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 A Stranger's Car

Discussion in 'Roleplay Execution' started by emesu, Jan 9, 2019.

  1. emesu

    emesu oh, it's that thot em again Member

    Messages:
    54
    Local Time:
    12:21 AM
    It was the seventh of January and the Christmas rush was over. At nearly six o'clock the sun had already set with only a faint bluishness above the silhouettes of buildings and trees to the west. Behind her, she left the soft glow of neon from the old diner that she'd just left. The coffee was almost enough to keep the damp chill from her limbs as she crossed the large emptiness of the Puyallup Walmart parking lot. Only a smattering of vehicles remained, most bunched near the front entrance. It had been such a long afternoon. Her interview was supposed to be at three and she had skipped her last class just to make it, only to have to wait around until a quarter to four to be seen for five whole minutes. Mr Travis, the Walmart manager, said they'd call. She'd probably got the job. They hired anybody.

    After six, the bus fare was cheaper, so she went to the diner for a coffee to wait, although she supposed that it would have been cheaper to pay the full fare and skip the coffee, but she didn't feel like getting home too early. It was good to have time alone once in a while, especially lately. She crossed the lot, her running shoes treading on the damp asphalt, the air too cool and too humid to dry the ground. She passed beneath a lamp and then into shadows. Her hands in the pockets kept her silvery blue quilted coat held around her without zipping it. Her hood was down, showing her dark, straight and collar length hair, parted on the left and swept. The narrow opening of her coat showed a strip of ochre v-neck sweater showing the crisp collar of a charcoal buttoned blouse, and her loose fit jeans were fairly new. Job interview clothes made her feel on the dorky side. Her black leather purse hung from her shoulder and tucked under her elbow. Overall she was slender and not too tall with a modest chest. The next lamp post on her diagonal route across the lot flickered as she passed beneath at a decent and steady pace and moved into the next shadow with her head generally down against the gentle breeze.
     
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  2. reverse

    reverse crusher rusher Member

    Messages:
    1,076
    Local Time:
    9:21 AM
    The car was black, of course, roomy. A classical model as far as timeless youth is concerned - older design, and older muscle. Rebel in the night, past curfew. Vanity in chrome and authority in depth of color. Little explosions inside a metal room. Motions in the engine, endlessly volatile, keeping an inferno on the Washington roads. Gasoline to oxygen, gasoline to oxygen. But as cruel and chaotic as the paradox of the vehicle might be, it was in essence the same as any other hulking iron brother that it passed - it's heart, however, the puppeteer or its living, diode nerves, had something extraordinary. Like the tragedy of a life coming to an unwilling, sweaty conclusion in the backseat can be extraordinary.

    Sylvan Weller had managed to bypass his own fame, but that didn't meant he wasn't made of the stuff that constituted a dark champion, worthy of the masses consumption of macabre. He had some light from the dashboard, and the passing pillars of yellow from the hunchbacked streetlights, too, but it was the shade that told the truth about him. Trapped in this coupe of realized dreams and resulting night horrors, he was listening to late friends screaming their lungs out, or drool in apathy. Mind's palace in worn leather seating. The women had not done their best work sitting down.

    The measly scratches had long since sunken back into the skin of his shoulders, and the scent of their salts woven through the blood of inflamed cunts had been filed away among the dead cow hide stitched into the upholstery. It surrounded the king of this innocent-enough land. The functioning climate control allowed him to sit in the t-shirt that hung rather low to reveal some sternum, which made his neck even longer. A boy with his father's clothes, perhaps. That father would have to be a giant, with the tower of a man that Syl was. Jeans on legs without end to completed his contemporary uniform. A skeletal reaper on industrial horse, a stranger starting a new chapter in the cold streets.

    The reports didn't follow here. For all the fantastical things he'd felt at the ultimate cost of others, the world didn't care so much about a blonde about to get married having her wedding night early, with lace garters torn, or the strawberry-tressed pretty that handed out fliers for a cause he'd pretended to care about. They became partially undressed things in hidden places for the badges to find, but it wasn't enough for the news to cross state city lines. Instead there was reports of the raw weather and heartbreaking tidbits of insurance and what you could do to protect yourself. Ally seemed like the kind of girl to care about those things, but she was sunlight hair laid across cracks on an old factory floor now, no matter what material comforts she left behind. Syl lit a cigarette to see if this addiction could stave off the one that cost angel lives. With a dragon's exhale he concluded that it was quaint, but not a substitute for the surprise and confusion at the last pleasures he provided, that Ally's husband-to-be never could. Til death, but did the grooms really mean it? In a way Weller had been more honest about his love than her hubby ever would be.

    And even though there was an unheard cacophony of last sounds and puzzled hips rising for violation adding to a banquet of remembrance around him, Sylvan didn't wear a triumphant face. That wouldn't have been as sympathetic. A poet's dread instead. That was also honest. Like looking at the colors of our pollution lit up in sunset, there is always a reason to feel for beauty, and enjoy it with the receptors that suffer, rather than celebrate. The starved cheekbones and heavy lips of the boy with a man's strength set in such glittering somber had brought him the world and their small-circumference throats. He was all the things they projected on him, and thought all the thoughts of the hero they painted, but he continued where his first impression ended. And that was their demise.

    Soon the city had offered its length to him, and he wondered if he'd come out without an adventure. Another loneliness in another parking lot. Raina's money wasn't waning, her juices were only recently dried in the backseat, but he preferred a certain rhythm to things, and a motel now seemed out of place. The collection the involved girl had taken still padded the pockets of his jacket, and he didn't see any reason to spend it tonight. He wanted a shot of adrenaline to his primal parts, he wanted to be left alone also. Agitated little boy. So when the signs of the tasteless place came up, brighter than any farewell plaque the city would provide, he thought he was beckoned, and turned in. Dragons and their lairs, all that.

    He liked to indulge, the girls had been victims of his sweet-tooth, too, and if he couldn't find a lovely belle to ring until her music faded, he'd at least try the pie at the advertised diner. He was still looking for the pear one with braided crust that mother used to make. Thinking about it had the long fingers of his weaponized extremities wring the naked steering wheel tighter. The offensive, far reaching light of the letters off the main building had a hard time challenging the chilled fog, and gave a chance to the neon red and greens of the surrounding establishments. There were a few bodies littering the lot, sharing in the somber but multi-colored stage, but this hour was less fruitful for the conglomerate. The car muttered evenly as it swam through the ground-bound water smoke. It was like watching a gallery of lives pass by, he thought, looking out at the patrons and workers coming in and out. He didn't mean to, but Syl was already shopping.

    She upset the atmosphere when she opened the door of the diner, and he gasped when he saw her move. Today, she'd made an effort. Working girl coming off her shift, but he couldn't find the confidence and fatigue in her that might connect to a day of work. Sylvan liked her build, and there was something allowing in her stride too, that she hadn't meant to put there. Alone. She looked like she had everyday plans. A quick toss of his head let him know her goal. Bus stop. Commuter, no car. He could work with that. She would have to pass by his headlights to get to where she was going. He'd already committed to two white lines, which might make him seem less conspicuous. When she crossed the beams he rolled his window down. A mop of black hair atop his lengthy neck. Jaw like intersecting blades, lips holding the last of his cigarette.

