Reciprocation [Victor Lark]

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This shining population center is considered the jewel of The Sylira Region. Home of the vast majority of Mizahar's population, Syliras is nestled in a quiet, sprawling valley on the shores of the Suvan Sea. [Lore]

Reciprocation [Victor Lark]

Postby Seven Xu on June 20th, 2011, 2:29 pm

Spring 21, 511 AV

The severity of Victor’s fatigue had really not occurred to Seven until the Ravokian spent an entire week in his bed. He barely moved, waking only when Seven prodded him to eat. And he would eat; bites of softened fruit for its sugar and mashed lentils and beans slathered over thick slices of fresh and hearty rye bread and slowly but surely the dark-haired man’s ribs would release their tight hold on his skin. If he was too weak to force his hands – that were little more than dead things on the ends of his arms for so long – Seven would assist him, holding mashed food to his tired lips and wiping away water that would dribble down his chin if Seven became too eager and tipped the bowl too far.

And while he fed his companion, he would talk. He would speak so that Victor felt no need to, and so that there was little silence to accompany the darkness that enveloped him and made his dark almond eyes blind and sensitive to the outside world. Rambling stories of his childhood, of his journey across The Unforgiving, the Symenestra, anything that came to mind – often Victor would drift out of consciousness again before Seven had finished but he was a patient man and held nothing against him – it was all laid out, and whether Victor retained it or not was of little concern as long as there was noise between them and some semblance of humanity clung to the faceless walls around them.

This was it. This tiny world of darkness where only they existed and between fleeting, obscure dreams they communicated through whisper and touch and while they very well could have forgotten the color of their eyes, the shape of their lips, many nights were spent wrapped in each others’ blind arms and they memorized curves of soft flesh and the lingering smell of sweat. They were not above the undeniable draw of their mutual attraction and Seven had made this clear, often praising Victor for what strength was regained and what fat accumulated on his body with fleeting kisses placed delicately across a span of skin that had grown bleached from the absence of sun. For the most part, the exploratory touching and kissing would remain innocent. There would be no sex, no tangle of moaning, lust-driven bodies; Seven would argue that it was counterproductive to the rest Victor so badly needed – though he would never admit that it pained him to deny such a request, if there ever was one - besides, there was no hurry. The first morning had come and gone and Victor hadn’t melted away into oblivion and there was no admission of drunken regret.

When the anniversary of the second week neared, Victor had begun to leave the darkness of the apartment. There were times that Seven would return to his humble hole in the belly of the citadel to find his companion gone, likely becoming accustomed to his own legs again. And while he felt joy for the man with the name of a songbird who had become strong enough to leave his cage, Seven found his empty apartment unnerving and would never stay long in Victor’s absence. He dedicated his only map of Syliras in Victor’s name, and the human would find it one evening set purposefully and delicately across the top of his trunk with his name written across the top.

Seven would soon find he was seeing less of Victor as the days went on, although he attributed this to the man’s obvious appreciation for exploration and would not comment or complain about it so long as his day ended with a familiar hand lingering at his bare stomach, a warm chest pressed against his back and the muffled chatter of their short conversations that would end in one or the other giving in to Nysel’s influence first. And every morning, Seven would stir first, a hand reaching over to his companion as if to ensure that he was still there, living flesh and blood that he was permitted to touch for the sake of touching. This particular morning, thin white fingers groped at nothing but a linen sheet left cold by a body that had abandoned it long ago.

He wasn’t there.

Rolling over onto his back, half-conscious, Seven relished in the space he was awarded in Victor’s absence. Not that he enjoyed being alone – in fact he feared it – but he had on more than one occasion playfully cursed the cramped narrowness of his bed. A light seared his closed eyelids. A light unlike any light he’d ever known so deep in the citadel and a hand shot up to shield his face from what could only be Syna herself gracing his tiny apartment. A disgruntled moan escaped his sleep-dried lips and he rolled back over onto his side and forced his crimson eyes open a crack, pupils tiny, to examine this radiant invader from between his fingers.
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Reciprocation [Victor Lark]

Postby Victor Lark on June 22nd, 2011, 4:33 am

It was night. He recognized the rotten waters of Ravok’s river-streets and the brick walls of close buildings and the tall arches of cobblestone bridges. It was everything he knew, and yet he did not know where he was. Mere feet from him, the view escaped into blackness. And then there was a white hand; it reached out to him, so he took it. He felt it drag him through the streets which he should have known, turned corners which his feet should have memorized. When he tried to commit a landmark to memory, it turned into a white stone wall, intimidating and indistinct. Frustrated, he decided to let go, to try and find his own way, but he could not. The hand waited patiently as he looked around in vain. He was helpless without it. Reluctantly he reached out to let it lead again. Suddenly it withdrew into the shadows, and the shadows ate up the world...

