alastor vc: hey charlie i love how you're descending into so many L's
LIAR LIAR PANTS ON FIRE, always accepting; @envoye.
β now is NOT a good god damn time, alastor! i'm really not in the mood to hear it. β
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alastor vc: hey charlie i love how you're descending into so many L's
LIAR LIAR PANTS ON FIRE, always accepting; @envoye.
β now is NOT a good god damn time, alastor! i'm really not in the mood to hear it. β

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THE HOTEL IS WELCOMING AND ACCEPTING OF EVERYONE REGARDLESS OF JOB STATUS OR DESCRIPTION AND CERTAIN INDIVIDUALS. WHO'S NAME RHYMES WITH SCHMALASTOR. DON'T SPEAK FOR THE HOTEL UNLESS OTHERWISE DECLARED BY CHARLIE MAGNE, THANK YOUββ
* VEES DO NOT INTERACT !
βCome here... slowly.β
DRUNKEN HEAT, accepting; @envoye.
bitter burgundy rolls down the column of her neck, sweet in the hazy warmth that rests within, burning her throat with its' liquid descent. a flush of red clouding her gaze, half lidded and challenging, her fine brow arching at the command. black tipped nails tap, tapping, against the seat she'd found herself slouched against in the interim between heated flirtations ββ as flirty as she'd imagined she ever would be with him anyways. he didn't seem the type, charming in his own ways yet even so. she was intrigued. his tongue was quick, sue her for wondering what else he could do with it. ββ drinks thrown back quick and careless to loosen restrained tongue with each one. not once breaking eye contact, merely ... waiting.
when she does move, she moves slow. one slack clad leg shifting from it's place atop the other, black wool hugging the soft curves of her thighs as she rises. measured. her fingers wiggling under the neatly tied bow around her neck, hips a sway, tugging loose the dark fabric until it gives; the pop of one black button below, exposing pale flesh under her crisp white collar, swanlike neck bobbing minutely as she swallows. ripe for the taking. the slightest of glimpses into nerves anchored down by the smudged edges of rich wine, foggy faux confidence. uncharted territories, yet in her element all the same. this wasn't her first rodeo.
β well? β
she murmurs low, close enough now to touch. the thrum of her nerves and the rush of blood in her ears ignored for impulsivity, fearlessness in the face of uncertainty, hanging on the edge of his next word; not quite so patiently, fingers plucking his own drink out of his grasp to down it in one. don't cough, don't cough, don't embarrass yourself! and she traps him between herself and the surface behind him, flat palms bracing, quiet challenge in her eyes.
β what now, al? not all talk now, are you? β
pro, because i love her β€οΈ
PRO OR CON, accepting; @envoye.
PRO. Try as she might to adapt to the trends of the day, and she likes to think she's pretty up to date! She's an old soul who enjoys more traditional forms of romance. She's a lover of medieval romance, fairytales, and gothic literature; hand embroidered handkerchiefs, collecting a lock of her partner's hair to keep safely tucked away, a locket to wear around her neck with a picture of her lover and hair tucked away inside. Handwritten letters, even if those letters occasionally come written in glitter pens and covered in stickers. Keepsakes to carry around, little pieces of you kept with her at her desk, and little pieces of her given away with the promise of keeping them safe. She's never thrown away anything of those she's once loved, unless anger has taken her; she wants to remember everything. Rather loved and lost than have never loved at all.
alastor's shadow vc: π«΅π»π€π»ππ»ππ»π¦π₯π€
SHADOW PLAY, always accepting; @envoye.
Was his shadow saying what she thinks it's saying? If she wasn't in polite company, she might've mimed something equally as crass herself. Tempting!
β Hey, Alastor? You wouldn't happen to need your shadow for anything important, would you? β she's tongue in cheek, playful in the sway of her curls kept tucked away.
β Between you and me, I think he likes me! β

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Β Γ
MUSE REVEAL, accepting; @envoye.
β alastor, dear. what an unexpected surprise! β
death lingers, coats the air in macabre iron and pleasant hums. an embroidered handkerchief folded neatly upon prim lap, raised to delicately dab against elegant lips curved smoothly, the ghastly figure at the edge of her heels of no concern. nor the ruby sheen which clung to her fingers. although, she would have to see about getting a new rug. tsk, tsk!
β you're rather late for tea, i'm afraid. i was simply famished. regardless, you're welcome to join me, as you please. β
i said i would handle it. (he's the host, after all π π»)
STOP PUTTING YOURSELF IN DANGER, accepting; @envoye.
β then HANDLE IT Alastor! β
frayed composure slips and crashes, the resounding slap of her hand against her cork note board in frustration mimicking the state of her voice. raised, not quite a yell but close, and almost certainly a sign of already frayed edges being caught and pulled, unspooling her; in turn, unleashing unearned ire upon him, his choice of words an unfortunate push that began the breaking of her dam.
β this ISN'T what I asked for, and in case you haven't noticed, time's running short. i don't even know where you've been lately. i mean if it's sooo simple! why haven't you dealt with it! β
she didn't understand why she constantly had to step in, she had enough going on by herself, was it really so difficult? ββ it was undeserving, the creeping dredge of regret crawling up the back of her neck told her as much. each and every one of them were doing what they had to, it wasn't his fault that things weren't going to plan the way she wanted them to; it was simply getting harder with each blow the Hotel took. wasn't it always though? progress was rarely easy, and unlike before, she didn't have the time to micromanage everything. unfortunately, that wouldn't stop her.
restless nerves and the yawning pit of guilt that'd begun its' slow sunken drag and twist in her stomach at the outburst left her pacing. one hand twisted in blonde curls that once settled neatly at the base of her skull, pulling, while the other rocked the note board forward and backwards as if by some miracle it'd unscramble the list she'd made of incomplete tasks.