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 the edge of a knife [M / R], - tag: esme -
victor dante laurent
 Posted: Apr 18 2017, 01:16 AM
Quote

claude frollo
FROM hunchback of notre dame

❝It's not my fault if in God's plan He made the Devil so much stronger than a man❞



68 YEARS
6'2"
nope
alone
8
mira

Offline

N/A


There was much in this world that Victor could honestly admit that he feared. It was all so strange to him even now that he had been within it for a number of years. He had melded among this metropolis, it's people, and the government that ran throughout. He had sat and tried to untangle the years of history he needed desperately to catch up on, trying to understand the steps that had been taken to get from where he was in his world to this one that he now stood within. He had even sat within a church or two here, trying desperately to find his faith and even learning to feign it properly. He had learned to feign a great deal. He had always known such a skill to be useful since holding a public office. And his poker face was one of great ability. So he feigned little things.

He would pretend, for instance, that his coworkers birthday was a cause for a smile. That he actually cared for such displays of celebration. He would even clap after that horrible song the whole office insisted on singing. He feigned that he cared for the same tired old stories that his landlady told him as she crossed his path while he was trying to carry in groceries. Like he really did want to now just how her son was doing in his new home up in New Jersey. Or how her bratty grandchildren were. He even feigned that lack of fear in so many things he didn't have a handle on. Religion included.

He would swear up and down that he was perfectly at ease with all that he came into contact with. A calm and docile man without a care in the world, that was the assessment that others may say as they knew him. Perhaps a little grumpy and prone to irritation when he was tired of pretending. But overall? Not fearful. That wasn't an adjective he could see others gleaning from his outward appearance and personality. Perhaps only to a trained eye maybe. Lawana could possibly deduce it. She was decidedly too keen for her own good and for careful his sanity sometimes - but that may have been Victor's sole exception.

Why was it so important that none see the fear that he knew riddled through him? Well it was all quite a private matter he rather thought. One need not open up and discuss his fears or qualms with just anyone. It wasn't as though Victor was any bit an open book. He was such a close off individual that he rarely got questioned about the grown children he claimed to have that lived far away. Or the wife he was said to have divorced. All lies. But all crafted in order to keep him nestled within the community he had walked into. A society far different than that which he had ruled over when he was a man of importance. Here? He was simply a man. And men that were common were thought to possess common minds. Ones prone to fear. He would rail against that thought.

He wanted to be a man without fear. Without weaknesses. Without ties that bound him to any one or any thing. And why was such a life so coveted for him? For one reason and one reason alone. And she worked in a filthy hole in the wall of a place that he knew by name, by reputation, and sadly also by sight from safely staying far outside from it's doors and looking upon it with both curiosity and disdain. For was that not how his relationship with her seemed to go?

One of push and pull. One of a siren's lure and a harsh repellent. One with both the warmth of a comforting fire and the stinging of a pyre consuming them each in turn. It was a relationship that he had tried to keep at bay. One that he needed desperately to push far from him. Remove from his life completely if it were at all possible. But something in him simply couldn't leave her to her own devices. Especially since it was clear that something had happened to keep her away from the bridge. The one that would take her to their old world and save her memories. Keep the truth ringing true inside her mind. That was no longer the case. She had forsaken that world and those truths in favor of forgetting entirely it would seem. And he hardly blamed her. He often thought about doing the same. But oh the guilt that plagued him. He knew better than to dream that he could escape all he had done. All that had been done to him. And he would be a fool to think he could keep that plague from spreading into this world to ruin him all over again.

No. It was perhaps better this way. The longer he held the truth close to his heart and let it eat away at him the longer he could ensure that he alone bore the weight of their old lives. The longer he could hide her from that story that almost spelled out her ruin. That ruin constructed by his very own hands. He remembered all too well standing there watching her seemingly being blotted out from his world once and for all. Only to now be parked far enough away to watch her leave her place of employ and not be detected himself. He was hidden away but watchful at those doors. Waiting for her head of dark hair to move within the light that was cast from the building itself, under the glow of the streetlights nearest to it, and the vague haze of the moon that was a backdrop to this moment he was witness to.

He hadn't once spoken to her since coming here. But he ensured that she was well taken care of. Her rent always getting lower little by little as her landlord was properly bribed to do just that. Government benefits would come into her mailbox that could ensure she may avoid worrying over state affairs, money for food, and even a lovely little monthly stipend that she would be told was actually thanks to some obscure federal settlement on behalf of her distant relation to a race that had faced a great misdeed in history. He could do what he could to help her. And never ever let it connect back to him. She could never know it was he who tried to make her life easier. Never know that he was the one that made loud and bothersome neighbors be evicted and moved. That he was the one that sent in fines to her boss alongside legal documents all too flowery with threats that he shape up and treat her and the girls better inside their sinful walls. That he was the reason she was never without a delivery of cake that would remind of her lost France each and every birthday that came round.

