Post by Treszka on Jan 5, 2009 20:58:17 GMT -5
"I could do you one better," she said, her grin coming back.
"I could teleport us to whatever level you want."
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Post by Derek on Jan 5, 2009 21:03:36 GMT -5
*He smiled.*
"No, this is the part where I carry you up the tower and impress you with my feats of strength. Obviously." *He teased.*
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Post by Treszka on Jan 5, 2009 21:04:50 GMT -5
She felt an involuntary blush creep into her cheeks.
"Oh...okay. I can simply get us there, then."
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Post by Derek on Jan 5, 2009 21:06:05 GMT -5
"Shall we, then? I don't exactly know how this teleporting business works... do I have to be touching you, or just near you?"
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Post by Treszka on Jan 5, 2009 21:09:04 GMT -5
Stupid blush. STOP STOP STOP
The blush, of course, didn't go away as she patted his arm.
"Just touching. I usually hold a person's hand."
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Post by Derek on Jan 5, 2009 21:11:41 GMT -5
*He offered a pale, elegant hand, looking somewhat unsure.*
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Post by Treszka on Jan 5, 2009 21:16:46 GMT -5
Dumb blush. You'd think I'd never seen a boy before.
Feeling a bit ridiculous, and kind of shy, she took his hand.
"It's really fast, and maybe a bit disorienting, but you get over it really quick."
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Post by Derek on Jan 5, 2009 21:18:10 GMT -5
*He smiled.*
"Alright."
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Post by Treszka on Jan 5, 2009 21:21:08 GMT -5
With a final nod from Treszka, they both disappeared from the street.
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Post by Notre Dame on Mar 2, 2009 19:19:43 GMT -5
Paris was stalking the streets of... well, Paris, which really doesn't sound so remarkable at all. It was more remarkable if one knew that the being in question lived under Notre Dame, and hadn't stepped out in decades, even centuries, so that to the small, wild figure veering this way and that, nearly everything she saw was new.
To those who managed to glimpse her, the woman-child hovering in doorways to peer in or zigzagging across the street, there was a mass of pale, torn lace and silk hung around her waist, nearly shapeless with time, dragging on the street, winding around her legs. Bare arms, nearly as pale as her clothes, and unrouged cheeks; wide dark eyes that looked like holes in her face until she stumbled across a small flock of pidgeons and they turned the pale smoky color of the dull underside of their wings. The weight of blonde hair on her back and shoulders was unpinned and undone, and little trinkets glinted among her skirts- bits of glass and metal braided in or tied on strings, hidden often by the shifting cloth.
She was distinctive, of course, but most people who saw her only continued to see her until they'd looked away. By then, she was in a different place completely.
Besides which, people were adept at seeing only what they wanted to see. She could have been any escaped madwomen, but for the rings on her fingers (which two bulky men had tried to come into possession of a little earlier, and found themselves very surprised when the small white shape they bore to the ground collapsed into out-of-season snow).
(( Tag Valmont! ))
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Post by Valmont on Mar 3, 2009 10:25:56 GMT -5
Valmont was not in the habit of giving consequence to beggars, however fetching under the layers of filth. For one thing, it wasn't his job to scrub it away. So it was only his habit of scanning the crowd as he walked--idly, not looking for anything in particular but always vigilant--that brought the woman to his notice.
And it was only this habit of keen watchfulness--for why would anyone walk anywhere, when there were carriages to be had, if not to study humanity?--that allowed him to notice that while his eyes passed over her initially as another unfortunate, she seemed to shift in his vision depending on the angle of it. Or the background. He was not certain, but it seemed to him that she shimmered slightly against the grey stone of one building as she crossed into the periphery of his vision.
He was not given to suck flights of fancy, so he watched her as he moved slowly forward. He had to find her, for she seemed somehow different when he sought to look at her directly again, though he could not put his finger on why. And when not looking directly at her, she almost seemed to take on the quality of what was around her.
It was most perplexing. But Valmont had seen many curious things lately, and was never above investigating further if it seemed worth his while. She looked attractive enough, under everything, and his curiosity was piqued.
Keeping his eyes on her--he didn't know why, but he sensed she was slippery--he made his way to her side.
"Mademoiselle," he said softly at her shoulder. "Are you in need of some assistance? Directions, perhaps?"
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Farinelli
- Masterful Virgin -
Ni homme, ni femme
Posts: 37
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Post by Farinelli on Mar 3, 2009 10:56:25 GMT -5
(("He was not given to suck flights of fancy..." What's this? There are things Valmont does not suck? How peculiar!))
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Post by Erik on Mar 3, 2009 11:02:32 GMT -5
((Oh god, best Freudian typo ever. I suppose I should leave it.))
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