He heard the soft mumblings of a faceless, familiar voice, and tasted gritty legumes on chewy bread. He ate it without thinking, and then black Ravok bloomed into shining towers of a city of stars. Two identical girls giggled and argued as a sparkling goddess danced through a night sky. He watched warriors fighting with their hands, dressed in blue and black, and pale spiders climbing tall, cold mountains. Then the landscape fell into hot black-rock forests and with snarling wolves and swording slavers, a young woman with vacant golden eyes who always seemed to lurk behind him...

The days could have been months to his sleeping mind, or maybe mere minutes. Darkness made the world timeless and unreal, but daylight had not abandoned him in that little black cell. It came to him in dreams, some pleasant and some terrifying, some that might have been reality, but he could not tell and did not care to...

The first time he truly woke, he found himself pinned between a hard stone wall and the comfortable scent of Seven’s body. He did not know if it had been one or ten times that he had tried to hold him too tight and kiss him too hard, used too much of his meager strength to urge the lust of this man who was as much a stranger as a lover. Too tired to feel disappointment in the refusal, he usually slipped into unconsciousness just as quickly as the passion had risen. Eventually he was satisfied to be held, or more often to hold. By the time he had regained the energy to consider it again, the desire had been trained from the front of his mind.

Before he knew it, the real sun shone down on him. Hours of aimless wandering left his muscles fatigued and his head scrambled, and so he returned often. Even though his recovering personality detested the predictability of it, he could not help himself. Then the map—oh, the map—inspired him to stay out longer, to stretch his legs and set his mind to something. His growing understanding put light in his eyes and cheer in his step. He began to learn of Sylirans and their inane courtesies, and which shops would give him a bite for a look in place of a coin. And still he slept in the same bed every night, just like he had in suffocating Ravok, because in truth, he was not as much of a free spirit as he liked to think. The trials of the past melted from his demeanor when he walked the corridors of the citadel, but strange honesty settled in his blind eyes when he met Seven in the bed they shared. He did not talk about his day unless asked, but when he did, he never lied. He did not once try to pry or deceive when they talked. It was as if the little apartment were shielded from those sorts of petty games.

Victor seemed to have grown even stronger than he had been when he started out from the East, when an idea dawned on the mischief corner of his mind. Between the door and the bed, he had never felt completely at ease in the pitch darkness, so he decided one day that the room needed light—and perhaps more than that. He was busy all day making plans and purchases, and did not come home until long after Seven went to sleep. Well past midnight, he found the desk which had bruised his thigh so many times, and set a lantern on it. The oil sizzled noisily and sparked into a glowing mass of light, but still his friend did not wake. Victor laughed under his breath, crawling as quietly as possible to the opposite wall, where some paints and paintbrushes waited.

“Good morning, Leth-face!” He cried when Seven finally woke, beaming. Many colors were strewn over his face and old white shirt, which he had not worn once until then because it still smelled of a certain feline. As he stumbled to standing, a tiny pendant on a thin silver chain swayed out from under that shirt, softened by his desperate clutch in weeks past, but he did not bother with it. For now, his attention was filled with the stench of his art. He gestured happily to the wall with a still-wet brush. There he had painted a terrible mural, which touched the ground and rose as close to the ceiling as his arm could reach.

It was the land of his dreams. Many triangles, which were supposed to be rooftops, overlooked Ravok Lake, a dark blue blob that tore through the middle of the scene. Beneath the sun, forested hills rolled green. Beneath the moon, long vertical lines trailed upward: the distant Lhavit. In the center, there sat a vague attempt at unknown, mystical Alvadas. He had also drawn a little brown cat, and a blue-horned okomo drawing a cart. At the top, in the sky, a vildani floated between crude representations of Zintila and Viratas. Victor’s countenance did not seem at all tired for the night he lost for his work; he was too proud of his art and his idea. “I gave you a window,” he said, “I thought you needed one. What do you think?”