    "Are they any good?" he asked and took out his arm too, to pinch the filter and ash outward before he shook the ember at the diner. Women liked his hands. His other turned off the car. Sylvan and his dark eyes were lit up when the other lights died. He sucked another breath of coal and tar from the stick. All bones and soft skin. He squinted in a cavalier way and blew to the side, mouth flexed for her attention. Sometimes a starved doberman will speak to the hare about a hole in the fence. She should be able to feel her lack of choice in engaging in this conversation. His non-committal look still insisted that she reply. Maybe the threat of his annoyance was enough to give him an answer, between two strangers. He didn't look like someone who might choke the life out of her while bottoming out inside her belly, after all. He was just something handsome with his arm out his car door, who might have traveled too long for bad coffee.
     
  3. emesu

    emesu oh, it's that thot em again Member

    Messages:
    54
    Local Time:
    12:21 AM
    A car parked. Its focused beams stretched out before her with nothing within their coverage to cure their vertigo. The engine hummed deep smooth and thoroughly underworked beneath the sleek lines of the hood, its ignition refusing to cut quite yet. Subconsciously she bent her trajectory a few feet to the right to afford it a wider berth, letting it take its pick of either a sign of respect or her own privacy as the reasoning for her choice, as she wasn't about to think too hard on the matter herself.

    "Are they any good?"

    The car's engine stopped. So did her feet as she half turned her stance, giving its driver her profile and the side of her face unobscured by the sweep of her hair. Her eyes lingered on the smoke that tugged at her with a welcome indulgence as it hung tantalizingly on the end of a bare limb like that of a tree defoliated by the winter season.

    "The diner, you mean?" she responded with a small voice but of a moderate register.

    When her eyes finally met his just below the edge of the window frame, she was unable to look away. His shirt hung from him like a flag on just such a windless night, and his skin flowed smoothly over his hollow cheeks. His thick dark locks were disheveled but not disorderly, as if they were never meant to be sheveled, and his slash line smile was straight out of a manga. A picture of youth, his stick-like stature and milky complexion were crafty yet untoiled, showing that his brains were his means and not any form of brute force. A certain appealing wildness hung about him, the air of someone less bound by social structures, yet not at all uncivilized. The car however was definitely part of the grand pecking order, and certainly closer to the top than to the bottom.

    "Dunno," she shrugged. "I only had coffee, but it looked pretty greasy."
     
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  4. reverse

    reverse crusher rusher Member

    Messages:
    1,076
    Local Time:
    9:21 AM
    She was a collected person. There was nothing low about her cleavage and she would rather present than be presented. He'd already discerned this. A girl in her routine, maybe. Serious, even? It would be hard to find her pressure points, and the softness in her personality where his conversational hooks might grip. It made it all the more rewarding when she stopped, flashing an almost stately side of herself, particularly in this compromised lighting, and furthered their interaction. She was trying for an uncaring attitude, but he'd seen her discover his beauty. Syl knew there was something to work with here, that might reward him with the tight, unwilling grip of her insides later.

    "The diner." he said with half a nod, polite, but with undertones of condescension, as though he was being courteous, but that she was also being a little daft. Rudeness breeds familiarity, if its pushed the right way. She'd not had the best time in there, but now he knew she wasn't native to this lot, not yet. If she was a diligently toiling person, it wasn't around here. Traveling through, then? Or looking for work, perhaps. There were possibilities with both, but the gameplan would differ significantly. The smoke from his terminal stick in the corner of his lush mouth made a forest of coils to hide one eye. The things that made him a lure should also tell her he was a bear-trap. Women rarely saw the right thing with Sylvan Weller.

    "Well fuck." he said, friendly, playing at playing at disappointment. "Bad coffee's the worst." He hung his head like he was tired of getting the same answer often, and then even put all his fingers into his hair with some kind of frustration. At the angle she saw, it would clean out the lines of his face. His sigh was a winter chimney, and then he took the cigarette out, hair falling back, long arm hanging with the firelight, and his forehead to his bicep. His charm was lethargic and sleepy, fit for romances on the road and around somberly complaining jukeboxes. Or patches of forest between cities and their surrounding gas stations where no one would hear you scramble against leather seats while the your life was fucked out of you. He tilted his head back again and crushed the ember in his hand.

    "You know where there's any good food, then?" he asked as he threw the debris and ran his thumb over the other fingers. It was still on the path which he had started. He'd presented as someone who was looking for comforts, and not wanting to be disappointed. Obviously he was extending her whatever courtesies that might pry information out of her, but he wasn't giving any sign of other interest. She should be flattered if she could see into his heart. He likely wanted her more than any man who ever vied for her attention. He'd loved Ally more than Ally's husband, hadn't he?

    For now, maybe the sentiments about her excruciating end should take the back burner. He still had a role to fulfill. The prodding gaze from his question fast shifted to a polite smile, to make her think he was just now remembering his manners. Lost boys in beautiful, time honored cars don't always ask with poise. It is quite something when they shape up for you. His mannerisms continued to tell a story about that addictive kind of person, whos attention you should want, since it is an honest and rare thing. Syl wanted to say more things, to pile it up on her, but knew he had to wait. The point of an extended hand is that the other needs to meet you part way. She could be a smart woman, but if he danced with her right, she could make ill advised choices.

    The saga of the two victims left to the patrols was told through the window of the car, quiet, like all lives become. Raina hadn't heard Ally's song, only felt the danger here, and mixed it up with the rebel he wanted him to be. He wondered if the warning signs was intriguing to this here parking lot pretty.
     
  5. emesu

    emesu oh, it's that thot em again Member

    Messages:
    54
    Local Time:
    12:21 AM
    "Well fuck. You know where there's any good food, then?"

    It was the kind of question that an out-of-towner would ask, someone passing through. A quick glance at the front bumper showed a California plate, confirming that he was on the road. A tiny gust - if it could even be called that - played with the ends of her hair, eliciting an almost indifferent waving motion against her collar. The same intermittent lazy breeze herded the tufts of reluctant mist across the lot. Neither the breeze nor the mist seemed the least bit interested in the obligatory task at hand.

    The top button of her shirt left undone, exposed the flesh covering her larynx and the two tendons extending downwards beneath her clavicle, and her charcoal collar and espresso hair made its eggshell tone seem even more pallid. Her thin colorless lips and rounded chin were bland, but her nose, narrow and longish, carried an elegance. Black liquid eye liner and short mascara painted lashes carved a stark fine line over pale blue irises in upturned almond-shaped eyes beneath high-angled brows.

    "Oh, the coffee's fine," she clarified, as a sudden twinge of guilt over misleading him with her misplaced modifier urged her to elaborate. "I meant just the kitchen looked greasy." Of course that was still no ringing endorsement of the joint's cuisine. "Around here?" she paused as her eyes searched furtively about in the darkness above. "Not sure. I don't come up here too often." She faced him fully now, although her attention trailed down to to the smoldering cigarette butt and fine plume of grey smoke rising slowly to assimilate with the fog. The traveler was becoming road weary, and was in need, however small, of local information. She had to throw something his way. She owed it to him. "There's always Denny's," she cocked her head in the direction of the iconic chain's local affiliate a couple of blocks away next to the freeway interchange, sheepish with a mild regret that she couldn't offer a better recommendation.
     
