“And this, boys? One of most incredible natural occurrences Earth’s yellow sun has to offer after a rain shower.” Clark cradled the twins close to his chest as he flew high above the city, the two boys just barely waking up from their mid-day nap. The Man of Steel beamed as he watched them become more alert, wide eyes blinking up at him. He easily turned them in his arms, giving them ample view of the array of colors. Holding firmly to their squirming figures, his heart soared as Jon and Jordan gurgled and cooed, as if having a conversation with one another. “Let’s not tell Mommy about this little adventure of ours though, hmm? It’ll be our little secret.”
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Anya rubbed her hands against the rough fabric of the towel, absorbing the moisture from her damp mane. It was then discarded without a backward glance, hurled into the corner of the washroom as she gazed at her blurred reflection. By default, expression neutral. Her natural blonde had long outgrown her roots, and was slowly chasing the colored brown out of her remaining strands. She didn't mind; she might feel compelled to re-dye it in the future, but for the time being, the dual tones would suffice. She crept lightly into the kitchen, grabbing the first item her fingers brushed, a bag of Hawaiian rolls. Anya couldn't recall the last time she ate, but she felt she may as well satiate the hunger she'd never feel. Purely out of habit and reclunctly physical necessity. An entire roll was stuffed into her cheeks as she settled by the windowsill, the gradually sinking sunlight making her normally pale skin appear warm. She had been spending a lot of her evenings lately at this window. Nothing truly motivating her to venture out.
She stared at the fading sun until the moisture in her pupils dried, her lids fluttering closed out of practice more than discomfort. She sighed, knowing it was time to address the matter at hand. Lips curved down in annoyance, Anya bent down to fetch the book she'd discovered earlier in the day. There were several piles of half-read, forgotten novels strewn throughout the room, stacked haphazardly along the walls. It wasn't really a pastime, but it killed time. However, Anna Karenina's well-worn cover and familiar passages were concealing a secret. From between its pages a faded polaroid revealed itself. Wedged in the middle as a makeshift marker. Sun bleached, worn, and slightly damaged. Anya wasn’t a sentimental being. She had no prized keepsakes from her past in the safehouse, as far as she knew. It was disturbingly sparse. Except for the minimum necessities, the rooms were unfurnished, quiet, and vacant ( besides all those neglected books ). So it came as a surprise that a conduit into a memory had managed to remain concealed amid her few possessions for so long.
Many of Anya's memories had dimmed into vague oblivion, while others had been so deeply buried in her subconscious that only a harsh provocation could bring them to the surface. As for the rest, she didn’t consider them fantastic enough or traumatic enough to leave a permanent mark. Her recollections were more like the celluloid still, decaying and forgotten. Her own face was recognizable, naturally -- though rounder, with pupils more focused with intent. Her bright blonde hair was braided back into a tight bun, and she wore the same demure, drab green that her comrades wore. The tailored cargo trousers, the standard issue combat boots black as coal and withered at the seams, the obscure bomber jacket, and the visible strap of a sniper rifle crossing her frame. The barrell peeking out from over her shoulder. What was eerily indistinguishable, was the upward slant of her thinned lips and the shorter brunette cradled companionably beneath the crook of her arm. A fellow agent was all she could surmise, as their attires matched. But Anya could not remember ever being particularly ‘chummy’ with any of the other agents. In fact, she was fairly certain they all despised her.
Whereas they took their training quite seriously -- which included executing their assigned tasks without straying from the plan and following their handlers instruction and guidance to a t. Anya thrived on defiance. Her abilities were unrivaled and seemed to come naturally; her superiors could not deny this. But no matter how hard they tried, through viciously opressessive means, they could not tame her wildfire. Anya was an unknown element. Whether or not she did what she was told was always a toss up and she ran through handlers like used tissues. She always got the job done, but there was no telling how she'd chose to leave her mark. Leaving an impression, that was her schtick.
Perhaps her comrades were most envious of the knowledge that she never truly got reprimanded for disobeying. Sure she'd had her fair share of visits through those ominous double doors where even to this day she wasn't fully cognizant of what transpired -- the only memory that stuck was being strapped to that gurney. But her superiors didn't dream of ever decommissioning her. Anya was not simply one of their trained mercenaries, she was their manic pixie dream assassin. Exceptionally gifted, completely soulless, and as charming as she was psychotic. And Anya enjoyed what she did; she found satisfaction in the anguish of others. And so, while she was unpredictable she was effective.
Just as Anya was beginning to tire of trying to rouse recollection of the moment capture, a minor detail jarred her. The tiny brunette, that she seemed to be cradling so companionably -- so gently -- had what looked like a twisted bit of twine fashioned into a simple bracelet around her slender wrist. Blood rushed almost uncomfortably loud in her ears, Anya slowly dragged her attention from the photo to her wrist where the same bracelet sat. Despite the fact that Anya knew it was something she possessed and never took off, she gazed closely at the wristband as if she'd only just become aware of its presence. Breathing slowing, she let the photo slip from her grasp and extended the chrome fingers of her opposite hand to examine the bracelet. Several moments of deafening silence passed -- possibly hours, she wasn't sure -- Anya felt a drop of water hit her flesh. She cocked her head back, perplexed by the sudden occurrence, to search for a leak from the ceiling, but found none. The sun had sunk, inky night casting shadows across her face. Another drop struck her. Her fingers reflexively moved up to touch her cheek, only to discover a damp path descending from her moist lashes to her chin.