With a beat, the pale-again hands dropped their tools on the table and the full-again lips added, “You’d better get ready. We’ve got a day on the town ahead of us, just you wait!”
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Reciprocation [Victor Lark]

Postby Seven Xu on June 22nd, 2011, 4:39 pm

The chipper greeting did little to rouse Seven from his lucid consciousness any faster, although it did garner a smile and a lofty response. “Leth-face?” When his eyes grew accustomed to the light and he sat up from the suffocating swath of blankets wrapped around his nudity, he saw the mural and his thin smile flourished into a mirthful grin. It was huge, taller than both of them and as wide as Victor’s arms could reach and contained nearly everything that passed between their lips in their brief stay in a world of darkness – a world that Victor had vanquished with the likes of burning oil, wire and glass – it was unpolished and lopsided, but the sentiment behind the mural certainly wasn’t lost on Seven. “It’s amazing,” he breathlessly remarked before his attention was drawn to Victor’s paint-smeared face. Embellished by the yellow light, those dark eyes flashed with newfound life behind thick lashes and despite his dirtied and worn clothing he no longer looked gaunt and sickly.

“You really listened to everything, didn’t you?” Seven stood, letting the linen sheets slide from his hips and down his legs as his feet touched the cold floor. Thin fingers groped along the floor until they found his black trousers and he stepped into them, pulling them over his hips. They were well-worn, but they fit well – Seven liked the way the thick fabric hugged his thighs – and while the knees were wearing paper-thin the button still fastened and there were no permanent stains that he could see. Victor hadn’t really seen him in much light since their drunken adventure at the ‘Stallion’s Rear’, and this played in the back of Seven’s mind in his apprehensive approach towards the mural. He reached out, fingertips grazing a bit of the dark blue and leaving behind a wave in the still-wet lake. A quiet apology followed brushing off the streak of blue along his trousers. “Everything is here - oh!” A delightful chirp escaped the halfblood as he laid eyes on the tiny, fluffy Okomo; that was by far his favorite detail and it merited a chuckle. This time wandering digits would not distort the crude image he found so endearing.

Seven straightened and turned to face Victor, garnet eyes glittering in the light of the lantern. “This is the nicest thing …” he trailed off, and a hand rose to cup Victor’s painted chin. There was a short pause, a hesitation, before Seven leaned in to close the space between them, to press his white lips to the plush pink of Victor’s, to inhale his scent and steal his breath; to hold on as long as he felt he could. The darkness had provided him with a shield, an inky black security blanket and now despite the cotton that wrapped and fit his form he felt naked in the light. The contact broke with the same burn of venom Victor would have experienced nearly three weeks ago and soft fingers firmly pushed what he could of the paint away from the line of Victor’s jaw, followed by brushing off the tingling acid from his impossibly soft bottom lip. Seven exhaled, flashed a radiant smile and took a step back to admire the artwork again.

“I love it.”

As quickly as the fleeting passion overcame Seven it was gone, replaced by a jovial grin and a probing finger at the stained fabric of Victor’s bedraggled top. “You can’t expect me to go out into public with you looking like that, can you?” Turning on his heel, Seven approached a chest at the end of his bed that held the remainder of his clothing when it wasn’t being worn and flipped open the heavy unlocked lid with both hands before reaching down and fishing about until a content “ah ha!” signaled he had found what he was looking for. A flash of white streaked through the air as Seven tossed one of his own shirts at Victor. “You can borrow this; it doesn’t smell like the Wildlands and it isn’t covered in paint.”

The morning sun was already well on her way to climbing to her highest point in the cloudless azure sky when the pair had made it far enough out of the bowels of the gloomy Bittern District for there to be windows and tiny courtyards again – and people, oh the people; many of which had far lower standards of hygiene than Seven, bumping and pushing nearly shoulder to shoulder – and they soon crossed from the confines of the fortress walls into open air of Winthrop Alley. Seven’s thin arms broke out into goose bumps and a shiver ran down his spine at the sudden rush of the crisp morning breeze that came off of the sea and left the summers in Syliras relatively mild. The overwhelming sulfur scent from the Ironworks invaded his senses and, in fear of losing Victor in the growing crowd, a pale hand grasped at the human’s forearm. Victor had given him little information on what exactly they were doing, or where they were going. His penchant for mystery would vex Seven if he wasn’t so infatuated with the man. “So,” he finally spoke up; having followed Victor this far in silent amazement of the man’s recognition of the city it was time to probe him for answers, “what exactly do you have planned?”
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Reciprocation [Victor Lark]

Postby Victor Lark on June 23rd, 2011, 6:35 am

He wanted to see Seven’s eyes as he neared, but they escaped behind white lashes as their lips met and Victor could not help but close his eyes in return. The second exposure to the half-venom tasted almost sweet now that he was aware enough to appreciate it, pouring into him a sensation that felt stronger than any frail, transient emotion.

