(no subject)
Who: Rose Bloom (THE UNGRATEFUL DWARF) and John Fields (AESOP'S BULL)
What: John is asked to pay a visit to Rose to discuss her 'bad behavior'
When: Sometime prior to the actual toad-vomiting hex
Where: Rose's apartment; New York
Rating: R for Rose.
Status: Begun as a gDoc, but continued in thread because even Google hates Rose.
ROSE: Tuesday afternoon. She hadn't left her apartment since the previous evening, alternating between her textbooks and the blaring television (and occasionally the compendiums when something PARTICULARLY amusing popped up involving her and carcasses) as she waited for a proposed five-fifteen visit from an "uncle". Pretty woman references to be inserted here. Flipping between channels, oh what choices there were when one could choose either bimbos teaching boys the facts of life in an Ashton Kutcher produced quality series, or the fiercest black woman of them all, Tyra, attempting to Oprahsize herself, there was a sharp head turn as the door-bell rang. What the fuck. It was three-thirty, not fucking five-fifteen, and she'd barely gotten around to gathering the mass heapings of clothing off the floor.
"JUST A FUCKING MINUTE." Running into the bathroom, highly aware of her lacking suitable night-wear on (indeed, a blush-worthy short dressing gown, did not the exciting lingerie make) and only the two coats of lip-gloss creamed across her mouth, there was a hurried dip into her make up bag. What the fuck. What the fuck, what the fuck, WHAT THE FUCK. Boys. Couldn't fucking wait to get their fucking rocks off. And skidding through the cramped flat, bolting to the door, she took a deep breath, plastered a sultry smile on her face and pulled open the door.
"SHIT." The sultry smile lasted a bare second before she recognized the figure. John. The Atheneum's very own Hagrid, and far more capable of beating the shit out of anyone that crossed a librarian's path. Which, as would come to no surprise to many, Rose was rather familiar with. Her barely clothed figure was immediately pulled out of the doorway, stepping back to attempt a hopeful slamming of the door and fleeing shimmy down the drain pipe. A plan that might have resulted in her untimely death considering her current fractured wrist, much to Anser's hypothetical joy; but the world was never to know, considering John's swift halting of her door slamming plans.
JOHN: John was not looking forward to this. Yes, he'd been on several errands of this sort before, and in general he didn't mind them, when the recipient was deserving of a lesson taught. However, he'd never been sent to talk to a girl before - and what's more, he was more than a little frightened of Rose Bloom, deserving or no. So it was that he looked vaguely uncomfortable when Rose opened her door to find him filling up pretty much the entire frame, his chin pressed down against his chest in a sheepish display of body language. "Miss Bloom, I got to come t--"
John was not particularly quick in mind nor in body, but what he lacked in speed he made up for in raw power. He managed to catch the door right before it slammed, and with almost no effort, gingerly pushed it back open again. He didn't want to risk ruining a perfectly nice door. "Now Rose, we got to talk and it won't do no good to try and-- and--" At this point John realized exactly what Rose was wearing as she received him, and were it possible, his cheeks would have flushed bright crimson. His lips moved soundlessly and his eyes fell, searching the area around Rose's body for anything else to focus on.
"Maybe... Maybe you'd want to go change into some proper clothes, first. I can wait for that." Despite his obvious discomfort he invited himself in, pushing gently past Rose without looking at her directly, having to duck slightly to get through the doorframe.
ROSE: "Fuck." Hissing as her escape plan was thrown to the rails by John's strength (an obvious power over her own waifish muscles), she'd taken several steps backwards with his presence looming into her apartment. Of course, those several stumbled steps backwards meant a foot hitting a wayward bra and her just managing to keep her balance as she slipped on the barely-there piece of lace. But following a good few seconds of teetering (and, as a sad testament to her lack of senses, momentary consideration towards jumping out the window to hit the fire escape), if there was no possible means of getting past the fucking oaf physically, then mental defiance and furthering his uncomfortability would have to do.
She turned to look at him, recovering from her moment of awkward imbalance with remarkable speed as she moved to idly lounge against the wall. He might not have been eyeing her directly; but there could be no doubts in anyone's mind that she WAS, and was currently lazily giving him a once over (Jesus fucking christ, she hoped he squirmed) before responding to his request for clothing. Sorry, John, the girl didn't actually OWN any proper clothing. "Right here, cuppycake?" A smirk, her fingers slipping down to linger on the tie of her dressing gown, pulling just ever so slightly, "I even have handcuffs if you want to punish me THAT way."
JOHN: Once John had managed to fit himself through the door and closed it behind himself, he just stood in front of it awkwardly, keeping his eyes down. After a moment he glanced up to see if she had gone to change, but only found her looking at him in that carnal way... And to say the result was 'squirming' would be an understatement. A look of mild panic flashed across his face and his eyes began to dart around desperately for something else to look at.
