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Post by Nicoleta on Apr 1, 2014 11:57:14 GMT -8
CAN YOU PROXY IT DOITSU PFF
also thank i am seriously so flattered and touched. You guys are all great. I love everyone
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Post by Nicoleta on Apr 1, 2014 9:08:59 GMT -8
I tried my best to include everyone ;v; sorry if you didn't get included kajsdk there are too many of you.
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Post by Nicoleta on Mar 30, 2014 13:08:49 GMT -8
roma i'll have to skype you for what I HAVE IN STORE FOR RUSSIAN
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Post by Nicoleta on Mar 27, 2014 16:08:34 GMT -8
Concealed by the photo, her grin stretched flat. Just as she thought--he didn't understand until now. Although she had predicted it, his transition back to shock didn't please her. It made her emotions flip inside, all over again. It was a monster, just biding its time, ready to break her stillness.
While frowning, Nicoleta lowered the photo, her arm dropping to the side. His denial made her feel sick with anger. Francis was a civilian, who had a normal life and a normal family. He was a normal man, held back by no barbed wires. He had not seen the slick face of death graze over his eyes, the cutting decision to have your life hung on a thin thread. No, no--she was angry that he had the damn privilege to question what was plainly presented in front of him, that he still had the notion that the hard, cold reality could be altered by a simple line of denial.
There was jealousy. No matter how many times she had cried for a gentler truth, it was never given to her. The condition of denial was mechanized to buffer time, to slowly let reality seep through the fissures of the mind. She had to swallow it, to accept it, and to act. Instantaneously. It was always life or death. Do, or die. Accept, or refuse. Nothing can linger in between.
"You don't think I'm lying, do you?" Nicoleta asked pointedly. "I'm not."
I was in pain for nine months and I delivered her all by myself, you fuck. It's possible, it was damn possible.
He'll have to swallow the truth, even if it'll bleed his throat raw. (This was why... she had always preferred to lying over honesty). Wishing she had a smoke, Nicoleta clenched the vine of the wineglass.
"We fucked, and in some recklessness, you got me pregnant." Her breath felt like lead from the surge of energy. "Your little blood is running around here in London, and London is a big, big city."
Nicoleta gave another wayward glance out at the view of the cityscape. She relaxed her shoulders. All of the sudden, her temper became the slightest blotch of fear. Silence fell on her as she watched the bustling nothingness, as goosebumps peppered up her arms.
"I'm not going to force you to do anything," she murmured, setting the photo on the flat surface of the rail. Nicoleta placed the wineglass on the photo. "But you should find her before it's too late."
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Post by Nicoleta on Mar 26, 2014 19:35:36 GMT -8
Veronica.
The name escaped his lips so tenderly, swollen with emotions and memories. It was as if he was addressing a different woman. Nicoleta could not reciprocate any of those feelings; Veronica was a lie, after all.
Her hair was long, dyed black as ink. Her form was slender, bruised purple and green. There was anger in her core, but it was masked by ambition. She had a desire to want everything; and so, she was able to get it. But to what cost?
Much, Nicoleta thought.
She breathed out a sigh, a tingle brushing down her neck. At least Francis still remembered her. That fact alone was enough consolation to ease away some nipping anxiety.
“Mon chatte, I—" he was faltering.
Francis was still the same. His heart was delicate, full of adoration and a sweetness that us uncommon in many. Pure, down to the soul, with a desire to give affection as readily as to be smothered by it—even to death, she presumed. He was such a fool, even at this age.
The least she could do was spare him from this madness, and teach him that hate was the only remedy. There could only be flames, licking to destroy, burn, and decimate. A flame is the only way to clean and close a wound.
“Don’t call me that,” she interjected softly, her voice thick and stern.
Nicoleta observed his reaction, the way he swallowed and diverted his eyes. His features displayed strain, worry, disbelief, and melancholy. There was no anger. At least, not yet, whispered a sinking feeling.