Victor might have fallen forward in an attempt to prolong the kiss, if he had been days younger. But his proud composure held him straight, kept his lips peculiarly flat as his friend derided his appearance. For as long as he had spent working on the night’s project, he forgot about it as quickly as he had thought of it; plans for the future took precedence, which had been unwittingly guessed by the hands that rifled through a storage chest. Seven had known Victor longer than he had known the spider-kin, it seemed, and he wondered if the trifling secrets of his mind bled into his expression. He exchanged the ruined linen for the infinitely satisfying smell of a Seven’s attire, but remained in his dotted pants as he slipped into his city shoes. They abandoned the paints and blew out the light, then escaped into the outdoors. He did not say a word until he was prodded with a question.

“Well that would ruin it, wouldn’t it?” He answered with a wily smile, gripping the hand that clutched his arm and pulling it relentlessly through the crowd. “Come on!”

As they progressed, smaller-than-average bodies weaving nimbly between living and stinking obstacles at Victor’s lead, Seven might have noticed how they kept to the sunlight. In his explorations, the foreigner had noticed how much the city was like a stone cage, and had taken to walking where the sky seemed widest. He stopped at a store where the door was painted pink and entered with the tinkling of a bell. The pastry shop’s morning rush was at its final stretches, but the tired young girl behind the pretty display still waved heartily at him as he entered. He bent towards Seven’s ear and pointed at the dwindling supply of breakfast sweets, explaining with happy sarcasm, “We’ll need a proper meal, to start off! Go up and pick out which one you’d like; I’ll be right back.”

Then he released his hand and slithered to the back, where he distracted the girl from her duties as coin-taker. Their conversation made her smile and glance away, but as her eyes strayed they settled for a second on Victor’s pale associate. The frown on her lips lingered longer than he liked; he straightened from where he leaned against the daintily carved wood and took her hand, mouth moving rapidly. The gesture did not quite cure her disgruntlement, but the glow in her eyes flickered anew like a candle that had survived a strong breeze. She accepted a pair of coins and retrieved a cranberry scone for him, brisk to Seven as she handed over his choice.

Victor did not seem to notice. Since the hassle of eating while walking seemed greater than his distaste for ceilings, he moved to a small table in the corner. As he sat, he glanced restlessly at the windowless wall and said idly, “That map of yours is a godsend, Seven. I haven’t been everywhere, but I plan to, I tell you that. This city is so big, but it seems so small from the inside. I don’t know how you stand it.” He was, perhaps, speaking too fast. He found more excitement in building the suspense than in the prospect of their destination—though it was only the first of many.
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Reciprocation [Victor Lark]

Postby Seven Xu on June 23rd, 2011, 4:07 pm

Weaving through the crowd hand in hand did little to calm Seven’s thumping heart. Crowds were never something he found comfort in, though if he openly admitted such a fact he feared being ridiculed by Victor. He could almost hear that adorable, taunting voice in his head, ‘Why move to Syliras if you hate big crowds, Leth-face?’ the thought made him grin and squeeze their entangled fingers and he fantasized a snarky reply. The sharp jingle of the bell as they entered the tiny shop jolted Seven from his daydream and his pale hand released Victor’s as the man slipped away to talk to the clerk.

The look he garnered from the shop’s employee did little to phase the halfblood as he leered through ruddy glass at the dwindling population of glistening sugary treats. The smell of bread and chocolate wafted under his nose and brought a smile to his face. A black-tipped finger pressed against thick glass to gesture to his selection as he and the girl exchanged glances. It was hard to tell sometimes if someone was amazed or disgusted by him. Seven didn’t seem to mind either way; most odd looks were brushed off with a thin smile. A thought to wear a hood, his leather gloves or some other sort of covering had occurred to him on more than one occasion; but a hooded and masked figure seemed just as unnerving as a willowy androgynous boy with bright eyes like apples and with skin too pale to be entirely human.

