DON'T FORGET THE REVENGE.

Jesse's vice was whisky but the bartender, in serving the dour-faced dandy beside him, had accidentally poured bourbon down the crystal gullet of his glass. It was more bitter than he liked, but a drink was a drink and he could do with the more severe flavor every now and again; on those consequential days when the wind didn't blow the way he wanted and the voice of reason in his head fell silent. In truth, he preferred iniquity over quietude, when the devil's voice began to croon in his ear with the sweet facade of a woman's whisper; when the flickering flames from the wall sconces began to cast shadows resembling the sumptuous pout of a living doll.

Better men had killed for faces like hers, sinned for the eyes that smouldered like setting suns behind the black horizon of her sunshades. Inebriated by liquor and lust, her golden hair shimmered like deadman's gold and hell, if he didn't feel greedy.

Pretty little head lifts upwards slightly in tangent curiosity, then quickly back at the cowboy, inspecting every hair on his face; his nose, his smell. She can almost imagine just how his blood tastes. Eye contact never held long enough, screaming you can't catch me! with a sardonic tinge of amusement. Ultimately, a tease; a bite of sour sweetness that tingles your tongue just enough to keep you thinking about it for days later. . .

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤRosalie won't treat Jesse to that kindness just yet.

         ❝ Well,  some do call it a virtue,  Rose. ❞    It’s a high horse to shout down from,  all things considered  ––  she herself had been pacing back and forth the past hour or so as they all eagerly and quite impatiently awaited their brother’s return.    ❝ But it’s a dull one, ❞    she says,  a mumbling grumble beneath her breath as she peeks out from behind the curtain,  as if sight might tell her more than her other senses.  Ghastly outcome:  it does not. 

         A tilt of her head pairs with a skeptical view of the Cullens’ driveway,  inspecting it for imperfections,  seeking out every dip in the asphalt,  every leaf laid over pebble.    ❝ Going out and tracking him down will only make it worse.  He’s just moping.  The more attention we give it,  the more it validates what I’d call a childish response. ❞    The musing is said aloud in part because she figured that was the next suggestion Rosalie or Emmett might bring up,  and in part because she needed to convince herself.  She sighs,  needlessly audible and dramatic in her posture,  before turning back to her family.

Eyes dart to Alice, then back to the window. A coy grin, sort of remorseful in the sense that she feels badly for Edward in some form. She knows what it's like; that sort of love. To feel it so deeply, that it consumes you &. everything you do. Rosalie feels it every day. Regardless of this, she isn't the last to make a petty remark.   ❛❛ All for that girl. pff. ❜❜ With a cock of the head, her almost platinum locks waver in the humid air of the Cullen house. Arms rest within each other. Fingers tapping, attempting to conceal her anxiety (somewhat) with another comment.