While watching him, she did not falter. Her placidness could not diminish. Nicoleta remained, leaning against the rail, with a glass of wine raised in one hand. She took a casual sip of wine and waited for him to finish his words.
“I did.” She responded. Things were going numb. “For a week and then I well… couldn't keep her.”
(You were pathetic.)
Nicoleta shook her head and then shrugged, as if it was a normal thing to do. Another sideways gaze at the city lights, she took another long and thoughtful sip of wine. It was becoming sweeter and sweeter, warmly traveling down her throat.
This is going to kill him. “Anyway, you always wanted to be a father. So I'll do you one last favor.”
She produced a photo from her purse and held it up over her lips, the blank side of the photo facing him.
This is going to kill him. This is going to kill him. It kept racing across her head. This is going to kill her too unless she can tame it. Unless she can tame a mother's sorrow and a lover's guilt, she'll be consumed by the pyre.
“Here’s your chance.”
My dear, we're slow dancing in a burning room.
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Post by Nicoleta on Mar 24, 2014 20:58:35 GMT -8
They were at the… supermarket, right? Before the couple indulged themselves in an unplanned napping session, Heracles and Nicoleta had snuck to the back area so that Nicoleta could use the restroom. It was an emergency, of course. She felt a little something (a feeling he surely will never understand), and so a rush to the bathroom was an order. False alarm, thankfully, but she popped a pill to make sure that her lady parts are working, as they should.
However, unexpected drowsiness then took over her, casting an iron veil over her eyelids. Her made her movements as heavy as lead. After stumbling around to do some aimless walking, her brain registered a familiar haven of which she climbed on top of.
From thereon, everything hazed out to a dreamless sleep. Occasionally, she was conscious of the soft cushion against her cheek. It was warm, and it had a beat. It pulsed up and in, smooth like the ebb and flow of the tide. Sometimes it wrapped around her, held her tight, before releasing her, leaving her half-alertness puzzled.
The rumble seized her from her sleep, but it probably took the person several tries to rouse the woman. In a heartbeat, her eyes opened and her hand tightly clenched around the wrist of what she thought of to be an arm. Had Heracles not spoken, she would’ve attempted to shatter the wrist in her grip.
“Ah… Herc—“ She breathed out, relieved in a drowsy sigh. It was dark from what she could see, with patches of gray out in the far corners. The darkness settled in her eyes in a moment’s notice, and she found herself scanning the periphery as she craned her head around. How the fuck did they even get here? Why were they on a bed of all things--?
“We’re on a bed---cute.” Nicoleta sputtered a laugh. It was not like this was the first time anyway.
“This is different though. Not my ideal, but it's adventurous.” She joked as she let out a yawn. There was a bit of an anxiousness hooked on in her head. Nicoleta quelled it silently, and affirmed herself that they were safe. Still, there was something about this place that didn't seem right...
Their voices even shattered the eerie silence, muffled by the dusty air. Little feet scrambled across a wooden surface. Meh. Thinking about it again, she had been through worse.
So, whatever.
“Oh, we’re still in the storage area,” she commented. Nicoleta paused at his remark about getting out. When she had the thought, she immediately spoke her mind. “Cameras are everywhere. They'll think we’re up to something shady. Might be alarms too, unless we pretend to be as little as a mouse.”
She hopped off and landed light on her feet. Looking up, she saw that the aisles were very narrow, with steel shelves high up, stocked with crates and boxes. It seemed to her that they stacked mattresses at the bottom row, and somehow these two fuckers managed to sleep on it. Minus the fucking (for now, she thought amusedly).
A faint, red light caught her eye. She squinted at it, and then sidled close against the shelves. A camera—yeah, nope. Nicoleta had worked long and hard to get herself out of the public eye, so she wasn’t going to let this act of stupidity ruin it.
“Ok. Herc, boost me up.” She commanded as she adjusted her messenger bag. The next shelf was several feet away, too high for anyone to even jump and reach.