Seven’s ‘proper meal’ consisted of a palm-sized oat cake drizzled in dark chocolate. It sat on the table in front of him as he broke off a piece of the circle between his thumb and index finger. It crumbled and he lifted a mélange of crumbs and chocolate to drop between his hungry lips. He often denied himself sweets; they were expensive and held little for nutritional value. Today, it seemed, was a different kind of day. The sugar tickled his tongue and he nearly blurted out an ecstatic laugh; it was tamed into a grin and he eagerly reached for the entire oatcake to take a larger bite.

“I’m glad you like your map,” Seven replied after swallowing a generous mouthful of the flaky pastry. It was all he managed to squeeze in before Victor had changed the subject. Seven nearly laughed again; he wanted to comment on the Ravokian’s amazing transformation from a passive vagrant to this bubbling, endearing – if not a little overwhelming - personality. “The open areas aren’t so bad; like the Stone Gardens, that’s where I spend a lot of my time. There is also a beach near the docks.” Seven’s leather-wrapped toes found the edge of his chair and knees pulled to his chest as he leaned over himself to munch on the sweet oat cake. As perilous as it had been, Seven missed the freedom that came with crossing the Suvan, seeing nothing but a blue dome of sky as far as the eye could see meeting a vast expanse of water; at night, the stars reflected on the calm around them and made him feel as if he were floating through the cosmos itself.

More than once Seven’s gaze would pour into those dark eyes and he would take note of the man’s discomfort beneath a roof surrounded by walls. Anyone, he decided, would prefer to be outside after spending so much time in a stifling black cell. Seven hastily swallowed the remainder of the pastry soon after Victor polished his off and stood. “Not even a hint?” The question felt desperate, and his stomach twisted in the building anticipation. The bell rang again signaling their exit. Seven didn’t immediately grasp for Victor’s hand; even though his fingers twitched and ached for the warm contact, he was happy merely walking beside him in the open air. There was no need to stretch himself taller, no feeling of inadequacy in his modest stature. Again, he allowed Victor to take the lead, pushing a path through Winthrop Alley beneath the expanse of blue sky and the warm glow of Syna, avoiding the cold, murky shadows free standing buildings cast. It wasn’t long before Seven’s fingers gave in and wrapped around Victor’s, more out of necessity than desire.

When his inquiry was met with derisive silence, Seven couldn’t help but smirk as he added, “You’re impossible.”
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Reciprocation [Victor Lark]

Postby Victor Lark on June 26th, 2011, 7:47 am

The girl gave a smiling wave as they departed and Victor replied with a similar gesture, teasing a half-wink which may or may not have happened. He kept close to Seven as he lead him past many more store-fronts; he did not want to stray ahead and seem too hasty, after all. Not even a glance answered the continued inquisition, but he did smile at “impossible.” He wondered whether it was for affection or exasperation that Seven had called him such a thing. He could not say if he preferred one over the other.

The smell of the sea grew as the streets widened between unattached buildings. After many chimes (in which Victor secretly had to retrace his steps), he stopped in the middle of a district which he would later remember was called Warehouse. A polished wooden door stood before them. Across its middle, delicately raised letters read An Elegant Weave. Victor kept his hand on Seven’s as he pushed into the shop without hesitation or consequence.

Cloth-lined walls and fashion displays invited them into a little world of colors and textures and vanities. “We’ll need proper attire, as well!” He said finally, grinning with a child’s delight. He withdrew his grasp again to abandon Seven for another, though much older, lady. She would be kinder in regarding the half-blood, but less responsive to Victor’s idle flattery. He told her his name and she reached mechanically beneath the desk. She produced the pile of neatly folded white linen and he picked up the top piece by its shoulders, for inspection. It was a light summer jacket with a lined lapel, and beneath it lay a matching shirt with thin black pinstripes. Though he would have usually chosen something darker, Victor had lately found himself peculiarly obsessed with the color white. And as he was without any more decent clothes, he had commissioned a suit for himself.

He looked back up at the woman and tipped his head at the man beside him. On that cue, she retrieved a roll of measuring tape and moved to the other side of the desk, so that she might begin taking Seven’s measurements. “I am buying you some clothes,” Victor explained, draping his own over one arm. It was not an offer to be disputed. “As repayment, if you need a reason. What colors do you like?” He lingered for the answer, but would ultimately let Seven shop for his own cloth.

