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[August 07, 2007 @ 10:05am] |
Who: Bianca and anyone.
Where: Brooklyn Bridge
When: A few hours into the AM.
Rating: TBA
The lights came first.
Twin jets, their intensity muddled by the light fog that rolled over the infamous Brooklyn Bridge. The cars that came were few and far between, for the hour was late enough to coax most New Yorkers into bed, especially tonight, a Wednesday, when few are tempted by the promise of waning hours.
The lights came first, and the sounds came next -- the dull roar of a car’s engine and the doppelganger effect that came with its passing. Ebb and flow, ebb and flow, like the dark waters that wrapped around the steel legs of the bridge. And yet the lonely cars, few as they were, were not the only ones passing over the bridge. Through the gentle puff of fog moved another figure -- a figure obscured by the encompassing mist -- whose slender legs led her along the bridge’s ledge in a slow, swinging saunter, her tall pumps removed and loosely held in each hand. A jaunty melody followed her, drifting through the air soft but well-recited.
A phantom perhaps? One of the countless souls whose desperation long ago lured them over the steel rails? While a few cars concernedly slowed, a glance from her heavy-lidded, opal-hued eyes seemed to bid late-night voyagers to continue forth and leave her, even while her full mouth lay pleasantly curled in an elusive smile.
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[June 20, 2007 @ 6:16pm] |
Who: Claudia and (open)
Where: A city building rooftop
When: The witching hour
Rating: TBA
Pop. Another champagne grape burst satisfyingly between Claudia's deft fingertips, the round pustule swollen with sweet smelling juices now cracked and oozing between her polished nails. The cellophane bag rested between her legs, crossed Indian style under the full length, Bohemian sundress she had selected for this hazy summer night. Chilled orbs pressed against her thighs, she hunched over, plucking another from the bunch. Pop. Smiling serenely, she flicked the remains over the edge of the rooftop, down into the dank depths of the city. With her flax golden curls wild and untamed, she looked more like a flower child like a Child of Darkness. Except, perhaps, for the unlit cigarette that hung from her lower lip. She relished the smokey taste they gave to her victims, so she had bought a pack with her grapes. Intending to light it, her hands shook so badly while attempting to strike the match that she abandoned the effort and instead sucked on it, like a piece of toxic candy.
The city's night scape was full of the beckoning neon lights that held many immortals rapt, but Claudia saw nothing of this, save their reflection in the tiny droplets of water that trembled and shone on the fruit. She was weary of this place, of this time. It was not uncommon for her kind to grow nostalgic of eras past, but there was no golden age Claudia longed for. Such an empty feeling, to detest both where one came from and where one is at the present. Empty, unlike the taut flesh of grapes, unlike the paper coated tobacco that rested against her tongue, unlike the city that swarmed below her.
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[June 15, 2007 @ 8:57pm] |
Who: Daniel & Armand (since he asked so nicely)
Where: The city.
When: About 11pm.
Rating: PG-13
Daniel laid his head back against a wall of a Rockefeller Plaza building, that coming down cigarette wetting his tongue, eyes heavy as the world still felt reborn from a feed not twenty minutes ago. He was still feeling the after effects, the reflection of his eyes in the glass looked like they were dancing, sparkles entwining around a secret world that only blood would work as the key to. He had long since stopped stripping things from dinners, unless there had been something he wanted, it was so simple then. Want, take, have and this was life. Or unlife. Either way. The bugs on the floor had echoing footsteps and screams from houses were once again buzzing in the back of his mind. He threw the cigarette down, watching the fire engulf it for a moment further before stamping it out with a black doc marten. The huntsmen returns. Sounded like a matinee.
It had been spitting with rain slightly, certain strands of hair gone almost a light brown instead of ashen blond. He was lost in thought, many thoughts, peoples around him, his own, if the lights of Fifth Avenue could think, he would hear them singing. Perhaps he did anyway, thus was living in New York city. He wasn't used to it, not yet, but he had been here a long time as a mortal and the streets looked like dreams in amazing technicolor. It was so easy to become distracted.
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