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Post by Nicoleta on Mar 24, 2014 18:39:57 GMT -8
She craned her chin up, her sloe eyes leering at him. The corners of her lips curled up to a half-smile. Francis was had that glint of confusion in his eyes, his complexion drained of any rosen blood that hued the undertones of his flesh. He was white, as milky white as the ghost of him in her thoughts. It gave her a tingling satisfaction on her cheeks, compelling her with the desire to grin widely. Yet she didn't, locking her muscles to freeze her enigma.
The air was taut. This situation landed itself in the middle of her palms, and Francis was the song bird. Just one command, and her hands could curl and entrap the poor creature.
Still pressing her arm against the rail, Nicoleta shifted her weight to her other foot. She quieted her ego, her burning desire to rub what she knows against him as an acid. Her conscience had grown since then, and it stilled any intent for harm. After all, he was not at fault. He was not the reason why she had to leave.
The Romanian moved her hand up to reach for her mask, hesitated, and then placed it over her diamond-encrusted pendant. There was a sinking feeling in her chest. There was still a chance that Francis does not know who she is.
“Non, Rien de rien,” she murmured in a half-tune. The silken croon of Edith poured in her thoughts.
No, nothing of nothing. Picking more confidence, she looked out at the vista and let her voice burst in a sultry song. “Non, je ne regretted rien.”
I regret nothing. (But I regret everything)
The wind picked up the rattling of the leaves
“That was your favorite song,” Nicoleta said at once. She lurched deep in her memories to produce a time of when they were both together, lying down on the bed as the old record player spun. They talked about visiting Madeline together.
Madeline.
She wanted to laugh out loud. This kind of humor was going to be the death of her.
“You never got to see Madeline did you?” Her voice fell when she spoke. “She was more beautiful than how you described her."
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Post by Nicoleta on Mar 16, 2014 0:49:13 GMT -8
BALKAN DRAMA PIECE
Setting: New York City; Early 1930's probably.
Genre: Errr. Drama. Crime. Cinema? COMPLICATED ROMANCE
Main cast:
Marko Veselinov Iliev (Bulgaria) - An actor who has been stuck with Sadik for the longest. It is said that he used to be a medical student until he quit halfway due to financial and personal problems. He is usually the go-to whenever there is an accident on stage. With that said, it might be that his medical knowledge has been contributing to his growing clandestine pool of wealth. The clean and well-dressed man is rumored to be in drug rings. He plans on romantically pursuing Vesna once he earns enough money.
Athena Kostakos (Greece) - A butch woman who is not active in the troupe. She is one of the few female boxers in the city, and is funded/sponsored by Sadik. She familiar with being ridiculed for her masculinity, and Sadik tends to think of her as much less of a human. She is close to Nicoleta, and they say that the women do not do womanly things in private. She and Herakles has a very competitive relationship due to their differences in perspectives. Herakles Karpusi (Greece) - A playwright who specializes in tragedies, but also likes to humor himself with comedies. He used to be a renown professor and author until debt and false sexual allegations marred his fame. Because their parents were well-acquainted, Sadik offered Herakles the job. Despite hating the Turk, Herakles has no other financial choice but to work for him. Being a sentimental man, he does not spend his time much with people and would rather write or read. However, he does spend some time with Nicoleta and Marko, for both work and play alike. He and Nicoleta have been meeting more often to talk about character development, and they might possibly come up with a new script.
Vesna Kitanovska (Macedonia) - The fan-favorite performer, acrobat, and dancer. She is the daughter of one of Sadik's long-time members, though he is now deceased. Her mother had relied on the benefits of the mafia for many years, therefore, Vesna grew up knowing this syndicate very well. Though a cheerful person in nature, she hates performing for the Sultan. Because of his distinct tastes, she has to adapt to whatever style he wants. Vesna used to refuse his ideas, thinking that her father's late status could win her favors, but was only spared by the little. Verbally abused to the breaking point, she sought a lot of guidance and companionship from Marko and Zoran. Vesna is longing for the day she can cut ties with Sadik.
