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Apr 13, 2013 18:10:29 GMT -8
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Post by Mihai Chimet on Jun 24, 2013 11:03:41 GMT -8
{Now on the correct account.}
It was around six when he found himself down in his living room, sprawled across the couch with one hand occupied on the TV remote. The lights on the screen flickered as he switched from channel to channel, trying to find something he could concentrate on. Nicoleta had phoned in a earlier to say that she was on her way, but knowing her, that meant at least a half-an-hour delay. He understood—he was rather the same way himself—but that didn't change the fact that he'd had the chance to cook up a basic dish of pasta, drink a glass of wine, and was now aimlessly channel surfing as he waited for the woman to show up.
He was not, in any way, having second thoughts about his decision.
It was true that he'd made the bet rather out of hastiness, but if there was anything that wasn't lacking, it was his self-confidence in this particular area of play. That wasn't to say he'd dwelled on the wager long the past few days; initially, he'd actually half a mind that it would never play out anyway, and in fact, had nearly forgotten about it until Nico had phoned. In his surprise, there ensued a rather prolonged discussion about whether she was indeed serious and really—tonight? He didn't mind that impulsive streak of hers (usually), as he shared in it himself, but he'd been wishing for a quiet night after a week of brain-meltingly tedious work. Though truth to be told, he wasn't wholly opposed to the idea either, especially after considering it a second time, since a night out would probably do for some stress relief, even if the circumstances under which he'd be going were questionable at best. It was at least a given that he would not be reaping what he sowed; this was, after all, a number game, which was a great pity under the circumstances if he were to say so himself.
Though how things would end that night was probably the least of his worries. Considering the entire nature of the bet, Nico was sure to be absolutely vicious, when and if she got to his house. He'd almost consider it a mistake to let her have free reign with his attire for the night, if it weren't a certain guarantee that she would do much better on the entire ordeal than he could possibly hope for himself. The prospect of having a good make-up job, however, didn't change the fact what was to come would likely be dreadful and that he would be suffering its aftereffects for awhile to come. He didn't doubt his ability to net a good number of interested folks—female or male—especially in the miserable digs that bars usually were (and the added twist would make things interesting to say the least) but the process of actually reaching that point would be a long and painful one. Of that, there was no question.
For the moment, he could only distract himself from what felt like impending doom with the flickering lights on the television screen. He tried to find something interesting—anything, really—that would keep his mind off the coming encounter that evening, because he sure as hell was not reconsidering that bet. Not at all. (More accurately, he was not giving himself a chance to, or even more accurately, that was his pride speaking.)
He was pretty sure he'd gone through all of his channels at least twice by now, none of them particularly catching his attention. Many of the running TV shows were boring, the news stations annoyed him for various reasons, there weren't any games worth watching on sports channels, and there were very few movies he actually enjoyed, so their reruns probably wouldn't be much better. Not even aimlessly channel surfing was bringing him a sufficient distraction, so he tossed the remote aside and left the TV to play an old cartoon as background noise.
He glanced at the clockwork piece sitting above the fireplace. Still no sign of Nico. Perhaps she'd gotten distracted by something else—at least, he could hope so, but perhaps that was a bit optimistic. Conflicting feelings arose as he wanted to get the entire ordeal over with already, while simultaneously hoping that Nico would simply not show; however, he had a sneaking suspicion that this would be one of the times when she did turn up, and completely prepared at that, and if that was to be the case he'd rather everything be completed as soon as possible, so as to lessen the duration his suffering.
At any rate, he'd wait it out for a bit longer before calling it quits (and at that point she'd have no one to blame but herself), and to aid himself in that endeavor, got up from the couch and made his way to the kitchen for the second time in fifteen minutes or so. The bottle of wine from earlier was still out on the counter, and he poured himself another drink to pass the time. Maybe it wasn't the best idea to start getting drunk before the night had even begun, but hell if he didn't think he wasn't going to need it.