At the teasing of Rose's fingers on her robe, John nearly tripped over himself to object. "Oh no, that's not what I meant at all!" Just in case he didn't stop her in time he pivoted gracelessly on the spot, shifting his body to angle it so that he was pretty much turned facing towards the wall. "You can go do that in your bedroom, is probably best! I don't... I don't think handcuffs are all necessary, but that's... that's kind of you to offer, anyhow." He continued to stand awkwardly facing the wall, like an enormous chastised child.
ROSE: The laughter released at his obvious panic was loud, and not at all kind. Malicious grin stamped across her face, her fingers had deftly released the tie on her robe to reveal underwear; a revelation unknown to John thanks to his current position -- but Rose would have none of that as she swaggered, hips swinging, over to where he stood. Operation mentally torture the man-cunt until he left with her beating-free had begun. "Johnny, Johnny, Johnny." A hand slipped under the back of his shirt, "What's the MATTER?"
It was the easiest plan of action she could muster (and like the girl took any action that WASN'T easy, in all senses of the word) in order to avoid any more broken bones or possible bruising that hadn't been caused by the wayward teeth impression. No man paid for damaged goods, and her fucking hand had been enough of a hindrance without possible further physical defections. As easily as make-up could cover a black and blue lump, she'd all together rather prefer to AVOID having to put in the extra effort. And besides, this way? Was far more fucking amusing.
JOHN: Oh, goodness. At the feeling of a tiny hand sliding under his shirt and along his back, John panicked - he leapt forward to get away, without quite calculating into his plan that he was facing the wall. He went face-first into it with a mighty BUMP, and for a moment it almost seemed like he was actually going to go right through it, cartoon style. Alas the wall did not yield, and he was left to extricate himself as quickly as possible, trying to navigate away from Rose and around her furniture with little success. This was no china shop, but he was certainly living up to his namesake - tables were bumped, decorations upended and an unfortunate lamp toppled, each with a little sound of distress and apology from the mighty bull.
"Rose, that's not-- I mean to say, I don't think you-- You shouldn't be--" he tried to object, struggling to be polite as his usually slow, meticulous rumble of a voice tried to get thoughts out faster than it was able. He finally tried to position himself on the other side of a couch and turned to Rose, trying his damndest to don a stern look but still having the general aura of a cornered animal - the prey kind, not the predator. "Now Rose, you know I'm here to talk to you about your bad behavior recently, and I don't want to have to be mean about it, so maybe if you could just say you're sorry and promise to be more nicer from now on, we can just... I can go away and that can be that, okay?"
What: John is asked to pay a visit to Rose to discuss her 'bad behavior'
When: Sometime prior to the actual toad-vomiting hex
Where: Rose's apartment; New York
Rating: R for Rose.
Status: Begun as a gDoc, but continued in thread because even Google hates Rose.
ROSE: Tuesday afternoon. She hadn't left her apartment since the previous evening, alternating between her textbooks and the blaring television (and occasionally the compendiums when something PARTICULARLY amusing popped up involving her and carcasses) as she waited for a proposed five-fifteen visit from an "uncle". Pretty woman references to be inserted here. Flipping between channels, oh what choices there were when one could choose either bimbos teaching boys the facts of life in an Ashton Kutcher produced quality series, or the fiercest black woman of them all, Tyra, attempting to Oprahsize herself, there was a sharp head turn as the door-bell rang. What the fuck. It was three-thirty, not fucking five-fifteen, and she'd barely gotten around to gathering the mass heapings of clothing off the floor.
"JUST A FUCKING MINUTE." Running into the bathroom, highly aware of her lacking suitable night-wear on (indeed, a blush-worthy short dressing gown, did not the exciting lingerie make) and only the two coats of lip-gloss creamed across her mouth, there was a hurried dip into her make up bag. What the fuck. What the fuck, what the fuck, WHAT THE FUCK. Boys. Couldn't fucking wait to get their fucking rocks off. And skidding through the cramped flat, bolting to the door, she took a deep breath, plastered a sultry smile on her face and pulled open the door.
"SHIT." The sultry smile lasted a bare second before she recognized the figure. John. The Atheneum's very own Hagrid, and far more capable of beating the shit out of anyone that crossed a librarian's path. Which, as would come to no surprise to many, Rose was rather familiar with. Her barely clothed figure was immediately pulled out of the doorway, stepping back to attempt a hopeful slamming of the door and fleeing shimmy down the drain pipe. A plan that might have resulted in her untimely death considering her current fractured wrist, much to Anser's hypothetical joy; but the world was never to know, considering John's swift halting of her door slamming plans.
