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Post by hita imani on Feb 4, 2011 14:40:15 GMT -5
[/size][/i][/b][/font][/color]Hita hated more than the stuffy, claustrophobic feeling of the Bryne household after dark. It was utterly suffocating to be forced to lay in a cold, hard bed when the night's cool air playfully beckoned for the young woman to rise and frolic. That and a mixture of a natural inclination to find trouble had Hita practically ripping up the bedsheets in anticipation. Patience, she told herself, patience. The night was still young. There was still time to be had, and excitement to be found. The day's work was tedious and dull, as it tended to be. The typical dusting and cleaning and shouting and threatening and perhaps even a shove or two took place. It was nothing out of the ordinary. Hita had become desensitized to her daily work that she once found so degrading. At times she would smirk to herself and muse about when she had fools to do such low work for her back in India. And when she thought of India, Hita swelled with conflicting emotions. At one moment the young woman would feel the sensation in her chest, missing the colors, missing the people, missing the food, and missing the vivid life. But at the next moment she'd free herself from these emotions and allow herself to be consumed by her hatred for the backwards teachings in her home, and the lack of class and beauty that thrived here in England. When Hita felt she waited long enough and simply could not stand to waste one more moment of the beautiful night, she stood and slunk out of bed. After adding a touch of a bit of stolen powder and rearranging herself, the female moved with the silent stealth of a fox to sneak out of the house and into the night. She navigated the backstreets with such savvy that it may have seemed she was determined. Passerbys that knew her smiled, those that didn't hardly wasted time on a double take. Another thing Hita had started to become desensitized to, aside from her work, was the fact that she was so very different from the rest of them. Three Fingered Jack's was a regular place for Hita. She found herself there at least twice times a week, if not more. It took some time, but alas, the regulars there had come to know and even befriend the mysterious girl. "D'ya 'av a good week, luv? 'aven't seen much of you recen'ly.", an older man with a scraggly beard said to Hita, who traced her slender finger along the top of the cup of beer presented to her. She smiled warmly at the old man and nodded. "Indeed I did, despite the lack of your presence in it, my dear.", Hita replied, to which the old man responded with a delighted hiccup and burst of intoxicated laughter. After wasting a bit more time in the small tavern, drinking beer with the friendly old man and watching handsome, dirt-clad men yell at one another and kiss equally attractive women and prostitutes, Hita was filled with a sudden sense of tiredness. Three Fingered Jack's held nothing of particular importance or excitement that night, so Hita stood up, bid her companion goodbye, and headed home earlier than usual to retire. As she left the tavern and a chilly breeze blew playfully along, Hita readjusted her moth-eaten shawl about her, hardly sparing a glance at the drunken man and his partner. Hita continued along her way, a little sluggish from the alcohol that passed her time, but still ultimately sober. Her footsteps reverberated against the walls of the building she was making her way by, and a soft sigh which escaped her lips seemed to carry, as well. The first thing that alerted her was the echo of rushed footsteps behind her. Before she even knew how to react, Hita felt the soft tap of a hand upon her shoulder. The young woman glanced over her shoulder and scanned the face of the man inquiring about her name. Hita slowed to a stop and finally turned around to face him, but not without allowing the silence after his inquiry to linger for a bit. A coy grin curled up on her lips as she crossed her arms over her chest, giving Tristan a brief look. "What could a man like you possibly need my name for? I'd be flattered, I'm sure, if I wasn't quite so...perplexed." To those with a keen ear, it was clear Hita had learned English properly, as she spoke with the dignity, poise, and grammar of an aristocrat. However, her dress told quite a different tale. She licked her lips for a moment, her smile only gaining a more trouble-making look to it by the moment. The stranger was strikingly handsome, but that didn't mean he would get away without the laborious chase. "While we're on the subject, may I be forward and ask of yours as well?"[/ul]
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Post by tristan grey on Apr 16, 2011 3:26:22 GMT -5
My name, Tristan thought to himself. He had drunk enough alcohol that he thought about the question deeply, but not enough that he easily skimmed over or forgot about it. It had always come down his name, really. Who he was, where he belonged, the people he was bound to. It was only his cousin, Edmund, who knew about both his lives. But even Edmund didn’t know that he and Tristan were not truly related.