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  6. reverse

    reverse crusher rusher Member

    Messages:
    1,076
    Local Time:
    9:21 AM
    While the weather did what it could with her hair and the smoke of the crushed leafs, he could see the slice of her blue eyes. They were hard to ignore in the evening. Smart girl, reading what she could from the front of his car, which would be the state of the vehicle, clean and spoiled, and the plate. While her attention was elsewhere her aggressor smiled. Smart girls taste better when they make fatal mistakes. He waited for her verdict, but felt that he had already decided she was a worth while target, even if she'd make it difficult for him. Sylvan was engaged in the challenge, now. Hopefully, though, she'd ignore anything anyone had ever told her about strangers in black cars.

    The invitation of her neck and the supporting sideways bones brought an extra coat of saliva to his teeth. He meant to stretch that sinew out, when she lifted her chin and arched from whatever abuse he choose for her. Pretty girl in business clothes - she would remember this conversation as fateful, and regret her choices. When she spoke again her tone was friendlier, almost apologetic. He had passed another barrier, and he was about to make the most of it. His heart tensed up and babbled when she turned to show her full self. Body language, and it was showing him favor. He should build on that momentum.

    With his arm out and hand up, he placed his chin on that supporting palm, face unmarred by the sins he'd committed, fingers parting his breath out here, in the slight wind with her. He was either looking at her or getting lost in his fatigue or boredom. He wanted her to feel as though she needed to prove something to him, so there was a flavor of discontent in the taut of his mouth. Denny's? "Mhm." he said with one cheek drawn to make an almost-smile that spelled out a not-at-all impressed. He did love how the small motion of her head parted the collar of her shirt, almost like a stuttering breath from cloth lips. Even her clothes wanted him closer. Maybe he'd let her keep that shirt on, while he took her.

    He could see the the bus approaching, and he needed to make a play that was strong enough. Without anyone else waiting, she'd have to go to give it a reason to stop unless someone needed to get off. What an insult that would be. "Alright then. I'll take it." he said with a little, defeated breath out his nose that warmed the nails of his fingers, already filtering his voice. He charged the following silence with expectation from noncommittal dark eyes. When the moment was long enough, an annoyed flare of his lashes let her know she'd tested his patience. The drop his hand away from the becoming shadows of his gothic handsome cemented it.

    "Well, where is it?" he asked just as the bus would be passed its critical distance to her stop. She'd given him plenty of directions already, but it wasn't impossible to misinterpret a nod, and beautiful things have a way of assuming the environment will do everything for them. If she answered, it would be too late for her to halt the commuting glass and steel caterpillar. He rolled his wrist and flared his fingers expectantly, as though she could magic up his arrival at the underwhelming establishment right there in his palm. And, with whatever answer she gave, he would know if she could be pushed around or if he'd have to follow that bus as she left. If she did offer retort, he'd simply say "What?" to invite her closer.
     
  7. emesu

    emesu oh, it's that thot em again Member

    Messages:
    54
    Local Time:
    12:21 AM
    "Well, where is it?"

    The sticks of his arm crooked to an angle to prop his tired chin as he looked to her for more. As her mind flustered for anything else to add, the hishing of tires on damp pavement rose in the distance. So close to the freeway, and especially at this hour, such sounds were the building blocks of the background silence, but as the noise slowly grew louder, it was joined by the distinct diesel throb of a Pierce County bus. Perking up, she turned around to see the amber glow of the marquee charging forth in the distance. If it was already stopping, she would make it in time. If not, she was uncertain. There was also the chance that it wasn't the one that she was intending to catch. Her head jerked to the handsome stranger in the car for a brief moment before turning back to gauge her timing with the bus once more. It's number came into focus - 347, the digits four and seven particularly distinct from any other. Indeed, it was her ride. Her shoulders slumped as she realized that she would miss this one and that the next one to take her the ten miles back to Spanaway would not be by for another hour. Her indecision had cost her.

    "Fuck," she huffed under her breath, then faced him again. "Sorry," she flinched timidly, apologizing not for her unladylike language, as his own previous display of cursing had already revealed his comfort with it, but for allowing the bus to distract her attention from him. Fifty yards behind her, the 347 rushed past without stopping.

    His exhale of resignation carried more than a hint of disdain. He was settling, cutting bait. He'd come that far towards her and still she was unable to allow him to connect. She supposed that she couldn't blame him as he must have been on the road all day, from wherever he had journeyed. He had almost certainly started in California somewhere, if not this morning then originally. Where he might be headed, she couldn't say, but the best bet was Seattle, another hour or so north, depending on the traffic. Beyond that was pretty much Canada. The one thing that she did figure was that his ultimate destination was not Puyallup, probably not even the greater Tacoma area. If it were, he would have a place to go to, or he would be asking directions to a motel instead of some diner for a temporary leg-stretch.

    His insistent palm awaited more from her. She was failing him. The comely stranger wasn't interested in her after all. He certainly wasn't about to offer her one of his cigarettes, even if her local aid was sufficient to warrant one. He just wanted a decent hot cooked meal before he continued on his trek.

    "It's just over ... you should be able to see the big yellow sign," she began as she pointed vaguely behind her and to her left. Then she turned and saw nothing of the gaudy distorted hexagon atop tall iron posts specifically placed to be spotted by fast moving vehicles on the freeway, where she had indicated. There were only the dull tops of large rectangular concrete buildings. "Oh," she corrected herself. She'd just provided him yet another inaccuracy. She was a hindrance rather than a help. How useless he must have thought she was - some dumb loser chick in dork clothes standing alone in an empty parking lot. She should just give up, but despite his displeasure, he hadn't given up on her, although his options at the moment were limited in the extreme. She wasn't his best bet so much as his only bet. "It's like one block here and then two or three that way," she stumbled. "I know you can see it from the bus stop," she said as she turned to step in the direction of the fluorescently lit glass canopy on the distant sidewalk, her neck craning back to see if he believed her.
     
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  8. reverse

    reverse crusher rusher Member

    Messages:
    1,076
    Local Time:
    9:21 AM
    His discontentment with her hit right where it should. She had surely been a girl who did well in school growing up, chasing praise. It wasn't such an unusuall disposition. He had capitalized off good girls many times before. Society had paved the way for him. They were both fixed on the large vehicle that came, and when she looked away, his grin was deep. How lovely she looked, her stance louder than the cuss she gave, as her escape escaped her. Little bunny seeing her legs run away without her. There was a stirring in him that pooled blood into his secret flesh when she lowered her posture at seeing the transportation flee. She didn't know how paramount it had been, but she knew she was disappointed. He kept his kingly expectations on his princely features when she petitioned Sorry. They were in agreement then. Her function was to serve - even if the scale of her favors different depending on either perspective - and she was doing a poor job.

