#malvivent

@grentest

@allstitchedup

@xnecromantia

@coeurepuise

@malvivent

     she thinks about telling him the real reason why she’s hiding in the bushes with a camcorder outside his nightclub, and how she really feels about criminal activity in the heart of france. but she doesn’t. instead, she tells him a lot of bullshit: she’s staring at his lip as she talks, forgets to say that she’s american, instead ends up saying some mess about a boy she’s in love with coming here a lot and wanting to expose him to his girlfriend or something. she doesn’t know how many times she says ‘like’. her quest becomes an afterthought. 

ENJOY GOODFELLAS IT CHANGED MY LIFE…..

  Most would have given pause to such a confession. Most would gasp or perhaps voice their concerns, their displeasure as such a statement. However MOST were not Saskia. Features remained insouciant as he commented on cocaine-eyes; the slightest twitch of her brows the only indication she’d even caught the quip. Boy Rylie sure knew how to pick ‘em. Hands found their ways into the back pockets of her jeans, lips shielding a staccato hum within her throat. " Are those eyes similar to mad eyes? You know — " Her head turned toward her side where Nicky’s voice had come, those bright crystal blue irises crossing themselves briefly. Paired with the twirl of her finger by the side of her head. Both gestures lasting briefly. " MAD? "

  She chuckled at her own remark, one hand leaving the safety of the pocket to fiddle through the roots of her long locks. A thought had begun to grow within her mind. Brought on by her seemingly childlike curiosity that never seized. " Are you alone in those cocaine-eyes, Mister Nicky? Or do you bear a twin like I? "

         There was little relief from city smog, even in the cool air of the church – wrong church anyway, so it didn’t matter ( Unitarian, whatever the fuck that meant ). Nicky had come to think New York City was a cesspool – and such conclusion came from a man who grew up in Paris, the city of love and a free for all public urinal. Bias flared in homesick envy, and the recent unfortunate events he himself had set in motion in the country, and he couldn’t fault the inhabitants of the city for the resentment he had built, but Nicky never had social tact in the first place – nor patience.

Even if the mistake was his own, he’d take the fact that the church wasn’t the one he was looking for as personal offense. He’d take bumping into the other on the sidewalk as personal offense, even if the event occurred in his distraction. When the younger woman snapped, any automatic courtesy was trumped by impulsive insult.

❛ Then you’re not gonna get it. ❜ Nicky could have given her the discarded contents from her bag, but instead elected to lift a hand high to drop them onto the sidewalk again. Petty.

         Irony sung its loudest in this brusque, and impromptu run-in. Camille’s own nature was born of a stubborn burning flame, and her longing for her mother Crescent city singed in its every ember. So when her accidental assault was seasoned with this added slight, she was helpless to the flare that was ignited in direct result.

Nostrils opened, and lips curled to near caricature tightness, Camille’s hand raised to strike the man. But her outrage struck a blunder in the field of delivery. Speed, distraction, rage--whichever of the multitude--had rendered her aim misjudged. Only the edge of her pinkie had brushed against his chest, and thus lessened the blow she’d hoped for into little more than a pissy swat. But she was too distracted in stooping to retrieve her belongings to pay mind to the slip just now.

good to know i mean it both ways

what’s ketamine is ketayours my frand