JOHN: John was not looking forward to this. Yes, he'd been on several errands of this sort before, and in general he didn't mind them, when the recipient was deserving of a lesson taught. However, he'd never been sent to talk to a girl before - and what's more, he was more than a little frightened of Rose Bloom, deserving or no. So it was that he looked vaguely uncomfortable when Rose opened her door to find him filling up pretty much the entire frame, his chin pressed down against his chest in a sheepish display of body language. "Miss Bloom, I got to come t--"
John was not particularly quick in mind nor in body, but what he lacked in speed he made up for in raw power. He managed to catch the door right before it slammed, and with almost no effort, gingerly pushed it back open again. He didn't want to risk ruining a perfectly nice door. "Now Rose, we got to talk and it won't do no good to try and-- and--" At this point John realized exactly what Rose was wearing as she received him, and were it possible, his cheeks would have flushed bright crimson. His lips moved soundlessly and his eyes fell, searching the area around Rose's body for anything else to focus on.
"Maybe... Maybe you'd want to go change into some proper clothes, first. I can wait for that." Despite his obvious discomfort he invited himself in, pushing gently past Rose without looking at her directly, having to duck slightly to get through the doorframe.
ROSE: "Fuck." Hissing as her escape plan was thrown to the rails by John's strength (an obvious power over her own waifish muscles), she'd taken several steps backwards with his presence looming into her apartment. Of course, those several stumbled steps backwards meant a foot hitting a wayward bra and her just managing to keep her balance as she slipped on the barely-there piece of lace. But following a good few seconds of teetering (and, as a sad testament to her lack of senses, momentary consideration towards jumping out the window to hit the fire escape), if there was no possible means of getting past the fucking oaf physically, then mental defiance and furthering his uncomfortability would have to do.
She turned to look at him, recovering from her moment of awkward imbalance with remarkable speed as she moved to idly lounge against the wall. He might not have been eyeing her directly; but there could be no doubts in anyone's mind that she WAS, and was currently lazily giving him a once over (Jesus fucking christ, she hoped he squirmed) before responding to his request for clothing. Sorry, John, the girl didn't actually OWN any proper clothing. "Right here, cuppycake?" A smirk, her fingers slipping down to linger on the tie of her dressing gown, pulling just ever so slightly, "I even have handcuffs if you want to punish me THAT way."
JOHN: Once John had managed to fit himself through the door and closed it behind himself, he just stood in front of it awkwardly, keeping his eyes down. After a moment he glanced up to see if she had gone to change, but only found her looking at him in that carnal way... And to say the result was 'squirming' would be an understatement. A look of mild panic flashed across his face and his eyes began to dart around desperately for something else to look at.
At the teasing of Rose's fingers on her robe, John nearly tripped over himself to object. "Oh no, that's not what I meant at all!" Just in case he didn't stop her in time he pivoted gracelessly on the spot, shifting his body to angle it so that he was pretty much turned facing towards the wall. "You can go do that in your bedroom, is probably best! I don't... I don't think handcuffs are all necessary, but that's... that's kind of you to offer, anyhow." He continued to stand awkwardly facing the wall, like an enormous chastised child.
ROSE: The laughter released at his obvious panic was loud, and not at all kind. Malicious grin stamped across her face, her fingers had deftly released the tie on her robe to reveal underwear; a revelation unknown to John thanks to his current position -- but Rose would have none of that as she swaggered, hips swinging, over to where he stood. Operation mentally torture the man-cunt until he left with her beating-free had begun. "Johnny, Johnny, Johnny." A hand slipped under the back of his shirt, "What's the MATTER?"
It was the easiest plan of action she could muster (and like the girl took any action that WASN'T easy, in all senses of the word) in order to avoid any more broken bones or possible bruising that hadn't been caused by the wayward teeth impression. No man paid for damaged goods, and her fucking hand had been enough of a hindrance without possible further physical defections. As easily as make-up could cover a black and blue lump, she'd all together rather prefer to AVOID having to put in the extra effort. And besides, this way? Was far more fucking amusing.
JOHN: Oh, goodness. At the feeling of a tiny hand sliding under his shirt and along his back, John panicked - he leapt forward to get away, without quite calculating into his plan that he was facing the wall. He went face-first into it with a mighty BUMP, and for a moment it almost seemed like he was actually going to go right through it, cartoon style. Alas the wall did not yield, and he was left to extricate himself as quickly as possible, trying to navigate away from Rose and around her furniture with little success. This was no china shop, but he was certainly living up to his namesake - tables were bumped, decorations upended and an unfortunate lamp toppled, each with a little sound of distress and apology from the mighty bull.
"Rose, that's not-- I mean to say, I don't think you-- You shouldn't be--" he tried to object, struggling to be polite as his usually slow, meticulous rumble of a voice tried to get thoughts out faster than it was able. He finally tried to position himself on the other side of a couch and turned to Rose, trying his damndest to don a stern look but still having the general aura of a cornered animal - the prey kind, not the predator. "Now Rose, you know I'm here to talk to you about your bad behavior recently, and I don't want to have to be mean about it, so maybe if you could just say you're sorry and promise to be more nicer from now on, we can just... I can go away and that can be that, okay?"