    What would she do now? He would have to guard his reactions, because he was becoming increasingly ravenous for her, now that she was in his mercy, in a way. He didn't like the new direction of things, when she was still trying to lead him in the easiest way to his next heart-stopping, cheap meal. But the girl was getting in her own way, and her fumbling through her memory and attempt at staying calm was giving away more about her inner life than she surely was ready to admit. She was making it easy for him, gnawing the rest of her limbs off. Sylvan looked at her with half lidded judgement, and began to lick his parted lip in a slow circle, like deathly, ancient frustration had taken him. He couldn't help himself when she looked at the little piece of stale light where there bus might have stopped on another day - her throat turned, and he wanted to rip it open right there.

    Her step away, though, had him primal, and predatory things locked into place to elicit a reaction not even he had thought through. "Okay enough." he said, it was almost a bark, and started the car, which made its most contained sound upon waking, knowing its driver's intentions. Perhaps she would take well to chastising. She knew she was being useless, after all. The vehicle and its monster moved up to her finally. Low, clucking growl. "Show me, please." the polite phrase was uttered like it hurt, like he was remembering some lesson from childhood just for her, even if she didn't deserve it. "That was your buss, wasn't it?" he said between teeth, beautiful anger living and leaving him quickly. In every way, she must see him as authority. Little things in interview blouses should quiver and follow. "I guess I owe you a ride, and since you're no good at directions, maybe its for the better, eh?" asinine smirk for the incompetent girl - joke, maybe. It was an invitation to banter, but he was sure he'd crush her if she took it.

    He didn't wait long before he retreated, cryptid into grotto, and the opposite door opened for his far reach over what would become her seat. "I was going to offer anyway, you know, I'm not an asshole." he sat back and let her have a moment to mull things over. Not too long, of course, before he practiced pressure on her again. The dismay of two girls were spilling out of the newly open mouth of the black carriage, telling her about how they'd been played with until their lives couldn't take it anymore. Their clawing and their muffled screeches, it was all still in here, but it wouldn't be enough. Their ghosts were too weak to save parking-lot-girl, or perhaps his desire was too strong. He put another cigarette to his lips and felt around for a lighter, as though he didn't know exactly where it had fallen by his rightmost pedal. It would make her feel safe, as thought her coming in wasn't all that important.

    "Listen, my momma raised me like this, okay? I know you could get home on your own, this'll just make me feel better." he said to the floor. White knight with black heart. He sighed with some pretend frustration, muttering to himself when he supposedly couldn't find fire, and then leaned back with a defeated huff. It was meant to present the image of a man who was less interested in her company than he was his next nicotine sermon. All the mannerisms of a grunge Adonis, lounging exactly in the middle of the zeitgeist with the whatever in the set of his mouth and the denim on his running legs, waiting to boast their agile spread when and if she sat down. He swiped some hair from his eyes and looked at her, petitioning for sympathy like he was laying in a hospital bed. He had the bones for it. Wouldn't anyone come into a car with a beautiful skeleton? Weary adventurer, with no patience for her independence, should she press it.

    He was being truthful. He fully intended to teach this girl how momma raised him. It had killed the woman eventually, when her boy became too strong for her to hold down and love, but up until then, it had been killing him. Looking back, Sylvan usually smiled, these days. He'd not appreciated the things the woman had done for him until it was too late. She'd tasted like him in those young nights, and that was delicious.

    And, if this persisted being smart about all this, he'd make a very attractive but passive aggressive tsk with his tongue, even with the cigarette in place - which would flick playfully with the sound - and wave her in with two fingers. "Comon. None of that. Let's go." Good girls with good grades should listen to murderers.
     
  9. emesu

    emesu oh, it's that thot em again Member

    Messages:
    54
    Local Time:
    12:21 AM
    As the ignition started and the car purred to life, so did her her pulse kick into the next gear. Seductively, it crawled up beside her on quick lithe boots at an eager pace, tugging at the leash that its driver reined in, until it slowed right next to her as she walked.

    "That was your bus, wasn't it? I guess I owe you a ride, and since you're no good at directions, maybe its for the better, eh?" he quipped. Her feet dragged and stopped. So did the car, before the passenger door swung open. "I was going to offer anyway, you know, I'm not an asshole," he explained. Of course he had manners. He was learned about class, he just picked his spots with a languid panache. A fresh cigarette now dangled from his mouth unlit as he searched the car's interior while he continued to speak. "Listen, my momma raised me like this, okay? I know you could get home on your own, this'll just make me feel better," he said with a breath of relent. Then he looked up with pleading eyes and a warm smile. He was lifting his irked foot from her embarrassed throat.

    He was so different than most of the boys around here in their football jerseys and with their pickup trucks and shotguns, thinking that their facial hair made them more rugged, more manly. This one was metropolitan, cosmopolitan. He didn't project some bullshit alpha image. He didn't need to. He was man enough already. Then there was his car. No trace of dim evening light was too subdued to escape its gloss, although hints of road grime did blush the paint near the wheels. He'd come some distance after all. If only her friend Amber could see this machine. Amber loved boys in sleek cars, or sleek cars with boys in them. She imagined the expression on Amber's face if she were to spot her riding in this big black car with this pretty white boy. She'd probably grovel for a threesome. That would be something. The passenger door beckoned.

    Still, one single but very large reason loomed over her decision of whether to accept the ride or not, and that was the same one that every young girl knew - that the quickest way to end up naked in a ditch was to get into a car with out-of-state plates with a man that she didn't know from the fucking Pope. He had mentioned his mother. Her own mom had issued her this very same warning on more than one occasion, as if Mom were concerned for her well-being. Her record of choosing men was nothing short of appalling, so her opinion meant little if it meant anything at all. If she were to heed the tenet it would have nothing to do with her mother's guidance. It would be completely on her own accord, as it just made sense.

    "Comon. None of that. Let's go."

    "I can't," she refused with an apologetic sigh. "I mean I just don't know you." Surely, he understood that. Then inspiration hit, providing her a way to make it up to him. She didn't have smokes but she did have a lighter that awaited the cigarettes that she couldn't really afford until she was employed. Delving into her purse, she produced a disposable as black as his car, gave the flint a flick with her fine little thumb and extended the flame to the long white cylinder still hanging from his lips.
     
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  10. reverse

    reverse crusher rusher Member

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    The courting from him and his car wasn't rejected, she didn't speed up and she didn't tense in anyway that might be the beginning of flight. The way she looked at him, he figured there was far to go before he'd charmed her. For now, she opted for the right decision, and declined the ride he supposedly owed her. Her explanation sounded like an apology. Syl sweetened himself, changing his posture, even more inviting. He was about to say something else, perhaps a little softer now that her thoughts were toward caution, but she offered the next connection between them, which was her arm, and the fire at the end of her fingers. He stopped the car for that, so she had to too. Better keep her away from the salvation of the cheap lights she was walking toward.

