Chase
Director
This snippet was created in April of 2009 but was neither used in an RP or ever published as a journal. Originally intended as a test to co-write something that led into La Vie de Luxe, it was written as a chat and then edited to Chase's point of view.
Her eyes were fierce, sharp and piercing like the edge of a pristine skyline before the full burst of a nuclear shock wave.
"Where is it?" Her question was in English, a language she knew I comprehended without repetition.
I didn't have the answer, and like the fool I was, I held my tongue. A few seconds later of her intense, silent gaze, I understood she was not going to ask again.
Her first lunge at me was a direct head-on attack and I veered, sliding on the varnished floor. The room was small, four walls, one of which held large windows opposite from an entryway. Behind the windows was a rod iron false balcony, it was both a decent exit and a considerably dangerous fall.
After her attack, she lost partial balance but recovered, turning to me with a fist-first reply. I ducked, moved, it was all I could do. I don't hit women. Seems a tacky statement, but I've managed to live by it.
"Listen," I said, roughly, as she swung another arm in my direction.
"Listen!" If that was my diversionary tactic, it wasn't working. She was determined to make sure I didn't leave this room.
During her third or fourth swing, she left one side open and I took my chance. Taking her arm by the wrist and twisting it to her back, I assumed from her fighting style that she wasn't very flexible. I was right. While she was in minimal pain, I had her where she'd at least listen.
"Ms. Zielinski," I breathed, "I'm not here to take anything from your room. Whatever you're missing--"
"This isn't my room!" She interrupted with what seemed a more pitched version of her deep voice.
"No?"
"No," a reply from the door behind me revealed the silhouette of Eartha Brute's employer and the fiery-calm aura that often accompanied her, "Get off my friend, Mr. Devineaux."
Her eyes were fierce, sharp and piercing like the edge of a pristine skyline before the full burst of a nuclear shock wave.
"Where is it?" Her question was in English, a language she knew I comprehended without repetition.
I didn't have the answer, and like the fool I was, I held my tongue. A few seconds later of her intense, silent gaze, I understood she was not going to ask again.
Her first lunge at me was a direct head-on attack and I veered, sliding on the varnished floor. The room was small, four walls, one of which held large windows opposite from an entryway. Behind the windows was a rod iron false balcony, it was both a decent exit and a considerably dangerous fall.
After her attack, she lost partial balance but recovered, turning to me with a fist-first reply. I ducked, moved, it was all I could do. I don't hit women. Seems a tacky statement, but I've managed to live by it.
"Listen," I said, roughly, as she swung another arm in my direction.
"Listen!" If that was my diversionary tactic, it wasn't working. She was determined to make sure I didn't leave this room.
During her third or fourth swing, she left one side open and I took my chance. Taking her arm by the wrist and twisting it to her back, I assumed from her fighting style that she wasn't very flexible. I was right. While she was in minimal pain, I had her where she'd at least listen.
"Ms. Zielinski," I breathed, "I'm not here to take anything from your room. Whatever you're missing--"
"This isn't my room!" She interrupted with what seemed a more pitched version of her deep voice.
"No?"
"No," a reply from the door behind me revealed the silhouette of Eartha Brute's employer and the fiery-calm aura that often accompanied her, "Get off my friend, Mr. Devineaux."
maybe one of the curators could dress up like him