Victor was the one that orchestrated it all. But he took great care to hide it all. And she would hopefully never have to utter a syllable to him at all. He hoped deep down in his soul that he never had to get any closer than this car was in watching her from it's place hidden across the street and behind a few other vehicles. He knew the reason he needed that distance was for one reason. Fear. Fear of how much control she tore from him. Fear of how much desire she awoke in him. Fear of what she promised in her very existence and the way her eyes moved across you with such a playful and yet assertive way. It made you feel both in danger and perfectly at ease all at once. The push. The pull. He was not strong enough for it and he knew damn well he could never hope to resist her. If he got any closer than he was right now? He would be a ruined man.

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esme agnes bellerose
 Posted: Apr 18 2017, 01:13 PM
Quote

esmeralda
FROM hunchback of notre dame

❝ You mistreat this poor boy the same way you mistreat my people. You speak of justice, yet you are cruel to those most in need of your help!❞



27 YEARS
5'1"
pansexual
single
22
toby

Offline



WARNING: extreme language, sexual assault, violence

It had been another in what was becoming a worryingly frequent trend of rough nights. The evening had started off slow, a few regulars dotting the tables and lingering at the bar. A bit of banter with the security guard before she went up on stage, downing a cocktail with one of her favourite patrons (an older man who seemed to come largely for the company these days, after his wife had left him- a bit of pervert at times, but completely harmless and even sweet in a way) before going back up for her second set. It had been during her third set and final performance that things had gone to hell. It had started with a few catcalls and crude phrases being slung her way; easy to brush off, it was hardly the first time that had happened after all. A look was thrown over her shoulder, a raised brow and a narrowed gaze- a warning. If they had continued, they would be escorted out, as was the way of the place.

Unfortunately that look, that act of defiance brought about a far more vicious onslaught. Where before the men had been oddly complimentary (if lude, and entirely inappropriate) it now turned to flat out insults. Derogatory comments regarding her colour, her weight, her personality- of which they knew nothing- everything they could think of, they threw her way. For a while she was able to ignore it, to block out the voices and turn them to white noise, certain that the bouncers would take care of the issue sooner or later. When it became clear that it wasn’t going to be so simple, for the lads were evading the bouncers in efforts not unlike a cliché cartoon escapade- she stopped. Signalling for the music to be cut, she’d descended from the stage and taken refuge within her dressing room, well aware of the cries of disappointment as she fled through the door.

Willing the tears back as the owner of the establishment came to talk to her; both to ensure she was alright, and to chide her for leaving the stage so abruptly without giving him time to arrange a quick switch over- she held her tongue and nodded, in no mood to argue. Her request to leave early was accepted, and she dressed herself; lifting her hair out of the way so he could assist with her zipper. When he lingered a little too long, and inhaled the scent of her perfume she pretended not to notice. When his hand drifted a little too low as he wished her a safe journey home- she did not respond. She kept the disgust within, hidden behind a pretty smile and a wave as she stepped out of the door and onto the street.

Pulling her coat tighter around her against the bitter chill of the evening, she set off down the street. She’d taken the front door this time, rather than the back-alley staff entrance; just in case the troublemakers were lurking. It had happened before after all, and she wasn’t about to risk it. Even if that occurrence had led to her making a new friend- the bruise on her jaw had only just faded, she wasn’t keen on earning another badge of honour quite so soon.

As she walked past the alley she quickened her step, but too late. An all-too familiar shout echoed down the space and she ran, heels clicking on the pavement as the two young men followed suit. As she ran, something stirred in the recesses of her mind; vague memories of bare feet running down cobbled stones, of fire, of screaming- and suddenly she was screaming again, as a hand grabbed the back of her coat and used her momentum to swing her around into the wall of the next alley. Her head bounce off the wall and silenced her cries- wide eyes staring up into the gleeful, twisted grin of her attacker. He stank of cheap vodka and she gagged on the strength of the scent, turning her face away only to feel his fingers gripping her chin, forcing her to look up at him.

“Fucking look at us that way will ya, ya uppity cunt?”

He shook her, other hand at her wrist and knee wedged between her legs, keeping her pinned against the wall. “What, think you’re too good for me and Jake here? You’re nothing more than a whore, you know. Up there, dancing the way ya do, wearin' fuck all. Obviously beggin' for a good fuck." Jake lingered at the edge of the alley, watching out for trouble while his companion let his free hand wander slowly down, squeezing at her breast through the opening in the coat. Rain had begun to fall and with it came clarity, and Esme’s eyes snapped up from the offending hand right into the bastards face.

“I am better than you. You are nothing more than scum, attacking women in the night because you can’t get a girl to spend a night with you the honest way!”

Her accent came out thick and French with her anger, and she swung her right hand round- with every intention of punching him right in the jaw. Her sudden rage had him off guard and she succeeded- though was soon hit right back with a solid slap to the face. Reeling from the pain in both her cheek and her hand, she gasped for breath, looking up just in time to see a third man enter the alleyway. Jake confronted him, and her unnamed assailant turned to utter a low warning; “Fuck off old man, she’s ours. We got a score to settle.” As he spoke, he grabbed both her wrists and pinned them above her head, obviously eager to avoid another bruise.

i got carried away | [outfit] | tag: victor dante laurent

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