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Post by Nicoleta on Aug 5, 2013 14:26:46 GMT -8
what if I was just a painter,* painting houses on the rich blue coast? Would you ever try to leave me for somebody who deserves you most? Cause darling I am just a painter. I'm gonna make a million dollars, cause nobody's gonna steal you, no, For diamonds & gold ------------------------------- It had been a lazy transition from the afternoon to the darker shades of the evening. The uneventful period called for a change of pace, to slow down and take pause in the unsettling comfort of her abode. For once, the window in her room was open with the curtains parted, the sunset's hues spilling color into her usually murky and dark room. Nicoleta rested an arm on the window frame while the other arm was propped up, a shriveled up cigarette clasped between her fingers. The air was moist, damp with petrichor and poisonously sweet from the smoke. She had always dreaded feeling dull, and though she appreciated moments of silence, this was the sort of quiet that begged for trouble. She searched her mind for things to do, musing through her mental list of potential stunts to do and places to visit.
She could visit Andrei—well, lately he had been doing other things and his hard-headedness had been irritating her. Crashing at Heracles’ house would have been a good time killer if not for its repetitiveness for this week. Nicoleta was convinced that she didn’t like him that much to entrust him of lifting up her mood. Estelle, well, the femme fatale was most likely too busy. As for Carmen, only God knew whether she could be trusted or not. It dawned on Nicoleta that she did not have so many friends, friends she could trust, at least. The fact did little to bother her since this was preferred, but she could not help but find amusement.
Ah. The brain electrically conjured a piece of information in mere milliseconds. She almost felt bad for thinking of Mihai last. The current best thing about the remembrance of Mihai was the mischievous little bet that was tagged on him.
The phone call to Mihai was terse but sweet, with Nicoleta relishing in the surprise with his initial response. The spontaneity was not unwelcome to the other Romanian, as he conceded with little retort; frankly, he sounded a little relaxed if not then determined. It was expected of him anyway, which was why she thought of him as such good company.
Though the extent of his daringness probably didn’t match hers (she was certain), Mihai was the type to rarely back down from something promising of a little mischief and good, legal fun. If not, then she was convinced he was.
She dropped off the cigarette after its taste was exhausted and then sauntered over to her closet. Nicoleta picked out some outfits, devilishly tugging sequin dresses and raunchy outfits off their hanger in thought of Mihai being in it. A sudden change of heart prodded her to take some more conservative and chic dresses and heels, which she did. The woman proceeded by getting her make-up, brushes, and palettes togethe
r in a stylish bag. Despite her haste and recklessness with handling her cosmetics, she was actually holding her life in that bag. The same could be said about her clothes, now that she thought about it. Nothing can really get in between a woman and her fashionable belongings.
The mentioned items were eventually put in a briefcase, along with some clothing articles and hair products to transform her into a man. With Nicoleta’s short hair and a bit of make-up, it shouldn’t be a problem. For Mihai to ‘transcend’ to womanhood, well, he’d look better with longer hair in her opinion. Yet with no wig or extensions of his hair color in her possession, she realized that it wasn’t in her immediate power to do that. A little detail, she wasn’t going to obsess over this at all. Moreof, she was rather excited about dappling makeup all over the dear Romanian’s face.
The car was a more practical mode of transportation since she came with a luggage but the ‘douchebag’ look called for her motorcycle. With a little bit of a groan as a silent complaint, she wired up and fastened the luggage on the back of her bike. After she settled herself on the vehicle, she took a sideways glance at the window to see her darling sentinel cat wish her goodbye by a stare. She secured her helmet, revved up her motorcycle, and accelerated down the streets, ripping through the streets at a speed as frightening as the engine’s screeches.
Getting to Mihai’s house was a bit of an issue at first with the traffic and pesky pedestrians. However, her use of unorthodox shortcuts was able to save her enough time to arrive at his grand house in a few minutes shy of ‘really late’. Honestly, this place doesn’t really fit him at all, she observed. The neighborhood was pleasant and reeked of normalcy and she thought of the man as one who’d prefer a bit of an edge. His position of job was the reason, most likely, to look clean and conformed. With the suitcase set down an d then handle propped up, she pulled it alongside her as she approached his front door. As much as she’d love to break in to save her the trouble of waiting, the extra baggage ruled it as a hassle. And so, she knocked on the door and waited a few seconds until she remembered how much she loathed waiting.
© cait
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Post by Mihai Chimet on Sept 18, 2013 12:30:15 GMT -8
A few glasses shy of "really fucking drunk," a couple of knocks on the door were heard. By then, the wine bottle was half-empty on the counter, the other half of its contents having been downed over a course of however long. Was this approach slightly theatrical as a reaction to the turn of events of that evening? Perhaps, but if Nicoleta really were serious about the whole matter, then he sure as hell was going to pre-game like it was college again.