    He lifted dark brows with some feigned surprise when the lighter came at him. He looked at her once and then at the flame. A deft lean forward as though that would be it, one puff and one more layer of tar for his lungs, but the hand that had held the cigarette came out of nowhere to encircle her wrist, exposed, extended out of her jacket. It was intimate, he was warm. He held the dainty twin bone joint steadily, fingers connecting around it as he kept her still so he could have more arson for his vascular system. He lingered, of course - Sylvan's hands were surgical, he'd not stumble with getting fire to his roll if he didn't meant to - and made sure their eyes were connected while the bunched leafs finally took. His first inhale hollowed out his cheeks, making his face gaunt, and then he let her go, drowning her knuckles in hot smoke as he gave the lighter and her autonomy back. He'd felt her pulse. it was a favorable rhythm.

    He let her lament the contact for a while - two puffs and huffs - and then he put his elbow on the window edge and held the cigarette close to his temple. He squinted like they'd shared a motel room for the night, and morning was coming in to bother his dark retina. He liked some of the supposed oils off his lower lip. "So, what are we gonna do now, parking lot girl?" he posed as he looked around. Soon his chin had slid down his forearm to press it to the window edge too, looking at her with something that might be sympathetic through the black nest of hair. He knew all his weapons. "You're not coming and I'm not leaving you." Their conundrum pointed out exactly why it was a waste to be any kind of polite. Archaic notions had gotten him far, though, so he wasn't complaining.

    "You wanna go there, sit?" he asked, eyes clear, as though truly curious about her reasoning. The two fingers that held the burning stick aimed at the bus stop. "And I'll sit here and wait until the next one comes?" he touched the filter to a brow precariously. The ash fell in front of but not down into his eye. Black snow in the coming night. "I was kinda in a hurry, you know?" he said, defeated and threw his hand softly in a direction she wasn't, so the little tower of burnt tobacco would flow there instead. He sat up straight and shrugged, looking forward, beyond her. "Guess I'll be a sucker for a pretty face." he said and got comfortable, reaching to squeeze the wheel once before enjoying the full support of the seat. "Here." he said quickly and took out the packet. Some classical brand. How was he to know she was waiting to get into the habit until she had the gold?

    A filter stretched from the bundle and he shook it at her, long arm to the side, serving her up. "Since you're not going to let me be nice, I might as well kill you a little, right?" he said, pinching his own with his lips again. It was an old trick. If she reached for the smoke, his long thumb would flicker up to touch her pulse, where it ran by her wrist. Intimate and clever. A joke, that might make her think of something more. And then a boyish smile, like 'I gotcha'.
     
  11. emesu

    emesu oh, it's that thot em again Member

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    His lethargic yet antsy limbs shifted in the seat so that his slender neck could lower and extend to the window. Then he touched her, the fine bones of his thumb and fingers wrapping sweetly about her wrist as he fixed the delicate line of his jaw to aim the end of the smoke into the flame. The contact was more affectionate than she had expected, and cigarette aglow, he released her to contemplate the warm fuzzy chills that it left behind.

    "So, what are we gonna do now, parking lot girl? You're not coming and I'm not leaving you," he conjured. The way that he squirmed about restlessly, constantly changing position, stretching, contorting into new shapes in search of comfort told that he had been driving too long. His body needed unfolding. "You wanna go there, sit? And I'll sit here and wait until the next one comes?" She couldn't help but agree that the notion was an absurd one while her eyes lingered on the orange ember at the end of his articulate digits that indicated beyond. "I was kinda in a hurry, you know? Guess I'll be a sucker for a pretty face."

    His compliment drew a genuine blush from her. Her judgment had been off. She had been undervaluing herself. He was interested after all.

    "Here. Since you're not going to let me be nice, I might as well kill you a little, right?"

    Charmed by his savvy wit, more flush came into her cheeks as her body relented in anticipation of that first breath of nicotine. She dipped her chin, causing the sweep of her hair to cover her right eye while she extracted the cigarette that she had been yearning for ever since she had first laid eyes on him from the pack, and put it between lips that were timidly widening into a smile. She flicked her hair aside, lit it, inhaled with relief and held it in a moment before twisting her mouth to courteously vent away from him.

    "So where were you headed in such a hurry, cute traveler guy?" she asked.
     
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  12. reverse

    reverse crusher rusher Member

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    She listened well. He might be a criminal but he also might have something to say, apparently. The arrangement of his words fanned something that burnt her face a livelier color. Connection. They weren't just helping one another anymore. They were more leisurely than that. Her blood had gone to her features to tell him that she was available, if he reached and took her in the right way. In the light coming off the blended colored signs, and the yellow from the store itself, she was everything he wanted, and she was agreeing to something, when she took the cigarette and smiled.

    Sylvan followed the flail of her hair when she threw it, and lamented that she had let him dictate her breath with his next puff of smoke. The fire made her a more dramatic character, but that perspective died with the release of her thumb. He wouldn't have minded if that smoke came his way, but it didn't. She was showing off, perhaps, but he wasn't above being drawn in. It was the oldest ruse, to let her think she had any kind of power. Admittedly, those lips looked good puckered around the billows they'd sucked from the cigarette.

    He let her have her bravado. If anyone saw them now, it might look like she was the one trying to snare him, standing there with the confidence of a burning vice, and him still shadowed, reclined. Her spirits were higher. He'd fueled it with calling her pretty and ignited it with the hot end of the roll she'd lit herself. He made a show out of watching her, dark eyes mirroring the coal whenever he drew from the filter. She was asking him to lie. He'd not picked something out for her yet, but he wasn't nervous. Hands like vices and tongue of silver.

    "Just a city boy trying to find himself on the road, m'am." he assured her. It was exuberantly romantic. It painted him as artful without really committing to a form. Wayward mind watching the miles run past. He ashed again between them and slid closer to the window. Both arms dropped out this time. It would give her a sense of his height, which was a lot. He drummed his thumb against the wet of the filter. "Got some money off a friend, kinda owed me." he explained. "Had nothing keeping me," he continued.

    He looked around as though getting comfortable with the situation. With the logic he'd presented, him in the car and her on the lit up bench, this was just as good. He let her wait for the rest, and made like he might not tell her at all. He was pretending to find the empty depths of the lot to her right very interesting when he finally did. "and now I just kill time until I have to chose a place and a job--" His eyes turned to her when her head wouldn't. A little smirk on his lavish lips. "looking for a decent bite to eat and some okay coffee." It was entirely meant to make her feel guilty.

    Sylvan looked down at the climbing, tight fire. "So, what's your name? Or did I guess it right with Parking Lot Girl?" he suggested. "How novella." The cigarette hung in his mouth again as his now free hand raised and reached. He could grip her. He could damn well grab that jacket and tear her closer. The few people that were in the vicinity weren't even looking. He could choke her silent and drive off and have her three times before she bored him. He could fuck her until she foamed, until she saw her own history. It was just a matter of clasping that blue jacket and pulling.

    But then what would all these pleasantries have been for?

    He held his palm sideways. "Sylvan." he said and would firmly take hers if she wanted, his thumb stroking her knuckles and holding on for longer than normal, but not so much she'd have to pull to get out. "Syl if you're short on breath."
     
