to taste and hate

name: ri or niko, which ever is grand!

timezone: shoot. EST now

how long you’ve been rping: covers face te n years

do you play males or females more:  Males, but I haven't had a female muse in a long time! up until now of course

best friend in the rp world: oh my good I have a lot of great friends? I honestly can't choose!

favorite song:  Right now it's Team by Lorde, or Salt of the Earth by Lovedrug. I can't choose crying.

"Ah..where are my manners—" It was a question that didn’t need answering; rhetorical. He stopped and turned back to her, a more relaxed smile on his features now.

So she did, with slow, careful steps, as not to jolt the pile between her arms, prickly discomfort jolting nerves towards emitting a silent exhale as she sat down, piling the mess in her lap, her nose crinkles, grey irises staring at it with an almost regretful exterior. Wouldn’t mother be proud of her gluttonous attitude? Of the delves of thoughts she got herself into, that she only heard half of what the male had spoken.

Head snapped up, irises already pinned on him, the massed jumble of words she’s caught before a comical little Eh? Slips past the filters of her damned mind.

Typical lethargic expression slips for a moment, allowing carmine to lay thick over the highbones of her face.

“Menae? What a peculiar name!” She skits over hers, done it thousands of times, without thinking, a pure piece of instinct as she weaves nimble fingers around a thread of hair, only to push it back behind her ear.

. woundedheartsandminds

. vengxnce

. fidelis-et-glorificavi

—- 

{☢} —- 

- “I highly suggest you get out of the building now, 

if you do not want to be caught up in all of the, 

She knew it was a bad idea. She even told herself as she stared in the mirror earlier that day. ‘Bad idea. Bad idea.’ And holy shit did she call it.

…She wished she didn’t.

Libitina’s feet dragged on the ground softly. It was night— the city lights shining. It all seemed so far away. She stared at her feet, blonde bangs covering her eyes so no one could see she was straining to keep them open and keep walking. Just to keep her balance, she had to stare at her toes. Her red dress swayed and the itty bitty cross around her neck seemed heavy.

She wasn’t drunk— but in this moment in time she rather be drunk more than anything. At least when she’s drunk, she knows it happened on her own terms. While when your drink is drugged— it’s different. Luckily, there wasn’t a lot of said drug but enough to make her walk uneven and her vision blur at a much faster rate than drinking could ever do.

There was a man behind the sinner. If she wasn’t careful, she was going to get hurt badly. Which is also why she left the party early. She needed to go home. She needed somewhere safe. Her goal was the chapel. She could claim sanctuary and be untouched, even to the police. 

At least that’s what she prayed for.

That’s when her blue hues caught hold of a figure in front of her. She didn’t know them— nor did she care. She needed them. With what was left of her, she pushed herself forward, taking off into a quick sprint. “Hey!” she called, coming to a stop beside the person. She wrapped her arms around one of their own. She needed it to look convincing. Her life was on the line. 

"Hey you!" She chirped, a smile consuming her face. And soon enough, the shady man behind her was gone and she could go back being close to helpless. 

Her eyes became barely open, her skin toned eye shadow sparkling under the street lamps. “Sorry uh— Listen I— I uh— I…” She kept pausing. 

Libby’s brain was moving away. She needed to be conscious. She couldn’t pass out without explaining! That would be so rude of her!

"I uh— There was a man following m-me.. Listen uh— Take me to the…the chapel up the street I—….I uh… Just lay me on a pew. I’ll be—Be fine. You can even… take my money for your… your troubles… Er—…"

Not yet. She couldn’t pass out yet. She needed help. She wasn’t done— Not now—…She was barely conscious as she leaned heavily on the figure. Her feet dragged and she kept tripping over the littlest things. 

"Please I… Please I need…. I need…"

A sigh of frustration expels past lips, not directed to the slurred words of the woman, but of the situation rendered immovable.  As skull heaved from neck, grey catching the last of a shadowy figure retreating under concrete and murk.  Affirmation did not bring the girl comfort, but the wretched upheaval of thoughts upon unstable plexus as tired contemplations writhed to decipher what action to take. Bone sink quickly into lips, an epitome of anxiety as orbs pin to the sloping walls of the chapel in front of them, open, inviting.

❝Ya’ sure you’ll be safe in one of those?”

The walls, though slathered in the color of purity and god will, would have no effect on the vehemently twisted, the eccentrically, mentally mad.  For the blonde, white may be layered red, if left unaided and exposed in an uncluttered space.

“Why not a hotel, for all those pretty bills?” Another pathetic question that filters past pink tiers without the accompaniment of thought, of mentality in the situation. But the insolence of the doe eyed female, who’s grip got weaker with each passing minute, felt like a cry of help like no other, and one part of her couldn’t leave.