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Post  nahn-SEK-wuh-tuhr Sat Mar 05, 2011 4:45 pm

He was asleep, though he didn't know it. Sometimes he dreamed of a world of opulence, of palaces and churches so brilliant in color that they looked like crown jewels. Of grand canals and theatres, of a cultural hub that he knew he came from, but one he couldn't recall ever seeing in his lifetime.

Other times, he dreamed of hell.

It was the same city, and yet...it wasn't. And likewise, it was one he could not consciously remember. It was a place where bombs fell more often than the snow and rain, where you walked down the street and ignored the bodies of those who could not make it to get their rations, where you forgot what warmth and satiation felt like. Where the only thing that kept you going was pride and the raw desire for survival.

In this particular dream, he was in a gray and bleak-looking apartment, almost completely bare of furniture. With hands that had never done a hard day's work in their life, he'd clumsily chopped up a chair and was now burning it for warmth. As the very last chips of it shriveled to ash, while he huddled over it like a hobo, he held out his hands over the tendrils of smoke. Pianist's fingers. They were so white-knuckled, with the skin so tightly stretched over the bones, that they looked like they belonged to a skeleton.

The smoke faded, and he slowly got to his feet, his knees feeling like they would snap underneath him. Despite that they weighed on him like chain-mail and armor, he wore every single article of clothing that he owned in an attempt to insulate himself. And yet, he was so emaciated underneath that all the layers only served to make him appear to be of average weight.

Shuffling to the door, with the dull, persistent notion that he needed his rations, he glanced at a cracked (he remembered it had fallen off of the wall during a bombing) mirror as he reached for the handle. A veritable corpse stared back at him.

His hair hadn't been brushed in god only knew how long, and was streaked with silvery gray patches. A face that had once been round and healthy was now withered, with lips that had dried up and grown dark, sticking to his teeth. But what was most striking was the eyes. They'd always been black and on the larger side, but now they stared out from deep, dark hollows, the life completely drained from them--foreshadowing what would surely happen to the rest of his body.


Those same eyes flew open as he awoke with a start in a cold sweat, usually stoic expression now stricken with alarm. Rolling out of his bed, half-entangled in his sheets, he fumbled for the light and dragged himself over to a mirror. His hair was mussed and his face pale with fright, but to his relief, he was otherwise perfectly normal.

In a daze, he threw on a jacket over his nightclothes and pulled on some shoes, stumbling out of his car and into the cool night. He didn't have to even consider going back to bed to know that he wouldn't be able to sleep. This had been a recurring nightmare...though, it's events were not always the same. Sometimes he was caught in a bombing, sometimes he was one of those collapsed in the snow... And one time, he saw himself...eating the flesh of... He shook the thought from his mind; the memory made him feel ill. That had easily been the most horrific dream he'd ever had, and lately, he'd been having a lot.

Wanting to get his mind in a better place, he stepped into the main tent--as huge as a cathedral in it's emptiness--and automatically gravitated towards his piano. This was the only time of the day that he could hear it's sound clearly, without all of the background noise of the carnival.

Unfortunately, that meant everyone else could hear it, too. Everyone who was trying to sleep. Consideration for others had never been his strong suit.

Taking a seat, looking very much the part of a person who had just woken up, his fingers fluttered over the keys and seemed to play almost on their own accord, the sound echoing around the lifeless hall of canvas. Shostakovich's symphony no7. There were compositions he cherished, composers he worshiped; Shostakovich was not exactly on his list of top ten greatest writers of music. And yet, this piece was quite special to his mind.

If he didn't know any better, he'd say it was written for him.