  13. emesu

    emesu oh, it's that thot em again Member

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    "Parking lot girl," she tisked under her breath with amusement. It should have projected her as a street walking ho, but coming from him somehow it didn't in the slightest. "Tiffany," she offered before she took her next drag. "Or Tiff ... if you're still in a hurry." It was the first smoke that she'd had since the one that she had saved for the morning walk to school. It was divine, certainly worth missing the bus. Tiffany hadn't felt this good all day and it was showing in the newfound confidence of her banter. After taking shit from Mom in the morning for not putting on fresh coffee after finishing the last in the carafe, shit from Mrs Carrick at school for checking emails on her phone during English class and shit from that Mr Travis at Walmart making her sit on her ass for a whole fucking hour just for a lousy five minute interview, Syl was turning out to easily be the nicest person that she'd dealt with all day.

    What an elegant name he had, Sylvan. His hand had hung like the span of a spiderweb, stark and ghostly bleak against the pitch backdrop of the car door, with fingers like precise knitting needles, and telling of his remaining proportions, until he had lifted it to offer that name, so unique and exotic, as pretty as he.

    So he wasn't in any hurry to get anywhere, just to fill his empty belly, Tiffany supposed. Whether the car needed refueling or not she couldn't say, but Sylvan appeared to have his own gauge hovering precariously over the E.

    "You could try the Java," she shrugged. The Java was this place to hang out. It had a café in the front and a licensed room in the back with a stage for bands. It was popular with the kids every few weeks when it would host an all-ages show, but there wouldn't be anything special happening there on a Tuesday. She had been there a handful of times, even eaten there once. Tiffany folded her arms across her waist as she shifted her stance, holding her smoke out and away past her hip between two extended fingers. "It's over on Pioneer by like Fourth or Fifth. Not too far."
     
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  14. reverse

    reverse crusher rusher Member

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    He was getting to her. There was always something beautiful to a girl unfolding, and she was doing it so well, breathing in the poison he'd handed her and expelling the part of the portion she couldn't save in her chest. He couldn't wait to affect her breathing in other ways. He didn't hate their exchange, there were human things he liked, too. "And if I need to go but you're making me stay?" he prodded about her long and short name. "Would it be... Tiffa then?" His smile was tight, like she was being annoying still, but he was ready to take it for the benefit of her company.

    He looked at his hand, still out, and then turned it a few times to see if there was anything wrong with it. He took it back eventually, to handle the cigarette again. Her shoulders had indicated the smoke was welcome. At least he had that going for him. What an enigma, he thought bitterly and sent even more smoke toward her as he thought about his next angle. She was getting comfortable, too, and he knew that was when they made lethal mistakes.

    "Java." he said and perked up because he had started this character that liked coffee. It didn't really change anything. He didn't mind a Denny's, the way he carried on, how he indulged and what it cost others, he should be eating at lower rate establishments. Sometimes punishment is acknowledgement. He thought of that instead, while pretending to be deciding over the new place with only its location and name. If she thought it was better, then perhaps she was more likely to go there.

    "Do they have coffee there?" he asked, dead-pan. It was a flash of his real sense of humor, which made it more a reflex than another surgical, conversational move. Tiff was warming up, but she hadn't melted yet, better throw her some extra. It was also pleasurable to have her be a total bitch about coming along, it added to what he'd repay her with later. Right now her tally was about on the same level as the two other girls, but hers was still climbing.

    "I'll be honest with you, Tiffa." he said and wrapped an arm around his cheekbones, still leaning on the edge of his window, still looking at her with darkness in his eyes, making faces like he couldn't care less. "I'll probably just go driving after this, I'll come upon something." He squeezed the filter and then held it so lightly it might fall to the pavement in his next motion. "I follow my impulses, that's why I left. Saw a pleasant figure, wanted to talk. You don't have to rake your brain for cool places in Puy-fucking-allup."

    A bit crass, but whichever role he was playing, he wasn't anyone who'd beat around the bush. Wasn't being a bastard an aphrodisiac, anyway? "How about you?" Elbow on the same edge as his chin, that hand sailing ash to the side. "Didn't know girls like you had to do normal work." he flicked the now clean ember toward her, to gesture to her clothes. He was giving her defenses a beating by targeting her ego like it was normal. She was his type, but he was looking for specific things. He figured it wouldn't be long until she saddled up next to him. The restlessness in him was ever present, even as they were becoming familiar, like he might still leave any second. She still needed to be interesting to keep him.
     
  15. emesu

    emesu oh, it's that thot em again Member

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    Would it be ... Tiffa then?

    "Tiffy, Tiffles, Tiffanator," she shrugged. "I get 'em all." She wasn't quite sure what he meant by his inquiry as to the availability of a cup of java at the venue of its namesake. Chalking it up to sarcasm, she played on. "What place doesn't have coffee?" she posed rhetorically. She was keeping up in this exchange of barbs, her latest volley sustaining the rally with her skilled opponent. She took a drag and exhaled aside once more.

    "I'll be honest with you, Tiffa. I'll probably just go driving after this, I'll come upon something."

    Did he want to hang out with her or not? Truth be told, Tiffany had actually been looking forward to the possibility of having coffee with pretty Sylvan since the moment that he'd asked about the diner. Maybe some of his quaintness could rub off on her for the next hour or three while he was in her unheralded corner of the world. She would even ask him out herself if she had more than some loose change in the bottom of her purse and the bus fare scooped aside and counted in her jacket pocket. He had wanted a diner, now he supposedly wanted the road, to further torture his cramped limbs with yet more miles of hard pavement. Potentially this was favorable to her company. Mildly, her chest deflated.

    "I follow my impulses, that's why I left. Saw a pleasant figure, wanted to talk. You don't have to rake your brain for cool places in Puy-fucking-allup," he explained. Up and down, he led her, flipping and flopping, changing his mind like a girl changes clothes, so the song went. Sylvan was back to compliments and she didn't mind at all. Along with the cigarette, they warmed her against the encroaching damp chill. Tiffany fought back the grinning corners of her lips. Perhaps the date was still on. The passenger door did still hang agape.

    "Good, 'cause there aren't many," she stifled a chuckle, consciously endeavoring to stay cool. Someone walked by. A black woman, round-faced and heavy set with slacks on briskly paced legs beneath a dark overcoat had crossed the street from the diner and was coming down the block. Tiffany recognized her as one of the servers. She wore her hair in a bun. They made eye contact for a fleeting moment as she passed along the sidewalk perhaps twenty yards behind the open car door.

    "Didn't know girls like you had to do normal work," he said, indicating her appearance. He couldn't know that it was inaccurate, or at least for an occasion irregular. Her attention snapped back to the handsome traveler.

    "Girls like me?" Tiffany smirked, then paused for another dose of nicotine. She was perfectly fine with him not knowing that she was rural white trash - not that she lived in a trailer park (but just across the street from one). She was more than curious to hear his appraisal. She would put his seesaw of intentions on hold to glean it. "What kind of girl am I then?"
     
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  16. reverse

    reverse crusher rusher Member

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    She was in a good mood, better than he found her. All those nicknames - this is who I am, beloved, good natured girl. Sylvan thought she did well when she put herself in the conversation. He smiled with an Exactly in one corner of his mouth when she posed rhetorically aloud. They were diving into each other's meaning, and building repartee. He could do this in his sleep, he liked doing it. There was this social person always ready to take over, that the monster in him used whenever it worked for them. Truthfully, though, Sylvan spoke mostly on automatic - what her words really inspired in him was to jump out of the window and put her down into the concrete.

