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@agcdwine
❛ Hello?! ❜ natacha can't exactly remember how she ended up on this place, only that she felt her body aching, with a few cuts on her pale skin, nothing that more blood can heal her wounds, for some reason she didn't want to leave under the bed.
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@misterjamesmarch │ @killgcd │ @agcdwine │ @acidwcsh
❛ pervert. ❜
@agcdwine
he’s only just saved her, elizabeth gasping for air as the tears continue to fall down highly powdered cheeks and leave trails behind. she can’t bring herself to speak just yet, either, darkly painted tiers parted and emerald oculars glued to the man holding her. it’s james patrick march, that much she knows, but why is he holding her? why had he stopped her from jumping? the brunette doesn’t understand it, but at the same time, despite her racing heart, she finally finds the strength to form a single word. ❛ why? ❜
@agcdwine
he doesn’t look like he fits in this decade, let alone this century, and for that reason alone, paisley watches him in content silence. she’s seated in the lobby, tonight marking the fifth night she’s been at the hotel cortez. curvy and fit body clad in a tight and short sleeve black dress that falls to a few inches above her knees, black heels obvious knockoffs ( she can’t afford the greater things in life ), she’ll watch as he struts about the grand space, a rather angered look about him. it excites the brunette, for such a man as him must have some sort of story to tell. but alas, she’ll remain seated, legs crossed as a cigarette is carelessly picked from her small clutch and lit before being brought to darkly painted tiers. inhaling deeply, her exhale is just as intimate, heavily painted eyes hooded over briefly as the smoke leaves her lungs.
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❛ I don't really think, I owe you SOMETHING. I've got nothing, just the way you want. Please leave. ❜
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she could SMELL it.
oh, it was strong. the alcohol was intense. her hightened senses didn’t even have to be in use in that moment. he reeked of the stuff. her dear husband could never handle such copious amounts
“oh,darling....what have you done to yourself this time?”
it was rhetorical of course. he never was capable of giving proper answers in this stat.
a certain noise coming from high heels clashing against the floor mixed almost perfectly with the overall sounds, chocolate curls falling down like cascades on her shoulders and moving with pure, complete grace. oh, but be careful, little one, as for behind such elegance hides a true medusa; and she is not afraid to turn you into stone if she ever feels like so. or, in such case, to tear you apart from limb to limb.
it had been a while since she had heard of such locale as the cortez, an entirely art deco inspired hotel that was incredibly appealing to the belle’s eyes. ah, but how she loved such form of art. it was daring, innovating. directing herself towards the bar, it wasn’t of any surprise when she ordered a glass of red wine; a drink that certainly was kindred to the place’s aesthetic ----- if you count any other than champagne, of course.
and then, the stories began. tales of the first owner that was a renowned serial killer, a blessing to her kind. one that shared the same surname as her; march. oh, but how truly interested a woman such as marilyn was feeling towards the conversation between an apparent cop and a cleopatra look alike. with lips meeting the carmine liquid, it didn’t take long until she could feel the sophisticated ( and yet far from satisfying ) taste of such alcohol’s choice.
with a small smile deciding to grace the corner of her plump lips, it didn’t take long until chocolate irises could notice refined features of a man; with an exuberating style that could be equaled to hers, yet she couldn’t help but somehow sense that they were similar spirits, kindred auras. a mere confusion of thoughts, perhaps.
❛ my, my. i still believe how rather entertaining to see that people still speak of past tales. a splendid mind he had, indeed. shame such work had to be finished so soon. ❜
ah, how she wished it wasn’t her case.
@agcdwine