He thought of that day in the village. It had been such a strange feeling, searching between the threads of people for someone he wouldn’t even know if he saw them. Maybe it would be a smile, or a glance that would seem familiar. A curve of the cheek, a wave in her hair? Something that would be recognized only deep within his bones but unknown in every other sense. But he weaved through the people of the village with only a sinking emptiness and a few curious stares.
What was his name? He was certainly more Tristan than Thomas, but he had often wondered what his life would have been like had he always been Tristan. Raised in the village by his poor mother, uneducated most likely and destined to be yet another laboring man. But he wouldn’t have had his infuriating grandmother to deal with, and the sadness of his brother. And maybe, just maybe, he would have traveled the seas.
He imagined the look his grandmother would give if he suddenly came home with his arm around this woman’s waist. Obviously working class, and ethnic – the audacity! He also highly doubted his grandmother had any idea he frequented the streets of lower London. He wondered idly if anyone in upper society besides his cousin had any idea of his time amongst their servants, grocers, shoe cobblers, and plenty more lower people than that.
He gazed at the dark skinned girl, his drunkenness giving way to a muddle between infatuation and frustration. ”Why should I give you mine when you’re so clearly apt on hiding your own?” He raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned back against a stone wall. ”You’ll deny a man the answer to his simple question? Heartless.” A teasing smile hid in the corner of his mouth. He didn’t know what it was -- how beautiful she was, how intoxicated he was, the defensive stance she took, but he couldn’t help but taunt a little.
OOC: ohmygod. i am so so sorry that took forever, and it wasn't even that good. serious writer's block and then just usual inconvenience of life. >_< so sorry again
AND -- when i was trying to post this, me in my stupidity accidentally modified tristan's first post with this one, and i don't save my posts on my computer so i have no way of getting it back. fail. AUGH. so i just ended up deleting it. i kind of remember what happened, so if you need any refresher just say so. this post is not going smoothly. ugh.
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Post by hita imani on Jun 26, 2011 13:41:10 GMT -5
[/size][/i][/b][/font][/color]were set intently upon the man, and though she seemed to be enjoying both the attention and his drunken silliness, a heavy truth set in upon her and she knew that for all the play this man was worth, she ought to steer clear. One glance at his fine garb and regal bone structure cried out that she had no right speaking to him, regardless of the fact that she wanted nothing more. The day Hita was to leave the dirty London backstreets in search of a job was the day she was taught an important lesson by the kindly old woman who fostered her. She was taught to always look, but never pursue. Though Hita respected her word, she was never one to do as she was told. Especially not when the scene she was involved in was so painfully perfect; the dark night's sky, a cool, teasing breeze, the beautiful man before her, the alcohol entering her bloodstream and impairing her judgment.... As she searched Tristan's face, the memory of an equally handsome and youthful face crept back into her mind. The face of a young man she promised never to think of again. Quickly deciding to ignore that part of her, Hita's attention refocused back on the man before her, eyeing him up and down in great interest as he appeared to casually prop himself up on the wall behind him for support. "Heartless? Heavens, no! If anything, I'm doing you quite the favor, sir.", exclaimed the young girl, as her confidence suddenly began to increase- even to the point of completely forgetting about any previous thoughts that held her back from him. "For if you know my name, you risk becoming attached to me. And you and I both know why you simply cannot afford to be attached to me-"[/b], she continued, though she began to move slowly towards him, her taunting grin only growing as she neared him. Reaching up to tuck a stray hand behind her ear, Hita moved until she was only inches from him. "Aside from the fact that you probably have a set of worried parents somewhere, just look at us.", as she spoke, her eyes fell to examine her form, then Tristan's. Her smile dropped only slightly, the edges of her lips flicked downward in aggravation. "You ought to keep your distance, good sir."[/ul]
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Post by tristan grey on Feb 22, 2012 16:20:03 GMT -5
Tristan was never good at personal boundaries. He rather took relish in breaking them, much to the scorn of his grandmother and astonishment of other aristocratic mothers. His reputation in “good society” was lukewarm to say the least. But the Beaumont name, his cousin and grandmother’s name, was still a solid name in the eyes of London, a pillar from which London society had been formed. And so, he had continued to be invited. But as of late, they bored him. To his grandmother’s immense relief, he had stopped his reckless behavior to a point. She just didn’t know of his gallivanting in lower London and how incredibly satisfying it was for him. Why the need to flirt and fluster the painted peacocks, when he had a pretty scullery maid to kiss?