She was crying. Why was she crying?
Disgusted with her own display of emotion, she snatched the polaroid from the hardwood floor and strode to the stove. With a twist of the knob, a control fire lit, and she dropped the forgotten memory into the flame, watching it warp and melt away in a matter of minutes. The stench of burning plastic clogged her nostrils. In the next moment, she was rummaging through her kitchen drawers for a pair of scissors. As she positioned the bracelet between the shears, the blade scratched against the skin of her wrist and a tiny dotted line of red sprouting from the flesh. She attempted to will herself to sever the twine. But every time she clutched the handle of the scissors, her chest tightened. A subdued panic at the prospect of causing such severe damage to the band. Why couldn't she remember where it came from? Why did she never take it off? How did it connect to the brunette in that fucking picture? It would be best for her to toss it away and never let her thoughts linger on it again.
Don’t forget me Volkov, promise don’t forget me
The panic grows stronger as she inhaled a broken sob, her mental faculties giving way to a unexpected wave of emotion. She struggled to push it back into the recess of her mind where it was safer.
“Что это?” What is this? Anya lifted her wrist and fixed the beautiful beaming brunette beside her with an unimpressed kinked brow. She didn’t seem deterred by Anya’s scrutiny. “Это браслет, на что еще он похож?“ It’s a bracelet, what else does it look like? Anya blinked in silence, not understanding how that explained why her comrade had decided to tie it around her wrist. “Он представляет собой дружбу. Это популярная вещь в Америке“ It represents friendship, it’s a popular thing in America. The brunette raised her hand to display that she wore an identical one. With a dismissive scoff Anya cocked her head. “Вы ребенок?” Are you a child? She tugged experimentally at the twine and was immediately stilled. Anya glanced up at the brunettes expression, unsure why the thought of her removing it was so distressing. “Обещай мне, что не снимешь его!” Promise me you won’t take it off! She bellowed causing Anya to roll her eyes. “Ладно, черт возьми. Не плачь об этом” Fine, for fuck’s sake. Don’t cry about it. The brunette’s answering smile at her success drew the tiniest of grins from Anya. The young girl’s optimism would be her downfall, Anya was convinced. In their line of work sentiment was seen as a weakness. But she hadn’t the heart to point it out at the moment. “Хорошо. Теперь ты никогда меня не забудешь. Что бы ни случилось с каждым из нас. Не забывай меня, обещай, что не забудешь меня” Good. Now you'll never forget me. No matter what happens to either of us. Don't forget me Volkov, promise you won't forget me.
It was overwhelming, so overwhelming. It weighed on her. Anya wanted nothing more than to jump out of her flesh and into the ether. The very pressure of it. A trickle of tears escaped her shaking frame and she clamped her eyes shut.
Tighter. Tighter. Tighter.
And just like that...it was gone.
Huh.
Blinking slowly to regain her faculties. Anya glanced around in confusion not entirely sure why she'd come in to the kitchen. Even more perplexing, her attention wandered to the pair of scissors in her grasp. With a frown she drew the cutters from around the band, set them on the counter, and padded back to the window sill. It was night now. She stared at the brilliant moon until the moisture in her pupils dried, her lids fluttering closed out of practice more than discomfort. Another uneventful evening. Anya bent down to fetch the book she'd discovered earlier in the day. There were several piles of half-read, forgotten novels strewn throughout the room, stacked haphazardly along the walls. It wasn't really a pastime, but it killed time. “Ah, hello, Karenina. We meet again”. Anya wasn’t the sentimental type, but this was a story she didn’t mind revisiting again.
Mick turned to glance back at Amaya, not expecting to hear those words from her. “Take a break? Why would I want to take a break?” His stomach clenched a bit at the very thought of taking a step back from their relationship and how far they’d come in such a short time.
“That’s the last thing I want. Is it... what you want?”
Thus, how do your characters see beauty in the world? For this prompt, you will pick a situation your character may be in as the weather changes and add as much description as you can. Are they planting flowers? Caught in a storm? Spring Cleaning? Preparing for a picnic? You decide!
Use every sense possible – Sight, Smell, Sound, Taste, Touch.
We can’t wait to see what everyone is up to!
This prompt is quasi-mandatory prompt. We won’t set perimeters that this is to be posted but we want everyone to join in on the fun (when they can).
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Central City’s Finest Halloween Prompt 001 - Indiana Jones
“ Nothing shocks me. I'm a scientist.”
(Story behind the pics - 1) He starts of looking like the pic on the right, jacket, hat, whip. Looking and acting the whole part. 2) Somewhere along the way the punch gets spiked and Nate starts lying on things like in the bottom pic. 3) Several hours later, Nate’s lost the jacket, his shirt’s a little ripped, he found a huge knife and is pulling out model poses like the pic on the left. 4) By the end of the night, Nate’s juggling the knife he found while steeled up and caught it in his teeth like the top pic. Someone take the idiot home before he hurts himself.... and that’s the end of Nate’s Halloween adventures.)
