<div><img style="max-width:25%;float:left;margin:0 18px;" src="http://i.imgur.com/bK43khQ.png" style="avatar]The phone was ringing.
Worthless baubles, discarded trinkets... The whole fucking shebang.
All those collected knick knacks that were useless practically as well as sentimentally, were being pegged one by one. A snow globe from Milwaukee crashed to the floor, sending shards of glass and wet confetti flying every which way. Someone's portrait tumbled in a similar fashion, the image landing face upwards; distorted behind spiderweb fractures etched across the pane. One by one, replaceable bullshit met mundane linoleum in a steady cascade of crashing until nothing remained on the shelf but one small heart shaped box hovering precariously close to the edge. Raury Al Jessan paused just long enough to utter something softly beneath her breath before sailing the last spade-tailed dart towards her final target.
<div>
[/align]"-and they all fall down."
In the background, the phone would continue to ring.
[/align]
---
Hair dark like coal, she wore it long intentionally. Up or down, curled or swept to the side in a sheen of ebony meant to frame her delicate features, it was noticeably foreign. Maybe just foreign to him. Raury didn't have the same angles or harshness to her build that he did. None of his rigidity either. Her hand spread splayed over his chest while he slept, digits drawn to the warmth and the pulse, intent to press brief imprints into pale skin. Her tan was fading from too much time indoors, but the copper tint never truly left her pigment. She was dark, and he was light, and by the end of their evening together, they could pretend none of this mattered because soon he would be gone again. She always seemed calm in times like these, but her voice would quiver when she asked, "When do you plan to leave?"
---
Emerald hues flickered upwards as Roark hovered precariously close to her desk. "Can I help you?"
A face only a mother could love; that was Roark Benson. Undeterred by this fact, he always seemed interested in starting a conversation with Raury that she didn't care to partake in, with snarky commentary spat from behind buck teeth and tar stains.
"Got a new job for ya." He honked with an accent akin to gargling ball bearings. Quick to watch as the file slapped the desk with an audible flap of stapled pamphlets, the woman brought it closer to where she was seated to peer over the contents while her counterpart droned on with details. "Nothing too serious, but there's been problems recently with our informant out in Ferris. He's asking for a relocation, and if they're on to him, he'll get his wish. 'Course that means you'll need to transfer."
Looking up from the opened folder, Raury stated, "To Boston."
"Yeah, and I figure they're more keen to have an Elf workin' there then New Yorkers are. No disrespect, of course, but you stick out like a sore thumb here."
Raury offered only the slightest hint of a smile as she remarked, "They won't like me any more than New Yorkers do, but it has nothing to do with being an Elf."
She wasn't new to dirty looks, but sometimes, she felt like she deserved them.
---
Snow blanketed the streets, and on several city blocks branching from where she had been staying, power was out. Her power was out, at the very least. A cigarette burned between her finger tips while hunter green hues stared out over the city as she waited for the call. Two of her fingernails were broken from the last time she had to hit someone while wearing gloves, and the bruise on her exposed ribs was a decently sized reminder of how much smaller she was in size than Bahmi were. Sometimes she used a gun - a nifty little FN five-seven - but she hadn't needed it when she was taking swings at the individual responsible. He met the concrete from the top floor head on; game over, fucker.
She was justified in her actions.
Only Raury didn't feel justified. What she felt was sore, and cold considering how little she wore in the flurries blowing through the alcove of the balcony. Her apartment was nice, but she had lived in nicer. She had killed in nicer. Her job took her all over the place, to far cleaner condos and penthouses than where she hunkered down presently, but also to less than appealing locations few would care to venture to if there was option to avoid doing so. Long legs were bare, her shorts meant for sleeping in rather than wearing outdoors. Her arms were bare, left in a tank top that was too shear to really be seen as practical. Her body reacted to the cold well; she was from the north east originally.
Still, she snubbed her cigarette out quickly after having grown tired of it, and stalked back inside. Even with power lines down, it was better than meeting the elements in her sleep wear.
BDRP Admin. Writer. Villain. Personal Blog.
I tried running from the memory and the mourning.
I tried running from the memory and the mourning.
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Winter Winds [closed] - by Kat - 09-06-2015, 05:21 PM
Winter Winds [closed] - by Kat - 09-06-2015, 06:01 PM
Winter Winds [closed] - by Kat - 09-22-2015, 01:35 AM
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Winter Winds [closed] - by Kat - 09-29-2015, 01:36 AM
RE: Winter Winds [closed] - by Kat - 10-30-2015, 04:47 AM
RE: Winter Winds [closed] - by Kat - 01-12-2016, 02:13 AM