((Why did this crap take me 6+ hours to write. Talk about an uncreative title; I'm supposed to be cooking, and my mom is giving me NO TIME to think of anything better. Gosh, inconsiderate. /SHOT :I Well, hopefully I can kill my writer's block.))
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Post  DIDNEY WORL Sat Mar 05, 2011 6:22 pm

((Thinking of crashing this with vienna so she can troll his piano playing but idkkkkk XD))
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Post  nahn-SEK-wuh-tuhr Sat Mar 05, 2011 6:29 pm

((lmao, go ahead. XD She deserves some measure of revenge for all his assholery.))
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Post  DIDNEY WORL Sat Mar 05, 2011 7:41 pm

((Dammit, I wrote something, then safari crashed and my phone refreshed the page :I))

Contrary to her (more or less) friend, she had hardly slept at all since they entered the new town. She had been having dreams similar to his, and not knowing and understanding completely their meaning at the same time. One moment she was a queen, the next... A paranoid sad nothing on the edge of insanity. If they came in sleep, then she would just forgo the luxury. Her dreams had been saying an awful lot about Auguste, too, that she didn't prefer to realize.

Fränze gathered her shawl around her when she heard the music with nothing really else to do to distract her, and sat down next to him silently. Normally she wouldn't, but his disheveled look made him appear relatively harmless.

The only thing she could say she admired about the man was his taste in music. She had been predisposed to classical since she was born, it seemed. Made her wonder why she was wasting her time in a carnival.

"You were in one of my dreams," She offered silently, staring at the keys, then with a laugh, "You were much fitter. Which means it probably wasn't real." Franze wasn't sure why she had to assure herself aloud that it wasn't real.
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Post  nahn-SEK-wuh-tuhr Sat Mar 05, 2011 8:03 pm

((Oh god, my laptop did the exact same thing when I first wrote this topic. :\ I feel your pain, bro.))

So lost in his own world of ivory keys, he was, that he didn't even notice her sitting down at first. It wasn't until his elbow accidentally brushed her shoulder that he realized there was another human being in his presence. Immediately, he dropped the hint-of-a-smile from his face, but did not pause in his playing. The show must go on.

He might have made some wise-assed remark, as was his custom, but instead, he matched her silence with silence. Perhaps it was that he was feeling mellowed from the lack of sleep. Perhaps it was that he didn't look exactly presentable--which, to his defense, was a rarity of sorts--and it rather took away from his snark. Or perhaps it was that the music was all that was on his mind.

...Or, it was, until she spoke up.

There was the slightest of slip-ups in his fingering as he processed her statement. It seemed odd, the way she had phrased it... But perhaps he was just reading too much into it, simply because he himself had been having odd dreams.

Calmly, he returned, "I just now had a nightmare, in which I was even thinner than you. Which cannot be possible without dying, so it's likewise probably not real." He hadn't really meant to let it slip that it had been a nightmare, but honestly, what else could it have been. For a man his height to have a weight anywhere near Franze-range was unthinkably frightening.
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Post  DIDNEY WORL Sat Mar 05, 2011 8:19 pm

She picked up for his mistakes a few octaves higher, but the piano would never compare to the sound of the harpsichord that was bolted to one side of her car. Eventually retracted her hand to her lap, letting the sound die off as she listened to his words.

"That's a central theme of this place, then," She replied, then recalled the last time she had actually slept through a full night, a dream so horrifyingly vivid it wouldn't let her wake from it. "There was one... recurring, actually... I was thinner than I am, yet I was laughing, and dancing... and I could hear sirens from the outside... and I look back to the one who was supposed to protect me," Djuro, no less. What could that mean? "And he abandoned me."

She ran a hand through her hair for the umpteenth time that day. "And I got this sense that something great was dying, something that belonged to me, and there was nothing I could do."

Silence again, then a small, silent laugh. "Then again... it's not real."
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Post  nahn-SEK-wuh-tuhr Sat Mar 05, 2011 9:21 pm

Whether he showed it or not, it was a bit of a shock to see that she could play--and play well, no less. Not that he would ever say so. The harpsichord was something he had no idea existed, given that he'd never been anywhere near her car, let alone inside it.

"And I got this sense that something great was dying, something that belonged to me, and there was nothing I could do."

His playing slowed down until it trailed off altogether, and he was left with his hands resting motionlessly as he stared at them. He couldn't say he could relate to what she was originally describing, but this... There were other nightmares he had. Not ones that took place in the 'hell' version of his hometown, but rather, a mixture of both the splendid and the horrible versions.