He almost pretended he hadn't heard the knocking. It was nearly certain that Nico was at the door anyway, and if he were to glance out the kitchen window, he could see her motorbike parked haphazardly in what could possibly qualify as the middle of the street. He wrinkled his nose a bit at the sight. Normally he had no reason to care (as long as the 'bike wasn't obstructing his path), but it was horribly conspicuous in a neighborhood like World's End, where the cars were parked in neat rows and lawns were manicured with the attention usually reserved for the nails of washed-up celebrity figures. Oh, he wanted to let her wait outside for a good ten minutes or so, just to spite her for the tardiness, but a lady carrying a suitcase loitering outside his door might draw him unwanted attention, especially considering that Nico was a wanted criminal and his neighbors were the Home Secretary and the goddamned Prime Minister hopeful. He really should consider getting another place where Nico and Andrei could have their fun breaking in (he swore it was becoming like, a fad or something) without attracting the undue attention that might as well get all three of them arrested.
A little bit reluctantly, he abandoned his wine and started towards the front door, then changed his mind. He went back into the kitchen, through the exit leading to the garage, and pressed a button to raise its metal door. He peeked out to motion Nico through, adding drily, "And bring your 'bike in before it causes a crash." The last thing he needed was a neighbor at his door complaining about the obstacle parked squarely in the middle of the road.
Now, he supposed he could be a gentleman and help Nico with the baggage she was carrying, but he wasn't feeling particularly helpful at the moment (oh, as if he ever did), and simply indulged her annoyance for the moment, before agreeing, finally, to take the suitcase from her. If he allowed her into the house, there was whatsoever no guarantee that she would return outside for her motorbike—in fact one might say that it decreased the chances significantly—so it was really less out of goodwill that he went ahead and dragged the heavy piece of luggage indoors (what was she keeping in there? The prospects were daunting).
He dropped it off in the living room before finding a spot for himself and his newly refilled glass of wine on the couch, feigning nonchalance as, after a minute or so, he heard din of the garage door sliding closed. It sounded like the gates of hell shutting out any hope of rescue—it was horrible. Though in honesty, it wasn't even quite the entire premise of the wager itself that was discomforting (only the slightest bit!), moreso the fact that Nico wouldn't hesitate to exact cruel and unusual endeavors if they suited the needs of the moment. No rest for the wicked, no shortcuts for the competition.
It wasn't much later that he heard footsteps from behind him (though only because he was expecting them—the woman could be quieter than a cat when she wanted). He slid down on the couch a little, resting his head against its red-clothed back. His eyes flickered in her direction, but she wasn't yet close enough for him to catch a glimpse at this vantage point. Nevertheless, knowing that she could hear, he commented a bit amusedly, "You know, you could at least make it look like I didn't just hire callboy with a liking for the typical rebel look. You'll start a scandal." Oh, the irony in these words, with what he had agreed to do!
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Post by Nicoleta on Sept 27, 2013 20:16:44 GMT -8
Nicoleta tapped her foot as the seconds trickled away. She took a glance around her shoulder to survey the area, partly because she had nothing better to do and because it was a force of habit. Even in a pampered environment such as this, she could never be so naive as to say that she was guaranteed safety. Danger always had always feigned innocence, and she knew this concept better than anyone else. With a crick on the back of her mind, the gears of her sullen imagination began to wind to project a hypothetical situation: a black Lincoln prowling down the empty street, its windows all black and rolling down to reveal the silver nose of a pistol. Bang, and as the gunshot fade by the seconds, her blood would be all over Mihai's porch.
How sad would that be, she thought with a snort and a half-smile on her lips.
This was the one habit she wished she could let go. Never could she have a moment's reprise without this creeping feeling whispering around her shoulder; in fact, this would only happen during such times. It was another added reason as to why she hated waiting. There was too much time to think.
The faintest sound caught her attention, and the humming noise of the garage door began to raise. Mihai looked at her from around the corner and said, "And bring your 'bike in before it causes a crash."