    Some of that desire came out as interest in her, which always made his supposed in-the-passing attention more intense. People had found that flattering in the past. An intention to kill is a very intimate feeling to direct toward another person. Here she was, taking a gift from him to her lungs, being lovely and unassuming. If he whispered her closer and opened the door with some decisiveness, she would fall over, and he could collect her. She looked like her bones would make engaging drumbeats against the metal. Her jacket would tear and the down would rise to litter their atmosphere, as though he'd pulled down an angel for her lesson in human greed.

    She followed the whims of his words. Tiffany had already let him know she was keen. He was just figuring out how to channel that affinity into her ass in his car. The way things were going, he didn't think it would take so long. I can't, she'd said, but not I won't. Not all sailors are caught by the very first syllables from their sirens. He was ready to drown her as soon as she'd let him. And so they went on with their tenuous peace, the girl and her bane, until a third player set his lips in a serious line.

    He hid it well, like he hid all beastly parts of himself - a little lean back, to assure him the shadows ate the features he was otherwise so pointedly showing off. They weren't doing anything suspicious yet, so he'd rather not stand out in the woman's memory, even if she locked eyes with his Tiffany. A small expression of familiarity, not even a greeting, and then she went off, leaving his victim just for him. With a shift, he could see him again, tendrils of smoke out of a nostril.

    He happily slipped back into what they'd been doing. She didn't know he'd left. What kind of girl? Why, the sort to present a fight as furious as it would be futile, to offer him the life in her body, a confession in every scratch with her nails, a statement of life in the death that he offered - that kind of girl. But that wasn't the game they were playing, yet. His door was still between them, and she was holding her ego up to be petted. For her, for now, Sylvan had soft hands.

    "Hustle-bustle girl. Beautiful but takes care of her own shit girl." he said, sucking the cigarette again. "But," he warned as he grabbed the wheel. "also the kind to break my heart, aren't you?" Like he'd seen something right then, some kind of truth. He waved a finger at her playfully, but with a decision in his demeanor. "The kind to waste my time while she probably has a boy already, so she has someone to talk to before the bus ride." he laughed and it was a little tired. His car was not, it was full of fuel and oil to take him out of here when he turned the key.

    Look at me, I'm so damaged from some other relationship you haven't seen yet. Don't you want to fix me?

    It made his company look more like a commodity. It also put the power in her hands, like she was rejecting him by not coming along. "I see you're fully capable of taking care of yourself Tiff-a-ny. So I'll leave you to it." He winked like he understood the game she played, and that he admired how well she'd done so. He leaned into the car again, so he could reach for the door on the other side and start to pull at the handle. If she let it close, that'd be that, maybe.

    They could get to know each other, and he could write her a perfect, false, attractive boy with his boots on the pedal and his head in the rain clouds, but he'd rather design their tryst to be something that burnt brighter, and faster. It was a gamble, but she did know him a little better now than she had when she said no the first time. He supposed he'd have to let her get away if this didn't work, at least for a little while. His blend of hot and cold was dizzying, but a fawn with too much footing was more probe to run.
     
  17. emesu

    emesu oh, it's that thot em again Member

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    "Hustle-bustle girl. Beautiful but takes care of her own shit girl. But, also the kind to break my heart, aren't you?" he wagged a finger. Things had escalated from pretty to beautiful as he described her in a way that she aspired to be rather than what she was (well at least the 'takes care of her own shit' part), and she would have delighted in his playfulness if she weren't hesitant to discern the sudden change in the angle of this next volley. "The kind to waste my time while she probably has a boy already, so she has someone to talk to before the bus ride." The english that he had put on it caught her flat-footed. Was she really the bitch that he was making her out to be - some tramp tease attention whore? Her heart sank just a little. "I see you're fully capable of taking care of yourself Tiff-a-ny. So I'll leave you to it."

    Tiffany's face whitened with muted alarm as he reached for the passenger door. Sylvan was rescinding his invitation, the one that she was not accepting. It was ending. If he left, she would never see him again, this intricately unadorned and discerningly charming phantom boy from California. He would vanish into the damp January mists forever, the chance not taken. His presence might not even outlast the last inch of the smoke that he'd given her. He would become nothing but a nagging forlorn memory and it would be no one's fault but her own.

    "So you're ... not gonna take me to The Java?" she asked, her voice trailing weakly as she played her last card and showed her hand in full. Her nerves forced her to bow her head for another deep drag and the sweep of her hair obeyed gravity to shroud half her face once more, leaving her left eye peering forth, the innocent countenance of her meek petition.
     
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  18. reverse

    reverse crusher rusher Member

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    Syl could hear his praise, poorly hidden, make music against the strings of her heart. He could have played them all night, really, made her cold to stand there, feeding her fire every once in a while. This could be their space between the sporadic cars. He wasn't going to be that kind of beast for her. His intentions were more passionate than that. Tiffany in the neon lights deserved more than a patient lover and an understanding, dapper suitor. Of course she would follow then, they'd know each other. He was craving that fateful trust instead, an unmotivated leap that made her feel adventurous. A gambler's high when he moved to pack it all up. The half-way good bye was sweeter in his mouth than the chimney vapor they'd been enjoying together. It was decadent, playing with something as precious as his next gorgeous taking, and opening up the possibility of loosing her.

    But she wouldn't let it happen. She wanted it, her partial nudity in this home on the road, her own confusion bleeding into terror. The scent of her cunt on the leather. She'd not let him disappear. He had something for her, and even though it was mystic now - some adventure with a handsome face - she at least knew she couldn't be without it. He was in the car, which was good, since the grin that afflicted him damn near bit the filter off when she tied the noose and gave him the long rope. There it was, her last chapter with its first line of dialogue. Sylvan stayed longer in the shadow chamber where he would only be that red star floating from her point of view. He tapped the handle of the door he offered before pushing it even wider. A creak.

    "Of course I am." Said a boy with a much more reasonable smile when his head popped back into view. He tossed his chin at the other side so she would know to finally come in. "But just because I'm a gentleman, not because I really wanna be seen with a girl like you." Trademark smirk. If she understood him, he meant to accessorize with her, and that was flattery, and continued repartee.

    He waited for her to put herself in the trap. There was always a moment when they settled that he liked to remember. Her natural scents in his car, their polite or excited smiles. It was a pleasant environment, he kept the temperature perfect. And once she had fidgeted enough for her own comfort, he laid himself over her lap, almost, an intimate thing with the broad of his back showing, to close the door. If he could he would brush his shoulder over her front when he returned to his own side. It was perilous with the cigarettes still alive in their mouths.

    "Your choice." he said and meant the radio. The music came back on when the key tilted - something about lovers in the dark. The lights of the board were subtle. Night time deserves reverence. With all the colors of the old dials he looked like faded technicolor beside her, an old time mystery with present day design. She would know where to ash when he did, just in front of the stick in the filling tray.