"The same... Ah, that is, I've had a similar...experience. In a dream." His voice was suddenly not as composed as it always was--there was a hint of something like fear. "There's a family--related to me, I believe. And," his fingers curled slightly in discomfort as he described it, "I shot them. Except for the two youngest girls. They--something was in their dresses, I'm not sure, the bullets didn't pierce the corsets." His voice grew very quiet as he kept his gaze intently on his fingertips, "So I stabbed them...with the bayonet on the gun. Yet, I felt like I was the one who'd lost something--something that rightfully belonged to me."

It had definitely been on his top five list of most horrifying visions he'd ever seen, asleep or not. The bloodstains on the walls...on his hands... He looked down at them, as though expecting to see crimson marring their surfaces. In a somewhat firmer voice, he added, "But it has no roots in reality. I've never killed anyone. I couldn't."

And yet, something hung on the edge of his words, asking 'Could I?' Secretly, he wondered. Sometimes he even felt like, should the need for death arise, he could cause it, indirectly or not. That he was something more than the average person, and that for the sake of power, he was allowed to--no, had the right, even, to kill. And it wasn't this idea that bothered him. It was the fact that he wasn't bothered by it that bothered him. Was he really so dispassionate? Wasn't that a sign of madness?

After a long moment of silence, he gathered himself and continued playing--a quieter piece, this time. But one could tell his heart wasn't in it.

"In my favorite book, the main character," (he didn't add that said character was a murderer), "has a dream at one point, of some drunkard flogging an old horse to death. In actuality, it was a memory from his childhood, but not one that he consciously remembered before the dream." He left the statement open for interpretation, but he left out that it was precisely how his dreams sometimes felt.
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Post  DIDNEY WORL Sat Mar 05, 2011 9:43 pm

What made the two hate each other was, she thought, their sheer similarity. Both of them thought themselves miles more civilized than their families, amd were extremely intelligent (though hers was easily manipulated). It was also what made him someone easy to talk to when a situation such as this arose.

Again more dream memories came to her mind as he told his story-- she'd seen a man shot in the neck in a coach, an important man, giving his last affections to his wife as she bled out from her abdomen. He told her to live for their children.

In another, a completely different era (which wasnt making sense, at all)she was holding onto the post of a large carved wood bed asblood continued to stain the floor of the room and her white nightshirt. Her legs were numb; it felt like she had been stabbed.. somehow from the inside. Loud sobs shuddered through her. The feeling of a child dying within her was unfamiliar to the waking woman, but there it was as familiar as it had happened the day before.

"I heard a story about an empress once," she was eager to get off the topic of these dreams, though she had had this dream, as well. "Who was stabbed in the chest so quickly, and her attacker had run away so fast, she only thought it was heartburn." A small smile graced her lips. "Her corset was so tight the wound stayed closed... and when she took it off that night, she was dying and not even sure how." She touched one key with a finger. "I'm not sure where I heard that."

To his theory based on one of his precious books, she shrugged lightly. "Freud says dreams are your id-- you unconscious urges and desires brought on by emotions from memories pushed back in your mind." It was probably not what he wanted to hear.

((THAT PART OF THE BOOK WAS SO SAD-- i seriously cried. :I))
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Post  nahn-SEK-wuh-tuhr Sat Mar 05, 2011 10:14 pm

((OH, THANK GOD I AM NOT THE ONLY ONE-- :( /weep))

"Perhaps I should look into obtaining a corset, then," he remarked dryly, concentrating on the piano, "They are apparently a preventative measure against assassination." For all of his insufferable behavior, he wasn't incapable of using his wit for...well, if not exactly light-hearted, then certainly less offensive comments.

However, he could have remarked of the other dream-assassinations she'd brought to his mind, in turn. Spanning across all time periods, from when he was but a young child, to the late nineties. All orchestrated by him. And some even witnessed first-hand, though the only one actually performed by his hand was the one he'd described to her. In the dreams, and sometimes even after waking, he took an almost sick pleasure in his own success at controlling people's fates. At playing the hand of God, he guessed.