Then he escaped behind a nearby door. He had occupied that little nook for the majority of his last visit, testing the contents of the other half of the shop, before he had finally given up and invested in a custom outfit. They said they would have it finished by that evening, but he had been too tired to return. He regretted waiting longer than the day. Though the cloth was soft and loose, Victor thought he looked rather sharp. The color, at least, made a bold enough statement.

He regarded Seven as soon as he emerged, grinning, raising his eyebrows in anticipation of the inevitable question, “What do you think?”
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Reciprocation [Victor Lark]

Postby Seven Xu on June 27th, 2011, 3:41 pm

Seven opened his mouth in protest, but was cut off before he could gather his thoughts into a coherent argument. The attendant was already encircling him, prodding at his extremities with the measuring tape as she began to mumble his measurements under her breath, committing them to memory. “Victor, no! You don’t have to, I – black, I guess,” was all he managed to blurt out behind a searing blush before Victor slipped out of his sight. Seven licked his dry lips and narrowed his eyes curiously as he teetered on his toes to attempt to look after Victor, but was pulled back with a friendly hand belonging to the woman that was still attempting to take the squirming halfblood’s measurements.

Who would have known there were so many shades of black? Seven’s eyes went round as he was shown bolt upon bolt of black cloth in varying qualities and thicknesses. Silk, linen, cotton, wool blend – pearly lips opened and closed a few times and bony white fingers traced across the soft edges of black fabric, unable to make a choice. “This is hard,” a mumbled admission brought a genuine smile to the clerk’s face as Seven shifted his weight from one foot to the other, elbows propped on the countertop. A familiar voice pulled Seven from a seemingly impossible decision and he stood up straight again, turning his head towards the spot where Victor had initially disappeared.

“Oh!” a surprised chirp escaped those indecisive lips and the conflict of black cloth was forgotten. The candid grin was admittedly too wide and the pace at which he crossed the floor to inspect Victor may have been too eager. Fangs flashed beneath a silver-white corona of hair and wide crimson eyes noted Victor’s attire, crossing his arms across his chest to keep curious fingers from wandering to the familiar warmth he knew lingered beneath the white pinstriped shirt. Seven rocked backwards on his heels with the energy of a giddy child – one that would not have believed that this was the same Victor he met weeks ago. “I think it looks great, Lark.” his brows rose in response and he let Victor’s last name linger on the tip of his tongue, testing it.

Seven worried little about the fate of his old and worn clothing as he allowed himself a second, closer inspection of the tailored suit the dark-haired human wore. His elegant hands dropped from his chest and as he dipped around to Victor’s back, they snaked around his waist to grasp onto the soft white fabric of the jacket. “It fits well,” Seven’s breath broke hot over the back of Victor’s neck and he let his wrists linger at those narrow hips for a second too long before jerking away. There was a moment of lost willpower, then a flash in Seven’s eyes that read of shame and he mumbled an apology as the smile flattened. “You look good.” That was the only explanation he could muster and although it was sincere, the burn of pink returned to conquer the porcelain of his cheekbones. It was uncontrollable, and it prickled his skin and made it difficult to think straight. “A-at least let me look around at what they already have made first; I don’t want you to have to buy me something custom made if there is an alternative.”

“Go take a look, come back to me when you’ve decided. I’m here all day.” The polished feminine voice pulled Seven out of his trance and he peered over Victor’s shoulder at her with an awkward half-smile. She pulled two stacked bolts to her bosom and made a conscious effort not to roll her eyes as the pair slipped off into the other half of the store.
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Reciprocation [Victor Lark]

Postby Victor Lark on June 28th, 2011, 7:11 pm

Where usually a shade of discomfort might have painted Victor’s countenance when Seven removed himself from sight, the tender touch over his belt strangely relieved him. The moment was brief. As soon as Seven withdrew, Victor spun around again, lifting a hand to that blushing face. He knew well enough that the blossom of embarrassment stemmed mostly from their proximity, but his unsympathetic mind was confused and intrigued as to why the man seemed to insist on it, nonetheless. The electricity between them left him deaf to the merchant woman’s words, as well as most of Seven’s, as he said simply, “You donnot have to call me Lark.”