Andrei Chimet (Moldova) - Younger brother of Mihai. He is fiercely protected by Mihai and Nicoleta. Due to that, Sadik often uses that to his advantage. However, Andrei has a very good way of disappearing from sight. Lately, he has been sneaking out at night for some unknown reasons. He has been suspected by the slightest, mainly because he is a normal, civilian teen who works as the kid who sells tickets.
Astrit Zupan (Kosovo) - He is a young boy that Sadik had taken under his wing. He is mainly an observer, and does not owe any allegiance to the mafia. However, he does enjoy some benefits, although he feels uncomfortable and unsafe around the Sultan. He has very strained relations with Zoran for reasons that is not commonly discussed. There are times when he is told to do some busywork around the theatre, which includes cleaning, sweeping, and plastering posters up for display. He and Andrei have become acquainted due to their shared tasks.
Mihai Chimet (Romania) - A calculative and intelligent fellow who is an understudy of Sadik's right hand man. Being fluent in Turkish, Romanian, and English, he spends most of his time negotiating with other people and studying. One of his main jobs in the 'troupe' is to critique and direct whenever Sadik is not present. Though he is suave and affable, he is not well trusted due to his greater freedoms over everyone else.
Nicoleta Ileana Daciana (Romania) - A fickle and enigmatic actress and a jazz singer with a sordid past. Because of her talent and appearance, the starlet often takes the role of the prima donna or the main female lead. She hates being the lead character, and she hates the demure and helpless female archetypes that she has to embody, since that is Sadik's taste in women. For unknown reasons, she 'belongs' to Sadik, who frequently coaxes her to do his bidding. Slowly and subtly, she has been becoming more defiant against him. She is also not very trusted or well-liked for being able to get away with things.
Zoran Djokovic (Serbia) - An electrical engineer who is the main handyman/repairman in the troupe. He is an aspiring inventor with much brilliance and ideas, but is held back by his immigrant status in America. Therefore, he works 'under the table' for Sadik. He had confessed to Nicoleta that he admires Vesna whenever he shines the limelight on her.
Sadik Adnan (Turkey) - A robust mafia leader who is obsessed with plays, cinema, and theatrics. Proclaims himself as the 'Sultan of Manhattan'. He is as wealthy as he is powerful. He recruits people to his 'troupe' because they owe him money or favors. His power is rooted deep in politics and the very economy of New York city. He is a grand and sometimes callous force to be reckoned with. Because he is very liberal with love and sex, he overtly flirts with Nicoleta but sometimes has an intatuation with Athena.
Minors:
Katyusha - One of Sadik's past lovers. Their dalliance is one of the reasons why Ivan is so adamant about Sadik's downfall. Here and then, she still sees him at a tryst. She is a ballet dancer and an opera singer.
Elizaveta - Used to 'belong' to Sadik as well. When she married Roderich, she managed to use his family ties and wealth to break away from the mafia's influence. She has recently become an investigator and an undercover police officer. Elizaveta is most despised by Nicoleta over a past dispute, and the feeling is reciprocated.
Ivan - Leader of a strong Russian mafia. A great rival of Sadik's. He is one of the greatest threats to Sadik's power. Somehow, he is always one step ahead of Sadik. He sometimes hints that there is "a traitor among the brush".
Natayla - A cold and austere assassin who loyally serves Ivan. Both Ivan and Katyusha are her fictive-kins, and are not related to her by blood. She suspects Katyusha here and now, and outspokenly objects any mentioning of Sadik and his works.
Feliks - A closet bisexual who works as a barber near a Eastern European bar. He is Elizaveta's best friend, and he keeps an eye out for her when it comes to dealing with the Turkish.
Roderich - He is a prominent figure for being an esteemed virtuoso. He is Elizaveta's husband. He is trying to piece back together their failing marriage, as he suspects that her priorities are elsewhere.
Gilbert - An ex-military and ex-policeman who had received a medal of honor. He recently quit his police job only after a couple of years for some reasons he doesn't want to talk about. Gilbert used to train alongside Elizaveta, and he still sticks with her even though they have a bit of a rivalry friendship. Nowadays, he does a bunch of odd jobs and tries to live a more inconspicuous life.