Which consequently tied in very neatly with her next statement. His unconscious urges and desires? No, that had not been what he'd really wanted to hear. But it wasn't something he hadn't been suspecting, either. In a cold and calm voice, he asked, fingers feather-light on the keys as he played pianissimo, "Are you suggesting I want to stab young women wearing corsets to death? Well, I suppose that would be a problem for you..."

As usual with his sense of 'humor', it was hard to tell if it was a joke or not. In this particular case, though, it very likely was. Probably. At any rate, the only person he could think of that he'd legitimately like to kill was his so-called brother, Viktor. Then again, that would be less of a murder and more of a favor to humanity in general.
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Post  DIDNEY WORL Sat Mar 05, 2011 10:28 pm

she considered him almost as a childhood friend-- although she hadn't known him for that long. But in her dreams she'd seen him as a child, but she was older. She had to wonder if his quips were actually favors, he was keeping her mind sharp. "You need it more for cosmetics. You are irritating enough to kill, maybe. But so many more would not hesitate to call you pudgy than kill you."

Another laugh. Maybe they were friends, underneath it all, both too proud to say so. "If you wanted me dead I would be dead already. Without me who would you have to laugh at?" He was one of the only one's that saw through her unrelenting mask of grace-- she wondered why.

But finally she had to ask the question on her mind. She couldn't shake the feeling. "Do these... Nightmares of yours... Well-- are they all in different time periods? Almost... Like past lives?"

((I was halfway through that book, finally all my schoolbooks are over with so I can finish it :I))
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Post  nahn-SEK-wuh-tuhr Sat Mar 05, 2011 11:27 pm

"I'm flattered, really." He moved straight into a different song as he spoke, "To think that the worst thing that could be pointed out about me is my weight? Truly, you are too kind." It was meant to be sarcasm, though honestly, there was some truth in it somewhere along the lines. Not that he enjoyed having his pudginess pointed out, per say, but there were harsher things that could be said.

"Oh, your death would be a setback, I admit, yes. But it wouldn't spell the end of my mockery. There are plenty of people here just asking for it." Bourbon, for example. His laugh was atrocious. It was lucky that Piter was a resilient man, or he'd have abandoned his faux-friendship with the Frenchman ages ago. As with any relationship that he outwardly called a 'friendship', it was really just a means of manipulation for him. He could count all the people he'd ever truly cared about on less than one hand, and he didn't feel that any of them really fell into the 'friend' category. If someone were to ask him what he'd call Franze, he'd say something along the lines of 'Occasionally-Congenial Rival' (or as a more colloquial term would put it: 'frienemy'). ...Which was the closest thing to friendship in his odd and occasionally lonely world. Currently, she was the only one still in that category, though others had been in it before.

He did not have to pause to think before answering her next question, "Yes. Back several hundred years, at least." Though his answer was brief, he was very curious to see why she'd brought up the query. The only conclusion he could draw was that it was the same in her case (otherwise, why ask such a specific question?), and then...well, then, they'd certainly have something strange on their hands, here.

((I started reading again, but I'm taking it much more slowly, this time around. XD And I keep interrupting for other books, derp.))
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Post  DIDNEY WORL Sun Mar 06, 2011 8:20 am

She listened to the beginning of the new song before answering. "Are you asking me to continue? For starters, everything you play is so dreary." she made a slightly disgusted face. She preferred the airy waltzes and allegros of her home. Didn't Tchaikovsky write waltzes as well? Maybe Piter just enjoyed making himself depressed. "And I'm not sure I've ever seen you blink. Or smile, not one of those unsettling shows of teeth you always give Auguste. An actual smile."

She tried her best to counteract the dreariness of his playing with her own, octaves away. If one could deduce a personality from music, it would be exceptionally true for these two people. Her fingers moved quickly, lightly, the notes fleeting and yet hanging in the air like a memory of a woman by the scent of her perfume as she passed by. To her, his playing was calculating, each quarter note full of meaning, pronounced.