But of course! Why would he greet at the front door, with a smile and a "Hello!" and a hand offering to hold her baggage? Then again, with her frequent unconventional ways of entering into his house, she supposed that this ought to be nothing worth being surprised about. Hardly heeding his 'suggestion', Nicoleta made a beeline towards the wide garage entrance and figured that she will move the bike later (and if someone did damage it, she would expect a lot of money to compensate from this filthy rich area). Her stride was eased with relief as the previous thought washed away to the sound of her clicking heels. When she was near Mihai, Nicoleta made little indication that she wanted Mihai to carry her burden, but her sideways glance at him was probably taken as one. With quiet laughing eyes, she set the suitcase on the ground before his feet. He smelled of wine, and this made her suddenly laugh. Gussying up a man drunk off wine was perhaps one of the top to-do's in the name of mischief.
"What a gentleman! Parliament is conditioning you so well," she praised.
Nicoleta sauntered inside his home, not minding the sound of the hefty luggage struggling to be dragged and its twisted wheels that resisted smooth forward motion. She took off her boots and invited herself in to feel the plush of the carpet beneath her feet. He went to the living room while she went for the washroom without a say. It could be vanity because she merely wanted to look at herself in the mirror. With all of the false identities and lives she had to become, sometimes she liked to look at her reflection to remind herself who to play as. You know who you are. Somehow, she could never get over how sad her reflection looked.
She occupied the washroom for only a brief moment before she went to the living room to greet Mihai, only to hear him say the first words.
"You know, you could at least make it look like I didn't just hire callboy with a liking for the typical rebel look. You'll start a scandal."
"Oh, I'd hate to give the impression that I'm a scandalous person," Nicoleta quipped in response as she threw herself on the loveseat and sat, one leg propped over the other, "It would ruin my spotless reputation."
She leaned her upper body on the armrest and gave him an expectant look. Tilting her head up a bit, she said, "I smell wine. There's a glass for me, nu? We can do a toast before we go at this, though I know you're already excited."
Though she looked particularly calm, her chatoyant eyes were glinted with a certain sharpness and vitality. The poison was in the way she smiled so faintly, that one would be certain that she was scheming. Nicoleta had always made sure that she was going to have the most fun in whatever situation she was in, and this one was no exception.
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Post by Mihai Chimet on Jan 22, 2014 17:36:27 GMT -8
A little bit of push and pull—that was how things worked between them. But that was fine, he liked it that way. Made things more interesting, though more often than not he was also compelled to take a few blows to his ego. Like right now, this wager. He'd already gone over a hundred reasons in his head on how a stunt like this could possibly go wrong, but his insistence on following through was tantamount to all one hundred of them. As many excuses as he wanted to make, his pride would never escape intact in making them (with Nico surely willing to contribute), so he would skip the pretexts and simply hope that some sort of emergency would come unannounced. The situation was a dire one if he would even be willing to spend more hours at the office to escape it. He gave an amused scoff at Nico's comment as she passed him. "Never not a gentleman," he retorted. "Parliament or not." At the very least, the part about Parliament was certainly true. He never quite internalized whatever was said in those lacquered halls except to fool everyone else into thinking he had—not that Parliament ever taught anyone to carry luggage. Naturally, they left that to the household hands, the bellhops, someone who was, essentially, not themselves and could afford to get their fingers dirty. He himself chose not to keep hired hands as a precaution, and certainly having one particular maid over every other weekend for the sole purpose of misplacing all of his belongings was infuriating enough. For that reason, he instead did the work of maneuvering the luggage through the threshold, its movement a bit clumsy and wayward. It had probably seen quite a few unkind days. Eventually, he simply picked it up, its weight hardly a concern to him due to the time spent physically on his job. It did pique the question, however, of what was contained inside; the heft really could not bode well. Dropping off the baggage, he waited for her in the living room, making himself comfortable on the couch with a glass of wine. Sipping at the bitter alcohol, he pretended not to mind the plans for the evening by focusing on its savour. It could not distract for long, however, especially once Nico kindly made her appearance and seated herself. A smirk lingered on the edges of his lips as she spoke. It certainly would be more accurate to say that Nicoleta's reputation had been dragged through the mud of half of Europe, though his was likely the same, rendered spotless only through pages and pages of forged paperwork, a little bit of money and a whole lot of charm. "It's not your reputation I'm worried about," he said smoothly. "As lovely as it would be, I can't quite toss my reputation to the