He was not ashamed of the name, was in fact mostly proud of it. But it reminded him of his mother, even when he said it himself, and gave him that unnerving feeling of emptiness which he could only compare to absentminded loss. Anyhow, he would not have his friend regarding him with a stranger’s title.

They moved to the racks of hanging clothes and proud displays, and Victor’s grin of excitement did not fade as his discerning eyes looked over the selection. He let show his experience among the merchant elite as he chatted, “Black is a bad color for Summer, dear Seven. What about something verdant and green, or... red?” He found a scarlet cravat on display and draped it, untied, over Seven’s white neck. “They say you should not match your cloth to your eye, but I think you could make an exception.” Victor had disobeyed that rule too many times before; it was difficult not to, when you were a Lark.

He found himself among a line of thin cotton pants and decided to choose a dark grey pair for himself, and another colored something like chocolate. He hung them on his arm, over his old pants and Seven’s shirt. He would buy it without trying it on, as he knew his own body and thought not to waste time. Forgetting to regard Seven for the sake of browsing, he eventually picked out two more shirts with unassuming tones. Then suddenly he found himself straying into a section of woman’s wear and, glancing back to make sure those red eyes could not see, stole one from the rack and escaped into another dressing room.

Chimes later, he was standing behind a head of white hair, clad in a long, dark cerulean dress. That same silver necklace, which might have sometimes pressed against Seven’s back as they slept, was tucked away beneath the blue bosom, but its chain still shone daintily in the light. His mischievous mouth betrayed a snickering laugh before he could reach out to prod Seven with a lace-gloved hand. “Look!” he whispered, as if keeping his voice down would take any notice from him. He moved back and stepped in a circle that was not quite graceful enough to be a twirl, revealing a pair of bare feet. The simple cotton gown rippled without a proper petticoat and drooped from his uncorseted abdomen. It was not elaborately embroidered or bejeweled, but its allure remained in strips of sleeves that hung around his arms and left his shoulders and collarbone bare. Eyes shining with bright amusement, he grabbed Seven’s hand had began to drag him to the souce of his new attire. “There are more over here,” he insisted, “You have to try one, too!”
Last edited by Victor Lark on July 15th, 2011, 4:00 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Victor Lark
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Reciprocation [Victor Lark]

Postby Seven Xu on June 29th, 2011, 2:36 pm

Seven’s fingertips dove into the soft, silky folds of the cravat as it was wrapped around his neck. Dipping his nose to inhale the crisp scent of new fabric he seemed to nod in agreement with Victor’s advice. “No black,” he repeated behind a flushed smile and kept the scarf in his possession as they parted ways to look at various displays and racks of clothing. Left to his own devices; no haughty grinning face to peer over his shoulder and offer suggestions and drape fabric over his shoulders, Seven found himself floundering in a seemingly infinite amount of choices. White fingers danced across a table that laid out various tunics in sizes and colors, and he nearly grabbed an orange jerkin before hesitating and pulling away. Brows furrowed and he muttered in self-exasperation before turning to look over his shoulder. “Victor, I don’t know if -,”

He was gone. Vapid red eyes blinked away a layer of haze as he snapped out of his indecisive trance and he crossed the worn hardwood floor in a frantic search for his companion. “Victor, Vict-,”

“Look!”

A familiar laugh tickled Seven’s ears and as he turned on his boot heel the white hair Victor addressed morphed into a face – a face that subsequently burst into laughter. Despite Victor’s attempts to stay hushed, Seven’s inquiry was a bit louder than his normal tone. “What the petch are you wearing?” Reaching out to grab at the flowing sleeves that wrapped loosely around Victor’s shoulders, Seven looked him over while the giggle still bubbled in his throat.

He wasn’t allowed sufficient time to leer at the outline of a boyish frame beneath a swath of blue fabric before his hand was snatched from the linen sleeve and he was dragged towards a display of finished dress designs. Seven would open his mouth in protest, but simply laughed again as a laced glove reached up to his lips to hush him as a dress that seemed like little more than a pile of sewn together fabric was pushed into his arms. It was an odd game, reminiscent of his sisters back in Lhavit when they would sneak into their mothers’ closet as children and try on her oversized dresses and shoes. Seven’s fingers groped at the soft white chiffon fabric as his vigilant crimson gaze bounced off of the walls of the store; besides them, the floor was vacant. There was another hesitation, a moment’s thought before he inevitably gave in, and as he hung his head in defeat, he swore he could feel the grin widening on Victor’s face.