She immediately stopped on one note, letting it hang in the air when he agreed to her question. "Mine are like that too." She said finally, not daring to say that maybe there was really something going on.
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Post  nahn-SEK-wuh-tuhr Sun Mar 06, 2011 9:37 am

"Dreary?" He scoffed, "No, Frachenka, no. They are simply meant to make you think. And you underestimate my repertoire." Even so, he made no signs of changing what he was playing, even when she attempted to compliment it with something lighter.

At her words, he gave one of those unsettling shows of teeth, "Come now, do you really think Bourbon merits a genuine smile?" As for the lack of blinking, he'd learned it by watching his father's example when he was a young boy, though he wasn't about to share that. Certain memories of his late parent were too intimate to divulge to anyone.

When she stopped, he wordlessly picked up where she left off, changing her tune to fit the Waltz of the Flowers. After a few moments of contemplation, he spoke up, this time without a question of a doubt that he was jesting, "Well, the only reasonable conclusion is that we have a mental link--not unlike Harry Potter and Voldemort." (What? Of course he'd read those books.) "Congratulations." Of course, he was not pushing away the idea that something truly was going on, but he needed more time to consider it before drawing any conclusions. Such was his nature.
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Post  DIDNEY WORL Sun Mar 06, 2011 11:11 am

Sure, she had been taught that about music, but she didn't subscribe to it. Not all music was meant for thinking, but no classical music was ugly. By that, she was correct. She scowled at her nickname and decided not to answer. She knew she would always lose in a debate with him. Even when she was right-- which she was.

Fränze was uncertain about everything concerning Auguste anymore. She thought she loved him... And he loved her-- though she was beginning to suspect differently. looking down in her lap at her hands, she twiddled her thumbs, just giving a quiet, "Well, Maybe..."

A waltz. Finally. She had to smile-- he really did listen to her. But he never really responded like she hoped. She frowned, though it wasnt a full frown, and let out a small laugh. "Well, you are 'he-who-must-not-be-named' wherever I am. Your mention seems to ruin a perfect day." She thought about pressing the matter further, just to get his insight, but she knew he wouldn't offer anything and the more she would ask the more she would become insulted.
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Post  nahn-SEK-wuh-tuhr Sun Mar 06, 2011 12:19 pm

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. It couldn't be that she truly believed Auguste cared for her? "Bourbon is a selfish, manipulative person, who primarily cares for himself," he informed her starkly, "Any measure of acquiescence you show him only strengthens his belief that he is in control." To a degree, it was easy for the Russian to see, because he was very similar...though he didn't make as much of an attempt to hide it.

In a somewhat less unkind tone, he added, "I assumed you were using him, in turn." He commonly went with the assumption that there was always an ulterior motive to people's actions (well, people that weren't just simpletons, anyways). And though it saved him from being tricked on more than one occasion, it also made him a little surprised in instances like this. Where something that he thought had a deeper, darker meaning, was really just exactly what it looked like. In a way, he did feel something like pity for those who pursued meaningful relationships. That sort of thing ought to have been reserved for novels, where they only did harm to people that didn't actually exist.

"Well, I'm pleased to see that my hard work doesn't go to waste. Though I like to think that I'm a bit classier than You-Know-Who. Cleverer, as well." Already tiring of waltz once the piece was finished, he moved on to an impromptu arrangement of Canon, for which he did have to allot his concentration to. Which perhaps explained why he didn't notice when a small smile worked it's way onto his face.
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Post  DIDNEY WORL Sun Mar 06, 2011 12:56 pm

"I thought as much." She said almost silently. She didn't know if it would change how she felt about him. It should have... But she just didn't know. "I can't manipulate something I'm afraid to lose."

