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| right vrs. wrong and inbetween; Gabe's journals/oneshots | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Feb 2 2009, 12:56 PM (58 Views) | |
| Gabriel Severin Te'navia | Feb 2 2009, 12:56 PM Post #1 |
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![]() “I would never marry you.” It was a snobby voice and Gabe let out a sigh of relief, shaking his thick head and placing a book back on the shelf. “And thank the good lord for that.” As he picked out another book, leafing through some of the index only to find what he had been looking for he glanced up, indignant. “Hold up, what’s wrong with marrying me?” The girl with the upturned nose gave him a once over, snorting and leaning against his shelf with Plato laid against her chest. “Look at ya, all offense intended, you’re nothing special.” She was met with a frown and shrugged, pursing her lips, “What’s it to ya anyhow?” He smirked, raising an eyebrow and leaning into her ear. “Not shit to me, though I warrant it’d mean a lot to that blond bloke your all Peeping Tom for.” She hit him and he winced, letting her brush past him with a small chuckle despite the pain, knowing that he’d won. “I'm not all—” she began, all defiance and anger, and he set a finger to her lips (careful not to touch) as he rounded the corner after her. “Ah, ah, too much resistance is a sign of true love.” This earned him another swat, darted this time around, and she threw him a hardened look that would have made any other man shrink in his boots. He grinned, tongue glib and ready for another stream of denial, though it seemed he’d made his point as the only argument she gave was to stifle a gargled choke and head him off for his place in the checkout line. That was alright. She should have known better then to mention any guy to him, monumental occurrence or otherwise. If she hadn’t wanted to be mercilessly teased then she wouldn’t have brought it up at all. A small figure stood up in the middle of his path and he jerked back on instinct, glancing down with a clever grin, the woman’s hair dark and her figure slender. “Sorry about that, I…” his smile faded, a familiar face swinging around and facing him, the high cheekbones and hard jaw all too close to home. “Gabriel, don’t,” the woman put out a hand, reaching to touch his arm, though he jerked back, physically flinching. Hurt filled her face and he tried to remember when Cerise had ever really been his sister. She had betrayed him, everyone, and didn’t deserve to expect his acceptance. “Please, Gabe, don’t. Talk to me.” For a second he softened, remembering their childhood, the hundreds of times that she had gotten him out of some sticky trouble with their parents, or the nights shared telling ghost stories under the bed… but then she flipped her hair back and his stomach turned, tightening against itself. The brand was hardly old, a pink circle in the back of her shoulder, the S more clearly outlined then it needed to be. He almost took her into his arms then, coddled her, demanded to know where the bastard Isaiah was so that he could wreak his own brand of hatred—but he didn’t. Didn’t move, her eyes sliding to her own shoulder as she followed his gaze and, though she quickly drew her wrap up back around her figure, the image had already done its damage; burned into both of them as he stood, frozen, revolted. “My apologies, Mrs. Seraphine,” he said after a long pause, voice deep and stiff, full of formalities that had never been needed before. He moved brusquely past her before she had a chance to say whatever words were forming at that gaping, pathetic little mouth of hers, catching up with Ophelia quickly enough. The woman hadn’t been witness to the brief, stinted conversation and he was grateful for that, back rigid as he paid for his purchase, not offering his severed ties with his sister another look as the sun hit his face on the outside. She deserved it, he told himself, fierce with belief. She deserved everything she would take away from her sins. |
for fear of growing old/can't stop growing old![]() I hold an image of the ashtray girl of cigarette burns on my chest I wrote a poem that described her world and put our friendship to the test And late at night, whilst on all fours, she used to watch me kiss the floor What's wrong with this picture? | |
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7:24 PM Jul 10