gutters." ' Yet', he debated adding, but the hope was that he and his reputation would escape their ultimate endeavour unscathed. He'd be written off as another casualty, case closed, a perfect crime. Naturally, Nico zeroed in on the wine he'd been drinking in an attempt to trigger a case of alcohol poisoning, though she was probably preoccupied with it for quite a different reason. "Kitchen," he said at her inquiry, less protective of his alcohol than usual. Maybe, he hoped, a drink would soften her cruel, sadistic edge. "You know where everything is." This referred to the crystalware, and the tableware in general, with which he was certain she would be familiar. As for the wine, she would probably be able to coax out a good two or three glasses from what was left, the rest having been drained over the course of the last hour or so, undoubtedly in his "excitement." Someone else's—more accurate—observation might be more along the lines that he'd simply tried to drown himself in alcohol, which truly did seem like an adequate idea considering the particular glint in Nico's eyes. It was reminiscent of setting one's gaze on a particularly valuable piece of artwork primed for the stealing, bank notes that were sufficiently unguarded. His own eyes shifted back down to his glass. "Have a fucking party," he muttered, and took another drink. OK I GUESS I'M DONE IT'S ONLY SLIGHTLY IMPROVED
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Post by Nicoleta on Feb 1, 2014 15:49:28 GMT -8
Living here really did change people. Mihai had a certain way with his speech that was not common in Romania—he knew more English, but there was something else less obvious than that. There was precision in his tongue, a smoothness in his voice to craft specific words. She noticed that he was strung by dignity and some sense of poise, a trait often seen in the more affluent, western Europeans.
A facade, she mused. Nicoleta knew he was still Romanian by heart, no matter how well he was able to hide his accent. Despite her grungy, dark, and edgy demeanor in comparison to his crisp and clean mannerism, they shared the same dignity through blood. Perhaps, that was why she had chosen to befriend him in the first place. There were other similarities other than their mother tongue. She leaned her cheek on the back of her hand. Keep talking smooth, dragule. Michael Collins--no, Mihai Chimet.
It was not that she was bothered by it. He had adapted quite well. Nicoleta just liked to amuse herself by analyzing and drawing out the worse that hides behind everyone's prim and proper faces. It would make her feel better.
"Maybe not yet." Nicoleta chimed in. The gutters aren’t so bad your only job is to pull others down with you. She smiled wittingly, but her eyes hinted good humor. She let him think about that.
"Kitchen." she mimicked, adding a pronounced edge to it. Nicoleta placed a hand over her breast, as if offended. "I forgot where it is."
She eyed him expectantly, raising a brow as if she was looking at a servant. Her smile was wicked. "I'm known to be kinder with a bit of alcohol. Someone might appreciate it." With that, she adjusted the latch on her suitcase with her toes and then kicked it open. It opened with a heavy slam to make her point.
The brown-blond wig was bunched up on top of a myriad of dresses, as if the clothes were hiding a severed head. Not to mention that her dark make-up looked like some taboo, voodoo witch face paint.
Nicoleta repositioned herself, one leg over the other. Still leaning her cheek against her fist, she remained with a smile. It'll be one fucking good party.
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Post by Mihai Chimet on Jun 18, 2014 4:02:27 GMT -8
Their contrast couldn't be more different to the casual onlooker. From her relaxed lounge to his cross-legged poise, her casual words to his calculated phrases, even their hair—hers, dark and brown, his, nearly light enough to be called blond. Yet, there were always little things that would easily escape the stranger eye—how behind them lay the same homeland, the same love for alcohol and life on the edge, the same wreckage of childhood that lead to their diverging paths. Her, a thief, scorned, detested and him, a person of power to be admired and trusted. The points from which they stood on top of the world were as separate as chasm to mountain, but their natures were undeniably the same, and the cliff from where he stood with everything he could have ever wanted spread out under him was already beginning to crumble. Yet, neither of them were the sort to notice the foundation that fell away beneath their feet, otherwise, there was no other way they could maintain their play of lighthearted banter—but such was their only repose, bliss in ignorance, or rather self-delusion.
"Not yet?" he echoed in amusement, unknowing of the prophetic significance of her words. "Not ever, if I can help it." Arrogance rang in the words and coated the smile that tugged at his lips. He was fully assured of his own abilities to masterfully execute a crime, and to hide even his involvement and identity in the devastation of the aftermath. After he had accomplished his mission, Michael Collins would be well and dead and mourned, and there was something to be said about the spark of elation felt for being the victim of your own crime. It took a certain degree of genius to carry out a crime of this scale, after all, but it was something else to commit a crime and be grieved afterwards (as a goddamn martyr), and no one would be all the wiser.