Alfred & Amelia - A pair of nosy American journalists. Alfred is usually the one giving interviews while Amelia writes for the newspaper.
TRNC (I dont have a name yet) - Sadik's young son. Naturally, he is very loved by Sadik. The boy sometimes watches plays and cinema with his father. Other times, he is at school, and Cyprus tutors the boy. His mother is unknown, and the boy has been curious for a very long time.
Cyprus (No name yet) - Herakles' long time friend who also knew Sadik when he was young. He tries his best to quell Herakles' anger for his own good. Herakles owes a lot to him for the advice that was given. He is a graduate student pursing his degree in archeology.
Gupta -
Possible side-characters: Cyprus, TRNC, Egypt, the Italians---eHR TOO COMPLiCATED
Plot: DISSOLVE THE OTTOMAN EMPIRE ARRHGHHRAWR.
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Post by Nicoleta on Mar 15, 2014 23:23:01 GMT -8
A place where I'll add AU ideas in case I want to draw/make comics/write about them
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Post by Nicoleta on Mar 8, 2014 12:39:54 GMT -8
Nicoleta Daciana | Romania | get rdy
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Post by Nicoleta on Mar 8, 2014 12:39:08 GMT -8
There was a strange rush of electricity down her skin moments after he said that. Nicoleta made a sharp intake, gazed at her cup, and grinned warily at his words. There were times when her nerves wanted to send out energy all at once. She called it a euphoria, an unexplained chemical reaction of absolute pleasure. But the question was, was it because of him or did it happen by chance?
"I read something similar in a book." she wanted to say.
Instead, Nicoleta tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and replied, "Thank you."
This natural talent is only natural because I needed to use it to lie to you.
Words spiraled in the quagmire of her thoughts. She wanted to leave so badly, to be off and be gone from his life. The guy didn't even deserve all of this, all that happened to him. Fuck, she shouldn't even be feeling guilty or anything by that chance. The back of her head began to feel numb.
Yet, there had been haunts of the wailing child. In the night she'd feel a phantom pain, warm like summer heat and sticky like blood. The child cried, its voice cutting through the sound of pouring rain and rolling thunder. It was only one day of her life, yet it had strained itself in form of a memory that sometimes roused her at night.
They stood, out in the open air. It smelled like rain and leaves. There were no stars tonight. Not like there have ever been many stars out in the city.
"I'm no poet." Nicoleta said. She leaned her arm on the concrete railings, and her gaze was on the distant green light on a departing airplane. The torrent of noises from the plane counted down the time she had left before her act dropped. The woman closed her eyes, thought of the child one last time, and then snorted.
"If I was a poet, I'd have better ways of saying this next bit of shit to you." Her tone was rough and chafing. Nicoleta rested her chin on the back of her hand. A frown was etched on her lips. There was a bitterness that shouldn't be directed to him. "What do you say, my love? Do you still want to hear it?"
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hiatus
Feb 7, 2014 14:29:26 GMT -8
Post by Nicoleta on Feb 7, 2014 14:29:26 GMT -8
hi
Ok directly copy and pasting off of the one I wrote on mof. Long story short, a family member died in my family. That person happened to be one of the most influential person in my life. So you can probably imagine what kind of impact that has on me. Anyway, I'm the oldest of the children, and I have responsibilities and duties to take care of. I'll be gone for a bit.
Don't worry. Condolences are appreciated. I'm fine and the feelings have mostly subsided. Still, there's a lot to pick up after and do sooo I'll be off for a bit. Two weeks? This month. Yeah. This whole month. I'll still try to post since I have more threads here though. It'll depend on my time.
Salut. -Icy
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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 Nicoleta on Jan 27, 2014 14:01:39 GMT -8
baahaha cockblocking nico
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Post by Nicoleta on Jan 27, 2014 0:28:09 GMT -8
PLOTS. WITH IRISH MAN
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