She wouldn't remark on his smile. If she did, she would scare it away. So, after one final glance at him, she began again to accompany the music. She felt like she should thank him for getting her mind off of it all, if only for a few minutes.
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Post  nahn-SEK-wuh-tuhr Mon Mar 07, 2011 8:05 pm

((I am not really supposed to be on right now. BUT I SUPPOSE IT'S OKAY TO STAY UP TILL THREE, FOR THE SAKE OF STUDYING--))

He snorted slightly, but otherwise didn't comment for once. If it were him, he'd be putting his revenge plan--which would have been written long before Bourbon even had the chance to slip up--into motion by now. He'd be thinking of how to make the man suffer, not how to hang onto him even longer. Why would she want to anyways?
But that was where he decided to not say anything. Instinct told him that it could possibly be some sort of side-effect of falling for someone--something in which he couldn't count on his own experience or knowledge to relate to.

...That is, to an extent, he couldn't relate. There had been a girl, once, whose undying loyalty he had fallen for. And because she was so loyal to him, he'd never exactly experienced the fear that she might not be there one day. Her presence was a constant in his life, for some time. Well, she wasn't here now. How did that feel, now that he thought about it?

Not good. Perhaps this was what Franze was trying to avoid.

The smile slipped away on it's own accord, and the song stopped seeming like an uplifting melody and more like a memory of something that had once been uplifting. Flatly, he spoke up with the now-rather-late reply, "...I suppose I understand that."
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Post  DIDNEY WORL Mon Mar 07, 2011 8:26 pm

((DON'T BE SILLY, STUDYING IS FOR ASIANS-- oh. But I do hope you do well on your tests. c: It is genetically impossible for you not to-- /shot B) ))

Fränze lived in a world of cutthroat personalities, silver tongues, and backstabbers. Her one fatal flaw was that she wished she didn't. She believed, for better or for worse, that when someone said they loved her, they meant it. But... That didn't mean she knew of was true. She was happiest when she fooled herself.

She heard the condescending snort turn into a smile, then drop suddenly as the music became depressing again and he insultingly tried to relate. Whatever need to be around him for their similarity vanished and she scowled at the keys.

"Don't patronize my honesty." She spat back, crossing her arms. She should have known he would revert back to the person she hated. "You have zero idea. Maybe less than that."
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Post  nahn-SEK-wuh-tuhr Mon Mar 07, 2011 9:26 pm

((TODAY, I WAS SO ASIAN. I ATE TUNA & TEA FOR BREAKFAST, LUNCH, AND DINNER, AND STUDIED FOR HOURS. NO ONE CAN OUT-JAP ME. lol, thank you. I have no doubt that I will do terribly, but it's okay, because it is impossible for me to get a bad final grade. Which is all that counts. B) ))

He snorted again, "Don't patronize your honesty? Please. Don't insult my honesty."

The song ended and he moved to another one, automatically, unsure of what he was playing other than that it was something his fingers had memorized. He could very well even be performing the same song, like a music player set on repeat. His thoughts were clearly somewhere else.

"I suppose you believe I am totally incapable of human emotion." (Which wouldn't really be too presumptuous of a presumption, seeing that it was what he generally advertised. And was usually true.) "Well, as shocking as it may seem, there is--was--one person in this world I would never think to manipulate. Other than myself, of course." Two people, actually, but his father was dead, while Motya... Well, he just didn't know where she was, anymore.
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Post  DIDNEY WORL Mon Mar 07, 2011 9:40 pm

((THE SHEER AMOUNT OF JAP-- I CAN'T EVEN-- FFFF that is exactly how I take tests XD Except for that one time I got a 4% on my trig unit test. Well, what do you expect, giving a woman math-- /shot))

She glanced over at him. Was he really serious? She noticed the music just goin to a medley of different hand positions and wondered if he was really telling the truth. He had cared about someone? Hard to believe.

And even if he had, his meaning of love, or affection, even care was most likely not the same as hers-- as anyone's. She saw him as cold and unfeeling, and perhaps that could budge a little bit. But cracked ice still was ice.

"I do believe that." She replied just as quickly. "And did you love this person? Or care at all? Or does someone special to you simply become exempt from your mind games? Or did you just drive them crazy enough that they gave up and became insane, which is the only circumstance anyone would ever give your feelings a second thought!"

