#abashedtheystood

             He managed to get away from band practice for once.Eric makes his way back to the loft with his guitar on his back and a hand holding something next to it.he seemed to be rather EXCITED but he kept his cool once he finally reached the door,knocking a couple time and leaning against the door while waiting for Shelly to open the door.as soon as she did he simply smiled,keeping his hands behind his back.

Ramsay was a man who didn’t take orders well from others.  Yet in his constant need to please his father and earn praise he did what he was told.  He never did get that recognition from his father.  Which is how he came to be sitting at this table in this restaurant at lunch.

Roose had told Ramsay it was his duty as next in line for the company he needed to start making these deals.  So he sat at the table waiting for his guest to join him.  From what he remembered she herself was wealthy and if this deal turned out well it would do lots of things for the Bolton family.  He just hoped he wasn’t going to be sitting across the table and suffering through lunch with a vapid socialite who would only want to talk about fashion or something that Ramsay could care less about.

It was a rare opportunity for an inventors expo to make Louisiana one of their stops. He’d heard a few rumbles over the past few weeks of a great centennial commemoration to honor the Louisiana Purchase, and how all of the greats -- or drunken louts, would be hosting smaller gathers in hopes of a World Fair. Whilst Ford held little interest in being actually a part of their world, he knew that the family wine would do well there, and it would be a great opportunity make some extra funds. 

So, with grave reluctance and more than one fight that could peel wallpaper, Ford packed up enough bottles to turn the Mississippi River red, and headed towards Shreveport. Alone. He hired help once he was there, of course, and found out who to talk to so that he wouldn’t just end up little more than a man on the street, peddling booze, but there were far fewer people who knew him by name here, rather than at home. 

The Hatcher name had always spoken for itself, however. A local legend from Baton Rouge to the bayous, Hatcher wine originated in Paris in the mid-18th century, and traveled to the U.S. in the late-18th century, where it would swiftly become a local favorite. So it wasn’t difficult for Ford to talk his way into a booth near some of the more promising voices of their generation -- and not near some poor fool who just started stomping grapes. 

Once the hustle and bustle of the exposition started, Ford took this opportunity to stretch his legs and find out where that faint music was coming from. He knew he heard a horn of some kind, and was positive he’d heard a piano. 

After some time, Ford managed to tuck into a little music hall where he found things to be a bit more up to his liking. Dim lighting, a small reprieve from the Louisiana humidity, and various groups of musicians, all hoping to share their talents in hopes of being discovered. Ford genuinely wished all of them well, but it was a beautiful brunette poised at a baby grand piano that gained his attention. 

With one signature bottle of wine in hand, Ford excused himself through gawking gentlemen in order to place himself within eye line of the woman. In a sea of sweat-drenched financiers, too wrapped up in their own egos, this woman’s playing was the only thing in the whole damned place that even dared to match her beauty.  Ford wanted to know her. 

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🔥|| He had coped with unpleasantries of every strand of his memories weaved into the subconscious, but all the suspended dusts - nonadmitted flaws and all the other garbage - illuminates down to every hidden corner of his soul to be explored yet again. Does Hanzo still lay awake at night, recalling the unfathomable spectacle of the unfurled stars, how his cheeks were drenched in frustration and misery at the ridiculous possibilities of him and her? Yes, he had felt lingering, impossibly tender touch upon his torn cheek as she had wiped his sweat and tears away, followed by what he thinks as a sweet, equally gossamer as before kiss, because he could feel her bated breath in all of her earnestly. And his hands immediately ease off from the firm coil upon her wrist as he watches the lingering trace. Hanzo may have been apprehensive of their budding relationship, but through depression and pain, their shared storm amidst the stretch of their life, they would go through all the sunshine and rain together. 

How Mileena had made him to see the rainbows and break him out of his chains. Perhaps she had eased his heartbeats and lengthened his lifeline, the brightest star he has wished for. His quaint slumber - in and out of shallow dream as the reality comfortably melts into an obfuscated haze - continues, until he feels something latch onto the fullness of his lips, growing more coral as the swell of blood rises towards his face. Her touch is much more gossamer and cool, almost magnetizing him. Hanzo cannot help himself, but to be ensorcelled and drawn, exactly how such a force would be so easy to attract. Thus, how impulsive, how life had been sculpted in penetrating ceaselessly in their magnetism towards each other. If it weren’t for their mutual traumas and understanding of them, they would not be pressing their bodies together as his heart flutters. 

Her head was pounding and her throat felt like she had swallowed a half dozen cactui, her nose felt super swollen and painful yet it was still dripping somehow. A fit of coughing seized her chest and she opened her eyes and coughed up a storm, after a few moments when she felt like she had sufficiently hacked up a lung she felt her whole body ache. “Uuhhhhhhggggggg.” he groaned painfully, everything hurt.

She wrapped her blanket around herself and went to the kitchen for some coffee, there was no way she could be sick, speedsters weren't supposed to get sick. As she stumbled slowly into the kitchen of the little loft she shared with her parents she found her mother, “Morbing.” Nora said sounding very much congested, speaking hurt her throat and clearly she sounded horrible, it was obvious that she was sick, “I feel like deaf.” she said as she swayed where she stood with the blanket wrapped around her shoulders.