There was, however, decidedly less he could say about her puzzlement to the kitchen's location. "You've treated yourself often enough to the stuff in my fridge that you should have a very good idea where it is," he bit back, grumbling, but there was little he could do when she made it clear what would be in his own best interest. Perhaps he would have argued that he didn't need her mercy in this, but it was painfully obvious that he did and it seemed a trip to the kitchen would be a small price to pay if she would go easy on him (though he wasn't certain how much she would let up with a bit of alcohol). To drive her point further home—as though it were necessary and he hadn't been tingling with nerves since she'd hung up the phone—she kicked her suitcase open and Mihai could spare its contents only a glance before averting his eyes, disgruntled. As he rose to retrieve her drink, it was clear that she'd won the battle, but he deigned himself mature enough to make a reproachful face at her before doing as she bid.
He brought his own glass with him, refilling the half-drained liquid and pouring Nico's before returning to the living room with both flutes in his hands. He sipped from his own as he proffered her the other glass, arching an eyebrow at the other from his higher vantage point. He licked his lips, catching the last tastes of wine before speaking, his mouth curved into a sarcastic smile. "Is there anything else the lady has wish for?"
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Post by Nicoleta on Jul 3, 2014 13:21:09 GMT -8
“How very kind of you,” Nicoleta remarked, overemphasizing the chime of gratitude in her tone. An eyelash flutter to his arrogance and a head tilt completed the pretense of ignorance, archly and all at once, dismissing his duo-alias feat. Yet, she knew that he knew that they held each other on a mutual sort of respect, and this teasing was no more than child’s play.
Quips and banters aside, she liked to believe that there was truth in his words. In a more sentimental perspective, she took it as an informal promise—and it had probably always existed. In this friendless terrain, she only had Mihai. All the other jockeys and fabulists were never compatible with her standards; her perpetual suspicions had always weeded out friends and foes alike. It was a mechanism of self-defense, a lonesome one to boot.
Mihai raised a line of complaint, and Nicoleta merely had to hold her gaze at him until he rose. When he left, her eyes followed him, the hazels licked with amusement. When he returned, she smoothed the humor off of her lips and received the wine glass. There was nothing more feminine and sultry than her manner of sitting, and Mihai was in the perfect standing position to be given what a head always desires. Sure, he had the higher vantage point, but she had the lower vantage point. She suggestively gave him a wink, swirling the maroon in the glass, and sipped.
Nicoleta did not reply to him until she swallowed her intake of wine. It was sweet, aromatic, and bitter, as if the fragrance could mask the poison of this wine. Enjoying herself, she smirked at his request and raised her glass up. “I have a couple of wishes that I’ll save for later. For now, enjoy your drink, and then take off your clothes.”
She took another generous sip and wagged her other finger in recognition. “Ah, this seems familiar, doesn’t it?” Nicoleta teased, “Lace will look so cute on you. I hope you like lace—well, not like you have a choice anyway.”