She hadn't meant it to end so harshly. Maybe that was what she'd been meaning to tell Auguste but had been too afraid to. She turned her attention back to the keys, embarrassed and angered at him and herself.
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Post  nahn-SEK-wuh-tuhr Mon Mar 07, 2011 10:41 pm

((TORA TORA TORA ARIGATOU KONNICHIWA. lol, math, what is that. I took about one month's worth of math in all four years of high school, because I had teachers that never showed up. And when they did, they sucked balls at teaching. :I I went to one very classy school, let me tell you--))

As if to make her ice analogy even worse, he didn't so much as twitch under the assault. "My, my, is this an interrogation now? 'Yes', to all of those questions. Besides the last one."

There was no doubt in his mind that they had very different concepts of what 'love' entailed--for one thing, his definition didn't involve physical desire, and was in that sense, not similar to how most normal people would feel. When it came down to it, the better side of him was very much a child that lived with storybook-esque ideals of how such things worked. When a man and a woman loved each other, they didn't have or even think about sex. That was something else entirely; an almost foreign concept. Like most children, he'd had the 'talk' at some point in his life, but the meaning had never sunk in like it was supposed to.

What he was left over with after applying his idea of what 'lover' meant, was really just a very, very dear friend. Which, in his rather friendless world, meant a great deal, indeed.

"I can't help but think that this was a rather unjust attack on your part," he continued, also keeping his eyes on the keys, "I wasn't aware that my caring for someone merited such bitterness. Unless I'm playing the role of whipping boy, here?"
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Post  DIDNEY WORL Tue Mar 08, 2011 7:14 am

She sat there in agitated silence for a long while. He was probably right, she didn't mean to say those things, and felt bad for dumping her own misguided rage on someone who could control himself so well.

"Maybe it is." She answered curtly. "And maybe you're right. But I still don't believe you." But it probably wasn't just something to make her feel better. He would never gran that to anyone.
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Post  nahn-SEK-wuh-tuhr Tue Mar 08, 2011 9:54 pm

"As long as you acknowledge your own uncalled for vitriol, that is all I ask," he nodded in mock sagacity, though it was obvious he was just being facetious. It was so interesting to see when people got worked up over things--which was one of the reasons why Franze was particularly delightful to prod at.

"And you're free to believe whatever you like. I actually would find it more amusing to leave it partially a mystery," a corner of his mouth tugged upward just slightly for the briefest of seconds, "So that you can wonder over what sort of woman could possibly stand me."


Last edited by Inchi-Bo on Wed Mar 09, 2011 12:04 am; edited 1 time in total
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Post  DIDNEY WORL Tue Mar 08, 2011 10:04 pm

Fränze was probably the most reactionary of anyone there. Which meant, while Auguste had control over her feelings now, one small slip up would push her off the edge and she would do everything in her power to demoralize, humiliate, and annihilate the man. She assumed she would lose it all if he left her, but she didn't realized (mos likely not him, either) the quagmire he'd gotten himself into just by telling her he loved her and lying about it.

She scoffed. "Not a smart one. Not a nice one either." She reached over and lightly flicked his cheek. "Not a pretty one, for sure. Women only date men like you for personalities. But you dont have that either. She just must be insane."
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Post  nahn-SEK-wuh-tuhr Wed Mar 09, 2011 12:22 pm

He matched her scoff with one of his own, "Accentuating the negative, I see." (As if he could talk.) "If I must pick one particularly defining trait, then she was very loyal. Wonderfully, loyal, really." The way he said it, one might think he was a cult leader talking about his most devoted follower. But then again, for someone who so delighted in using and manipulating people, perhaps it was natural that he would find such a trait attractive. And while it may not have sounded so nice in such stark terms, devotion to each other was one thing that many conventional relationships lacked. Bourbon was proof of that.

And he had no doubt that the relationship between her and Auguste was surely scheduled to fail in the (possibly near) future. He planned to watch from the sidelines with nachos and popcorn. It was probable that he could even subtly speed things up, if he wanted to, seeing as how he was free to converse with either of them at leisure... It could be fun, should he start to get bored with carnival life.
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