Noble Sacrifices for Love
Even without the two bottles of Château Mouton Rothschild Pauillac 1986, Sebastian would have had trouble answering the question posed.
It was expected, by the romantics of the world, that he beat upon his chest and wail over Annette. His sacrifice of her, giving her up so that a better man could bring her the true happiness that she deserved, or at least the dreary humdrum respectable love she wanted, made for a good 150 words, didn't it? His haircloth suit was at the cleaners, though, and it didn't go with his new shoes, anyway. Besides, that was over a year ago, and virgin infatuation had a shorter lifespan than Heather Graham comedies on ABC in the real world. Other than a lingering dislike of taxis, he really couldn't muster an emotion that would merit 150 word outburst of heartfelt, insightful bullshit.
Of course, he could satisfy the depraved side of the group, and lament his failure to secure the prize from Kathryn. What had he sacrificed, for love of his ice bitch stepsister? He thought. He thought some more. Had he sacrificed nights of sleep? No...Sebastian slept like a proverbial baby, thank you very much. Had there been a lingering desire, painful in it's frustrated passion? Ummmm, no...one protracted jerk in the shower and he was pretty much over that. He had sacrificed his soul, in the bet, he supposed. But that wasn't for love, that was for mutinous pussy. Besides, what was his soul worth, really? Less than the overpriced wine he was consuming? More than Kathryn's gold plated twat? After all, there were actually a few janitors, cab drivers, doormen and bouncers in New York that had never had a taste of the Rothschild vintage. It was all relative, he supposed.
But, now what? He had to think of something to satisfy the angst whore readers. With a sigh, he climbed up on the concrete railing around the balcony of the apartment. Suicide for love always made for a good read, right? And the mods might even let him off from whatever sapfest topic they conjure up for Valentine's Day. Hell, he could have them sobbing, if he quoted the right Evanescence or Kelly Clarkson lyric, before casting himself down through the snowy night, only to smash his young hardbody onto the...what...is that P Diddy's Escalade? Oh, well, he'd need to watch the landing.
Where was he? Oh, yes, plunging suicide, angsty lyric...you still have, all of me...wine bottle in hand for dramatic swigs while chest thumping. Excellent. Strange musings, indeed. He sways...speech...right...here we go.
"Oh, Kathryn...oh, Annette...my loves, my hearts, my GOD! I sacrifice this life, such as it is, for the love of you both! I shall never kiss your tender lips...either set...either one of you...ever again. I shall never hold you in my arms, and tell you how the stars above pale in the glory of your brown...or blue...eyes. My loves! How I miss you! I cannot go on, cannot survive, cannot find the will to live without...hang on..."
His cell phone's ringing.
"Yeah...you're kidding. Be right there."
Sacrificial love suicide will have to wait. The Olsen twins challenged Lindsay Lohan to a blow job contest over at Strata, and Neil asked Sebasitian to be a judge.
Duty over sacrifice. It's tough being noble.
Sebastian Valmont
Cruel Intentions
Misc. Films
It was expected, by the romantics of the world, that he beat upon his chest and wail over Annette. His sacrifice of her, giving her up so that a better man could bring her the true happiness that she deserved, or at least the dreary humdrum respectable love she wanted, made for a good 150 words, didn't it? His haircloth suit was at the cleaners, though, and it didn't go with his new shoes, anyway. Besides, that was over a year ago, and virgin infatuation had a shorter lifespan than Heather Graham comedies on ABC in the real world. Other than a lingering dislike of taxis, he really couldn't muster an emotion that would merit 150 word outburst of heartfelt, insightful bullshit.
Of course, he could satisfy the depraved side of the group, and lament his failure to secure the prize from Kathryn. What had he sacrificed, for love of his ice bitch stepsister? He thought. He thought some more. Had he sacrificed nights of sleep? No...Sebastian slept like a proverbial baby, thank you very much. Had there been a lingering desire, painful in it's frustrated passion? Ummmm, no...one protracted jerk in the shower and he was pretty much over that. He had sacrificed his soul, in the bet, he supposed. But that wasn't for love, that was for mutinous pussy. Besides, what was his soul worth, really? Less than the overpriced wine he was consuming? More than Kathryn's gold plated twat? After all, there were actually a few janitors, cab drivers, doormen and bouncers in New York that had never had a taste of the Rothschild vintage. It was all relative, he supposed.
But, now what? He had to think of something to satisfy the angst whore readers. With a sigh, he climbed up on the concrete railing around the balcony of the apartment. Suicide for love always made for a good read, right? And the mods might even let him off from whatever sapfest topic they conjure up for Valentine's Day. Hell, he could have them sobbing, if he quoted the right Evanescence or Kelly Clarkson lyric, before casting himself down through the snowy night, only to smash his young hardbody onto the...what...is that P Diddy's Escalade? Oh, well, he'd need to watch the landing.
Where was he? Oh, yes, plunging suicide, angsty lyric...you still have, all of me...wine bottle in hand for dramatic swigs while chest thumping. Excellent. Strange musings, indeed. He sways...speech...right...here we go.
"Oh, Kathryn...oh, Annette...my loves, my hearts, my GOD! I sacrifice this life, such as it is, for the love of you both! I shall never kiss your tender lips...either set...either one of you...ever again. I shall never hold you in my arms, and tell you how the stars above pale in the glory of your brown...or blue...eyes. My loves! How I miss you! I cannot go on, cannot survive, cannot find the will to live without...hang on..."
His cell phone's ringing.
"Yeah...you're kidding. Be right there."
Sacrificial love suicide will have to wait. The Olsen twins challenged Lindsay Lohan to a blow job contest over at Strata, and Neil asked Sebasitian to be a judge.
Duty over sacrifice. It's tough being noble.
Sebastian Valmont
Cruel Intentions
Misc. Films