“Fine.”

Victor would earn a playful glare before the dressing room door shut. The square room was large enough to turn around in, but that was it. A warped, full-length mirror adorned the wall opposite the door. Seven’s brows raised and he leaned forward to momentarily fuss with his bangs in the ghostly reflection. It had been some time since he’d seen himself in such a large mirror, and his expression turned particularly discerning as he shed his clothing and stared down the naked halfblood that was glaring back at him with its unnerving garnet eyes. “You’re too soft,” he muttered to the reflection that mocked the movement of his lips and forced him to smile before allowing the ragged cotton to slide over his shoulders, and down over his chest and hips.

The dress could not have been more deliberately perfect. The cotton chiffon fabric hung loose around his chest and an oval neckline spread wide over his narrow shoulders, showcasing a collarbone only a shade darker and pinker than the ivory dress itself. A thick band of black silk tied around the smallest point on his waist before the dress billowed out again, hanging around his thighs and coming to a black-lined finish above his knees. The fabric was light and elegant and moved with him, shying away from his square figure and showcasing a pair of hairless legs that could have belonged to his sister and no one would have known the difference. Seven’s eyes narrowed at the reflection now, hands reaching up and diving into a mop of white hair. Then a fanged grin tightened his lips and he leaned against the door as it swung open, expecting Victor to be waiting outside in that flowing blue gown he’d so boldly thrown on earlier.

Seven’s grin flattened immediately and the familiar warm pink bled out on his cheeks when he found that was not the case.
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Reciprocation [Victor Lark]

Postby Victor Lark on July 1st, 2011, 5:49 am

A shock of white had replaced the blue. Clothed again in his linen suit, Victor watched Seven emerge with his arms akimbo and a thin smile on his lips. He had never liked to be kept waiting, and in his boredom had decided against the dress. It had fallen from his body much easier than it was donned, and the coat and trousers were infinitely more comfortable, anyhow. Seven, on the other hand, was a sight to behold. The alien fragility which had first piqued his interest was entirely apparent beside the delicate chiffon, almost more so than when had seen the half-blood nude. He thought to let a look of approval settle in his gaze, but instead his chin cocked to one side when that blushing expression fell to something wholly unfamiliar. While the pale man was certainly more attractive without his color, the absence of that blatant display unsettled Victor. His smile faltered.

When it rose anew, it was full of teeth, half amused and half enthused by the design of another brilliant idea. The crimson eyes read uneasy, maybe disappointed. Victor might have liked to investigate it further, but today was not a day for worry. He would rather explore the meanings behind the many shades of Seven. Perhaps he could inspire his cheeks to match his eyes.

Victor’s brow forgot to bend with compassion as he neared the man and his pretty little dress. He held him gently below the hips, relishing the feel of his thighs beneath the thin fabric. Their noses touched barely, but he resisted the urge to kiss. “You look like...” Well, a girl, for one. It was remarkable, the likeness. As he could not conjure up an appropriate word, he left the phrase dangling. “You look great,” he breathed. Dark eyes darted in his head in search of some clue, and suddenly he stepped back.

Laughing, he took another hold of those long fingers and swept through the isle like a reckless dancer. “A man would buy a girl a drink, if she looked like you! You could save a whole stack of money!” Then he let go, eyeing the whole of Seven’s face even as he retrieved the rest of his chosen purchases from another dressing room. In a corner of his memory, Victor recalled stories of sisters. Perhaps they had instilled in him that girlish knack for pretending, or played games about truths and dares. He intentionally kept his distance then, secretly begging his companion to follow as he mentioned, “You are so beautiful,” It was the truth.

“...I’d be a pig if I did not buy it for you. Did you have an eye on anything else?” He stepped close again, but his arms were full of garments, old and new. Standing only beside the white ghost of a woman, he turned his head with a look of camaraderie, not kindness. “Let’s go. We have more places to go! Things to do! We can give it back tonight, if you don’t ruin it. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind if you wore it on out. Breakfast was not enough; let’s enjoy an early lunch, like the Illythians do!” Then came a sudden, surprising lean inward, which would surely give way to at least a little pink. His eyebrows raised and he bit his bottom lip, in an unconscious imitation of those white fangs’ habit. “For me.” It was the dare.
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