    "So, Tiffany, tell me about you. What do you have going on?" The car would be moving if she'd gotten on at all, and it was a steady carriage. Finally he got to turn back out to the road, bringing this pretty item, come straight out of the restaurant menu, newly baked and naive. The vibrato in his throat made his voice lower, part of the engine's rhythm. He was feeling godly now, and extended the niceties a little for his own benefit. He couldn't remember what she'd said about Java, if he was going that direction out of coincidence, but he knew Tiffany would never make it. "You gonna take over the world or what?" He was doing a lot of talking, which wasn't unusual, it was a way to keep them on his train of thought, but that didn't matter anymore. She was already his, and he wanted to know her.
     
  19. emesu

    emesu oh, it's that thot em again Member

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    Sylvan halted his shutting of the passenger door to shove it wide again. Her hair stood on end in excitement and fright and she took a moment to calm and prepare herself with more nicotine. She was actually going to do it. She was going to go for a ride, but she wasn't going to be straight up stupid about it. Her feet began to move, carrying her around the back of the car on the comfortable soles of her running shoes. There she paused to retrieve her phone from her purse and by the soft scarlet glow of the tail lamps she began to text. Tiffany's first instinct was to message Mom but then thought of the lecture that it would bring. Instead she would let Amber (fresh on her car related thoughts) know what she was getting up to. It made her feel safer to leave a clue behind just in case.

    Going to the java with this guy. You should see his car. You'd freak out

    Slowly she moved as she texted. When the message was sent at 6:14pm she was standing in the open car door. Tiffany sat herself, then swung her legs in and dropped her phone back into her purse. Then before she could pull the door shut Sylvan leaned across the old bench seat, and she caught her breath as he extended himself past her to do it for her. Their bodies were so close and his distinct energy gave her a hot tingly rush as she watched the mechanics of his bones in manipulation beneath his loose shirt. It was the first sexual move. In that moment Tiffany was definitely willing to tell him yes, but it would certainly depend on further circumstances.

    The car was vintage, much older than she, probably even pre-dating Mom, yet everything was in place, smooth and shiny. Restored was the term for it. The insignia on the glove box before her knees read 'Chevrolet'.

    "Your choice," he said, indicating the radio. It was really a radio. There was no CD player, and certainly no plug for an ipod. They were rolling. He grasped the wheel and steered them out into the street, decisively leaving the parking lot behind.

    "Just left over here under the freeway," she pointed out the first waypoint. They would cross the river and then make a right onto Pioneer. If all the lights would be green for them they'd be there in five minutes. Heat flowed freely through the vents, warming the interior enough to make her unshoulder her coat, leaving it pinned behind her back against the leather upholstery to reveal the ochre knit v-neck in full and leaving her acutely aware of her boring attire. Tiffany would have much preferred to be in something like her clingy black top with the sheer upper chest and a stack of bracelets on each arm, and to trade her gym shoes for her suede ankle boots with the moderate heels and folded cuffs.

    "You gonna take over the world or what?"

    "Heh, I'll start by graduating and moving out first," she said. "Jen wants to move to Seattle. We could get a place together." The plan made sense. In the big city, she could get around town without a car. In these parts that would be a major pain, as it had been all day. More importantly, she'd be away from her family. Her smoke finished, she crushed the butt into the heavily used tray and instinctively felt around for the seatbelt. There was nothing over the shoulder in this classic roadster, only a lap restraint. She clicked it shut and tugged it into place only to notice that Sylvan did not employ his own.
     
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  20. reverse

    reverse crusher rusher Member

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    Her subtle excitement over coming along fit right into his self image. He'd laid it on thick, and she'd finally taken the bait, there was no need for him to be surprised that she might be elated over his company. His eyes followed her discreetly, but they narrowed somewhat when he could see her face light up, passing his taillights, thumbs active at her little screen. Smart girl in business clothes. Full of surprises, aren't we, Tiffany? He wore something nice on his expression when she presented herself at her side. He was a boy about to spend time with something pretty, it was fitting that he grin. She looked just right, reclined, served up.

    Crossing her lap with his body affected her breathing, and he took a little longer just because of that. He smelled like himself, like the car, and the smoke. It wasn't something store-bought or finely packed, but he'd rather they know his scent before they closed their eyes or left them gaping open. He was eager to take her in, as well. What notes did she carry from the diner, what hadn't the cigarette been able to erase? They were primal now, caged by choice, and trusted to all the bridges of any creature to deepen this meeting. When he'd finished offering her music, and she left it where it was, he felt bloated with triumph, taking them out.

    He heard her directions, of course, but huffed through half a smirk as he looked at her. It wasn't meant as demeaning, but how could it not have been, when he reveled in her new helplessness. She was intact, her body her own still, her clothes as loose or close as she wanted - but that was because he'd not taken the freedom, yet. She did take off the jacket herself, and laid bare a fantastically unremarkable shirt. He'd caught her at her most mundane, and he thought it was a beautiful snap of her life, more confessionary than any festive get-up or bare skin. He threw his eyes up and down once, and nonetheless gave an approving twitch in one corner of his mouth.

    "Good plans. Maybe I'll copy you." he said and watched the road unfold just as she wanted. It seemed a good enough path for now. He imitate her with the cigarette, cutting off its orange head in the tray. He leaned back and blew the last lung of tar into the ceiling, where the cloud coiled richly, his long throat exposed and chin up. In that moment he could impossibly have seen where they were going. It was too early in his story to die on the road. His eyes were back to their job soon. He wasn't lying, it was a good plan. She was a girl at the precipice of the rest of her life. He was going to stop her right here, when she was at her loveliest. No graduation. No moving.

    "Seattle's good." he mumbled and shrugged when she noticed his disregard for the restraining safety measure. He liked some freedom. "I've got a really hard head." he explained with two fingers to his temple. The song went on for a while, it was fittingly romantic, in that it was somewhat fatalistic, and not too spelled out. Everything was working well with Tiffany, even traffic. They did cross the river. "Hold on." he said but his voice was as uncaring as she'd come to know it. "So if I fall for you tonight, I'll have to move to Seattle too?" A shift of gear and then those fingers through his head, like he was upset. "What if I wanna stay here?" A sigh, it lifted the bones of his chest under the cut of the t-shirt. A performance for her benefit. "We have to talk about this. I want kids and a mortgage." He didn't crack, his face was untouched by amusement, but also not so engaged in the act that he looked upset in any way. "And who's this Jen? How long has this been going on?" he hoped she'd laugh.

    If she was not too distracted by him being her chauffeur and host, she would notice that there was no right onto Pioneer.

    The hand that probably still had the scent of his hair finally came between them, and laid on her thigh, those comfortable jeans, long fingers reaching to the inside of her leg. "Seriously though. Jen's a friend?" He pretended like it was the smallest deal in the world, but he liked getting to touch her, and was eager to see how she reacted. To think it'd start with this casual grip, and end with her sweat and spit and blood on him. Two ghost girls shifted, invisible, looking at his strong, elegant arm and its catch, complaining to a Tiffany that couldn't hear them. "Don't think I have anyone close enough to do a cross-state move with." The song changed, and the roadside became more desolate.
     

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