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Post by Mihai Chimet on Sept 14, 2014 9:28:47 GMT -8
It was a burdensome game to keep pretenses, and at Nico's wink, he let it drop. He rolled his eyes with an amused scoff before settling back down onto the couch again. However many times they did this dance—and as sultry a dance it may seem to the stranger eye—it never carried with it anything more promising than a night spent over alcohol and whatever gossip that cared to cross mind and mouth. They'd tried, once, to indulge lust and curiousity, and found it not-unfulfilling but not quite ideal; they were either too incompatible or too compatible, but their relationship had since simmered down into whatever this was. He didn't know if 'friendship' cut it, or 'sister he never had,' but he was not in the business of trying to categorize relationships. They were too complex anyway, given his situation and the multitude of lies he inhabited—a lover under one circumstance might be an enemy under another. It sufficed him to know that Nico was a fixed point—no pretense, no need to shift allegiance. He'd be the last to admit that the tangle of untruths were utterly draining in their own way, but there was something like a calm in shedding masks in someone else's company. And that was a privilege that neither of them experienced often. "Yes, of course," he said mildly, sipping from his glass. He didn't know if she was joking about having other requests; they did, to some degree, run their cons in conjunction after all, and it wasn't rare that they requested favors from the other. He did, however, stiffen at her instruction. It wasn't that he was shy about nudity—it would be patently ridiculous coming from someone with as many sexual exploits as he. His hesitance stemmed from how he just knew she was going to delight in this, was already delighting in it. He would not be half as forlorn if it weren't for her amusement. And at the mention of lace, he could not but bury his head in a hand with a groan. "Oh, you're really not making this easy for me, are you?" He had nothing, on principle, against lace, and it would be false to say he'd never indulged in it before. But it had been years since he'd left college, and even longer since he'd had a relationship genuine enough to venture anywhere close to that degree of intimacy. He wasn't going to whine about it now though. If Nico wanted to play this out the hard way, well then, fine. "Very well then, do your worst," he said, draining his glass and setting it back on the table before standing up. He tugged his shirt off, not bothering with any act of shyness nor flirtatiousness. It would be pointless anyway; though neither of them were reserved in finding the other attractive, nothing would come of it than more quip and delay. Much better to get it over with quickly. Once his shirt had been pulled over his head and his vision restored, his eyes fixed on Nico. "I do hope you plan on returning the show though," he said with a smirk as his fingers went down to work at his fly. He could give as good as he got.
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Post by Nicoleta on Dec 19, 2014 20:23:01 GMT -8
Her satisfaction was of a subtle grace—her arched brow rose, coupled with a brief, venomous smirk. She learned to take small victories with a certain joy, which playfully whickered like the devil’s tail. On the subject of friendship, Nicoleta had a twist on kindness; however, with Mihai’s hesitation, she hankered to further his dismay. Their relationship was tailored to be special. “Aw come on,” Nicoleta scoffed, and then switched her leg. “You like this kind of stuff.” She was sure he would, for he shared her quality as an eccentric, yet she was guilty of acting for her own pleasure. Mihai conceded, surrendering his clothes. Nicoleta watched, waiting the seconds nipped away at her patience. By a passing thread of daydream, she wondered exactly how many people they screwed over after getting naked. He interrupted her thoughts. "I do hope you plan on returning the show though," “Oh.” Nicoleta seemed to melt on the sofa as sank back, a careless and lazy expression on her face. His smirk was returned with a nonverbal “mehhh”. She had stripped so many times, in a multitude of ways and positions. So much so, that it became a chore. With that, seeing how Mihai spared no gander for details, Nicoleta half-assed her part. She began by shrugging off her jacket, the lacquer of leather folding to a black heap on the sofa. Her fingertips grazed the bottom of her shirt, and then she lifted it up just above her breasts. “Like my bra?” Nicoleta asked as she groped her breasts, trailing her fingers across the tiny diamonds embedded on her bra. A white lace adorned the upper half, but the anomaly was the faded discolored blotch on her right bra cup. “It has an unspeakable secret.” She chuckled and tossed off her shirt, which haphazardly landed on his lamp. Then, she lied back on the couch, straightened her legs in the air as she squirmed her pants off. When the black bunch of jeans scrunched around her ankles, she flung it at the ground with her foot. Such was Nicoleta’s temperament. She then turned to the side, now a stunning lingerie model. At this moment, the miracles of life were happening, and two of the most devious individuals of London were near nude. This was their dance, albeit sloppy, it was one they had performed for others. Almost always was it the onset of chaos, a waltz to mischief. While she waited, Nicoleta took an eyeful of Mihai and his lithe stature—he was pretty, so pretty. She had a bite out of him once, but their romantic downfall is this: there is no fun mixing together same chemicals. Though she did not mind this evolution in their relationship. Any regular lover would have crumbled to her caprice. Nicoleta sat up. “I’m going to dress you up first before I do my own shit. Look through the top portion of the luggage and you’ll find the thing.” The ‘thing’ translated to ‘the black lace dress Mihai has no choice but to wear’. However the ‘thing’ could also include: a lace thong, a push up bra, a bag of make up, a muss of ‘Mihai-colored hair’ (as endearingly written on a tag she stuck on the wig), a pair of high heels, and a fork. The fork, most likely, was dropped in there on accident. Eagerly, she walked over to him and grabbed the push up bra from the open luggage. She held it against his chest proudly. “Double D’s.”made by MISSO for use only by ICY
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