;ooc. i have been exponentially inactive lately due to winter guard practice and general stress due to school / etc. unfortunately my muse for anaïs has been shoved back in favor of old muses that i’m sort of maybe reviving from da dead so for the time being i’ll be roleplaying as c.c. from (the most feels-slaying anime ever frick) code geass here.

fanmix challenge » types of characters (1/?)

      Having kissed and being kissed for God knew how long — being that time had no significant when one was too in depth with false romance, the man pulled away first; the girl whined.

"Julius, why so?"

     She had questioned him, and he knew what she’d wanted was more — oh so very more than this. A few secret meetings here and there had been deduced between the two; the man was no stranger to the minister’s manor after all, and the Taylors were very much accustomed to the Minister’s family. Julius smiled — one that would warm the girl’s heart into puddles of mess — a charm that he knew God had blessed him with. “Ah, but Lord forbids me from having our affair being known to public. What if father dearest know? The Minister wouldn’t be too happy — Viktor would probably be the best suitor would he not? After all, I am just a humble dressmaker, nothing more of that” A smile, an index finger coiling the smoothness of her lock - then gently tugging her hair as he knew how the damsel had loved a little forcefulness in their share. But nonetheless he pulled away. 

                        “And thus, I bid you fare-thee-well…” He held the girl’s hand then gently placed his lips on her gloved hand —  and then the dressmaker was gone; he paced his long legs off from their lone corner that was hers alone now; hands busying themselves tying the black mask that was worn before. Anonyminity shall remain as he disappeared in between crowds. 

                           The cold air was much more inviting and pleasant than a woman’s perfume. Having gentle winter wind brushing against his face refreshed him; probably made him feeling cleansed by all sins that had he done. And he had moved out of the manor, hiding in between the expanse of the beautiful wintry garden. Of course, leaves were long fallen and swept off; but the garden did remain as lovely as he ever remembered. Casual stroll was taken and his mask were long forgotten in the comforts of his coat pocket (he would wear it once again, having being inside later on). But as there weren’t any presence besides his own, he shan’t be bothered. 

        And he was wrong perchance — about his being on his own as having felt a figure colliding into him. Julius’ had his voidless thoughts fixated on the new attention that he’d gotten from the action before, turning and finding a girl; long familiar blonde locks crowning her head. Had Katherine been following him — now that would only be peeving himself then — but fortunate was it that it hadn’t been her, but a damsel that wasn’t close to familiarity. “No no, there wasn’t any harm done. Are you alright, my lady? My deepest regret for standing in your way.” He’d replied her; concern masking his tone, before attention being fixated elsewhere — the rip in her dress. He frowned. Such lovely dress; how very unfortunate of her to have a long tear in her gown. Julius coughed, clearing his throat then.

               Her memory is acute, and this man is not one close to her memories-- her current one. It seems, however, that he had briefly recognized her in the moment of collision-- eyes wide with assumed recognition, a name on the tip of his tongue-- before delving promptly into apology.

                       How curious.

               "I am-- fine. I'm afraid your concern is much redundant, sir," she murmurs lightly. "Although I admit to being merely shaken from such... startling meetings." A soft smile curves upon burgeoned lips in wane of apology, fingers interlacing once more in routine. The air has suddenly turned humid, evoking a darker hue to her cheeks, and she is embarrassed to be caught so candid without a moment of preparation-- a moment to compose herself the way she strings along others. "The fault is more with I." She is always quick to beg pardon-- another habit irredeemable within the young girl queen. "Ah-- I should have been paying more attention as to where I was going."

               His next statement catches her off-guard and she has to pause for a moment-- mossy hues that once teetered to his gaze now following it-- before constructing the proper reply. "--Oh! I... suppose it is." A slender hand raises toward rosy lips in response, as if it could cover the flaring distress of her thoughts. "It's-- nothing that you should concern yourself about, sir, please. The evening is still rather young, the music still mirthful, and I'm certain you have far more entertaining affairs to attend to."

                                      …But how disheveled she feels!