But this time, there was something more. He liked the way this girl bantered – both teasing but there was a brain behind her words. It was as if one of the working class girls knew how to play the game.
“For if you know my name, you risk becoming attached to me. And you and I both know why you simply cannot afford to be attached to me – aside from the fact that you probably have a set of worried parents somewhere, just look at us.”
”Well for shame, for I have no parents to worry and how easy do you find my emotions to sway? Maybe I can’t be attached.” She stepped closer, easily filling the space between them without hesitation. He smiled gently, a smile swimming in the warmth of a good ale. His lips were stung with a numbness and now a tingling to urge them closer to hers. He swore he could feel the heat of her on the skin of his bare forearms. Then again, it might have been the ale doing that.
“You ought to keep your distance, good sir.” If he moved his hand barely to a reach, he could have caught her. But for whatever reason, he remained still. He wanted to see what she would do.
”But I don’t think I can,“ he said, not moving. She was a beauty that much was clear. Ebony hair framed her dark features and olive-toned skin. A few loose strands trembled in the evening breeze. Even as Tristan smelled the dank odors of lower London, he could envision the sharp crack of spices that dusted her skin and the sweet bloom of tropical flowers in her hair. Whether or not she actually smelled so exotically, he was enamored by her, simply because her skin was tanned by a different sun. Because she wasn’t London.
He kept his gaze locked with her ochre eyes as he kept his stance steady by leaning against the stone wall. ”Alright, you’ve won. No names.” He stood up to his full height, looking down to the slight girl beneath him. He went to brush a loose hair away from her face, but paused, his hand wavering above her caramel-colored skin. He retracted and moved his hand back down to his side. He could feel the sleepy blur of alcohol slowly seeping from him. ”At least tell me where you’re from. I know you're not from here.”
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Post by hita imani on Apr 22, 2012 15:02:06 GMT -5
[/size][/i][/b][/font][/color]Hita remembered why she had escaped India for the civilized world. Ironically, there she had the standing of a princess and refrained from taking advantage of it. In London, on the other hand, she was no more than a lowly servant- yet she strutted about after dark as though the land was hers. Looking at Tristan evoked a large smile from the girl, and it was not just caused by his obvious good looks. Hita's grin was produced from the belief of her dominance in the situation. She might come out at sinful hours of the night on any day and find a man like him, but no matter how many times he may come out in search for one of her kind- she would not be found. Of course, his intentions were still unclear- but Hita's mind was deviously simple. Her confidence seemed to suddenly course through her veins and burn every inch of her body. As she neared Tristan, only a fingertip's distance separated them. ”But I don’t think I can,“For the first time since they began speaking, the young woman broke eye contact with Tristan. Instead, as he spoke, her gaze lowered slowly to his feet, then after a long moment, reached back up to his eyes. She used the moment to take the man in for all he was, physically. Tall, athletic, and seeming to grow increasingly handsome with every word issued from his mouth and every movement he made. A moment later, a blur of color flashed by her as he reached his hand up, but after wavering, allowed it to fall once more. The slightest motion nearly drove the girl mad. After his inquiry, she could not contain it. In her boldness, Hita reached out with both hands, placing either upon his broad shoulders. They remained there, and that troublesome smile reappeared upon her face. "I'm not from here? What could have given me away, do you think?"[/b], Hita asked mockingly, allowing her loud and somewhat startling laughter to fill the alley as her hands slipped from his shoulders down the lengths of his arms, til her fingertips grazed over the surface of his hands. Her laughter died away but her smile lingered a moment longer. "I was born far from here- in a place of vivid colors and deathly heat. It is called India. And it is hell."[/b], Hita said in a more subdued manner, her words contrasting strangely with the content smile fixed upon her face. "You've heard tales, I'm sure, but I warn you- it is nothing of value. They're savages."[/b] Her fingers worked to weave between his after a moment, but her eyes were fixated upon Tristan's. "There, now I've told you. Now you must tell me why you're so interested."[/b], Hita countered swiftly, her brow lifting as she inquired. "You mustn't be shy."[/b] [/ul]
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